The Service of the Sword woh-4

by David Weber

  "Guns," Boniece said, turning to Carlie, "what would you say?"

  "I'd say, Sir," Carlie replied promptly, peripherally aware of Midshipwoman Pike listening with some astonishment to the ATO getting quizzed, "that anything that has guns and sidewalls can't be rated 'hardly a problem.' For that matter, even an unarmed vessel could ram."

  "Paranoid," Boniece agreed, "but reasonable, and we cannot forget the psychology of the Faithful. In their own view, they are God's Chosen, and people who believe God is on their side are hard to predict."

  The discussion went on and if Midshipwoman Pike was conscious of the fact that many of the questions tossed her way were something of a quiz she kept her concentration admirably.

  Near the end of the watch, Carlie reported, "Skipper, there's a cargo shuttle rendezvousing with Aaron's Rod, one from groundside. ID Beacon says it's the Flower, currently adjunct to Aaron's Rod."

  "Have the Silesians left?"

  "No, Sir."

  "I'd say then, we have a meeting. Interesting."

  Later, just as the watch was changing, Carlie reported, "Captain, Aaron's Rod is powering up her impellers."

  "Silesians still on board?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Tell your relief to keep the officer of the watch appraised."

  "Yes, Sir."

  Carlie was back in her quarters, taking a breather before going to check on her middies, when a call was relayed to her.

  "Restricted channel from the surface," the com officer, Midshipman Kareem Jones reported crisply.

  "Very good. I'll take it here."

  A face Carlie remembered forgetting after one of Captain Boniece's dinners formed on the screen.

  "Lieutenant Dunsinane, John Hill," the face said. "I'm with the embassy here. I'd like you to request the return of Mr. Midshipman Winton to Intransigent."

  All Carlie's old doubts about Michael Winton came flooding back.

  "Has he done something wrong?"

  "He has done nothing, but I suspect that a situation is developing where it may not be best for Mr. Winton's continued welfare that he remain planetside."

  Carlie had seen tabletops with more expression than Hill was showing, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made a lie of all the stiff neutrality.

  "Situation?"

  "I don't dare say more," Hill replied. "I only request that as the officer directly responsible for Intransigent's midshipmen you be prepared to say that he is returning on your order."

  A crackle of static wavered across the connection, and Carlie knew she didn't have time to ask more questions.

  "I'll send the order," she agreed. "He is due on board fourth watch anyhow."

  "Th . . ."

  John Hill's thanks, if thanks they were, were cut off. A moment later Midshipman Jones' voice came on, apologetic.

  "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. The call was interrupted at the surface. Would you like us to try and reestablish it from here?"

  "No, Mr. Jones, that won't be necessary. Send a message to Captain Boniece asking him to call me at his first convenience."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  Boniece returned her call almost before Carlie could finish mentally framing her report.

  "Yes, Lieutenant?"

  Carlie explained about John Hill's mysterious call, finishing by saying, "So I agreed, Sir. I hope that was the right thing to do."

  "Sounds to me like Mr. Hill wanted an excuse to get Mr. Winton—or perhaps it would be wiser to say Crown Prince Michael in this case—off the surface without creating a diplomatic incident. He didn't say anything about removing the rest of the diplomatic contingent, did he?"

  "No, Sir. We were cut off, but I had no indication he was about to ask anything of the sort. His concern seemed solely for Mr. Winton."

  "Interesting."

  The captain bit into his lower lip for a moment.

  "Sounds like Mr. Hill was apprehensive about a situation wherein either Prince Michael or Mr. Midshipman Winton would be facing a risk that the rest of the diplomatic contingent would not. Very strange."

  "Do you think it's just a matter of his relationship to the Queen?" Carlie asked hesitantly.

  "It could be, or it could be that Mr. Hill senses a situation developing where an officer in the Queen's service might be more vulnerable than a civilian diplomat."

  "My apologies, Sir, but you're talking in riddles."

  "Riddles are all Mr. Hill has left us with. Keep yourself available, Lieutenant. You may be needed."

  "Yes, Sir."

  The captain closed the connection almost as abruptly as had Mr. Hill. No longer in the least bit tired, Carlie straightened her tunic and went to review her other middies, vaguely seeking reassurance that they, at least, were out of danger.

  On Aaron's Rod Judith felt the sudden clarity that comes with having made an irrevocable decision. She should have felt it when she cut her hair or when she donned men's clothing or when she took Flower from the planet's surface, but it wasn't until she sat here, nothing but the star-filled emptiness of space in front of her that she felt the last of the chains that had held her on Masada snap and leave her free.

  "I'm plotting us the most direct course to hyper limit," she said crisply. "Odelia, let me know if anything new comes from the surface. Sherlyn, keep an eye out for anything moving on an intercept course."

  An odd thought occurred to her.

  "Connect me to Rena."

  "Damage Control here."

  "Rena. Has anyone taken a good look at the shuttle on which the smugglers came aboard?"

  "I did, actually. My team seemed best equipped to inspect it."

  "Where did it originate?"

  "It's registered to a Silesian ship, the Firebird."

  Sherlyn volunteered, "Firebird is here in system, Judith."

  Judith nodded her thanks and continued, "How's it set in the hold?"

  "Facing out toward the doors. I guess they turned it around somehow."

  "Good. How confident do you feel about checking its piloting programs?"

  "Pretty good. But, Moses, it's unarmed and unarmored. I don't think it will do as an escape vehicle."

  "Good to know. Get acquainted with its piloting program. I may have something for you to put into it."

  "Yes, Moses."

  At least Masadan women are good at taking orders, Judith thought with a faint trace of humor.

  Dinah had glanced over at her, but the older woman said nothing and when Judith volunteered nothing of her thoughts, returned to checking the weaponry boards.

  Odelia broke the quiet that had settled over the bridge.

  "Moses, surface is now insisting we return to orbit."

  Judith nodded.

  "Odelia, I don't think we can fool them for long, but let's mess up the works. Tell them you're Sam . . . Tell them we're taking the ship out on Ephraim's orders. That should at least slow them down long enough to talk with him."

  Odelia nodded, the skin around her eyes tight with worry. Judith heard her query the computer for Sam's identification codes and instruct it to configure her voice mask to match his range.

  Good. Thinking for herself. I suspect we're going to need a lot of that if we're going to get out of here alive.

  That diversion bought them enough time that the planet had visibly receded, but at last the call came as Judith had known it would.

  "They say they've spoken with Elder Templeton and that he has no idea what they're talking about. They sound really angry."

  "Let them be angry," Judith said. "The more angry they are, the less energy they'll have for clear thought. Any sign of pursuit?"

  "Several drives have gone active," Sherlyn reported, "including the Firebird's. The only thing moving toward us are a couple of light attack craft."

  "We're better armed than any of those," Dinah reported.

  Judith knew that the Faithful's dedication to building a navy had not extended to extensive in-system defense. Simply put, the Graysons didn't want war, dedica
ting their energies to protecting their own system. The Faithful, on the other hand, had specifically designed their navy to take Yeltsin's Star back, and each LAC cut into offensive tonnage. They'd built just enough LACs to keep their system from being a sitting duck while the rest of the fleet was away, and those ships were widely spread out. Nor were they likely to fire on a ship belonging to a prominent citizen.

  "Good, Dinah," she said. "We may need to remind them of that. How do we look for offensive capacity?"

  "Full-up," Dinah reported crisply. "Jessica reports that the magazines are well-stocked and that her crews have the tubes ready for loading. The energy mounts are powered up and ready. Point defense is standing by."

  "As I recall specs for the LACs," Judith mused. "They're pretty much limited to one salvo each from their box launchers and a single spinal laser, right?"

  "Right," Dinah confirmed.

  "Well, we won't throw away missiles unless absolutely necessary, and we have the range on them."

  "We're also armored in Ephraim's reputation," Dinah reminded her. "They're going to be reluctant to fire on the vessel of such a successful privateer."

  But what Ephraim gives, Judith thought, he can as surely take away.

  The hyper limit seemed very far away indeed. It seemed even farther when Odelia reported a few moments later:

  "We have a call from Ephraim Templeton."

  "Let us all hear it," Judith said, unwilling to let the man become a phantom to her companions.

  Ephraim sounded very angry, what Rena called "beating angry." By the time Odelia put his transmission up, he was already in mid-flurry.

  " . . . and I promise that only God's wrath will be greater than mine when we catch you. Turn around immediately!"

  Judith grinned, forcing herself to seem more amused than she felt.

  "Now there's real incentive."

  "If you do not," the transmission continued, "I shall come after you myself, and my vengeance will be terrible!"

  "Send back the following," Judith said. " 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.' Then refuse further transmissions. I don't think we can talk him out of his course."

  "Do you think he'll really come after us?" Odelia asked.

  "Oh, yes," Judith said. "I'd guess he's already on his way. The question is whether or not he can get to either Psalms or Proverbs before we can get clear."

  She glanced at the plot, which showed the planet not as far away as she had imagined, and suspected that Ephraim could catch up. Although her handling of Aaron's Rod had been competent, she was keeping the ship at a comparatively low rate of acceleration.

  Part of that was because of her awareness of her delicate human cargo, which wasn't ready for space travel, but another part—and she had to be honest with herself—was because she was afraid to try and attempt anything too elaborate. Nor was she prepared, with her trained-by-rote Engineering crew, to risk reducing the safety margin on the privateers' inertial compensator the way a more experienced crew might have. Worst of all, the Havenite modifications to Ephraim's other ships had included upgrades for their compensators. Even with the same safety margin, they could pull a substantially higher acceleration than Aaron's Rod. With fully trained crews to get the highest possible speed out of them, their acceleration advantage would be even greater.

  Still, there might be time for the Sisters to get away. Ephraim had been half the planet away from his estate when he was notified. She and her allies had disabled the Blossom, the only other ship to orbit vehicle available in his hangers. There might be time.

  And if there wasn't?

  Judith frowned, and, oblivious to her nervous crew, buried her face in her hands and tried to think.

  "Would you mind telling me," Michael said as he chugged up the stairs after John Hill, "what is going on?"

  "You saw those men exit the Conclave Hall?"

  "Yes. Templeton. Shipping."

  Michael kept his replies short. The program of exercise he'd been following shipboard, he was discovering, didn't prepare one to run up stairs.

  "Someone has stolen a Templeton ship."

  "So?"

  "Right now Templeton has no idea who's stolen it."

  "You do?"

  John Hill tapped his ear, and Michael realized he was indicating something buried beneath the skin.

  "I get better news than he does. There have been some interesting disappearances, some of which I may be the only one to have heard about."

  "How?"

  "Trust me."

  "All right. But what makes it significant to us?"

  "Let me just say that if anyone puts these disappearances together, they're going to remember you and wonder if your being here had anything to do with it."

  "I don't understand."

  "Templeton doesn't know this yet, but a woman was caught trying to leave her home. She was captured and under interrogation . . ."

  Hill's inflection made clear that he meant something rather more severe than simple questioning.

  "Before she died she admitted to the existence of an organization called the Sisterhood of Barbara and of something called Exodus. I'd like to believe otherwise, but I think the two events may be connected."

  "Why . . . What does this have to do with us?"

  "Nothing, but I don't think for a moment the Faithful will believe it."

  They'd arrived on the roof by now, and to Michael's surprise a small air car was waiting for them. Hill ushered him aboard and spilled into the driver's seat and brought up the counter grav.

  "Templeton took a similar vehicle out of here not long ago on his way to the nearest spaceport. You don't think the ban on technology applies to emergencies? This one is picking up some of his sons."

  Michael shook his head in admiring disbelief.

  "You were explaining why the Faithful wouldn't believe that we have nothing to do with this."

  "Believe that their women, so good, so devout, so well-trained, would rebel without outside stimulus?" Hill snorted and banked the air car at a stomach-wrenching angle. "Easier to believe that such was instigated from without. They'll see you as the servant of your Queen."

  "Which I am . . ."

  "Except that to the Faithful, Elizabeth shares the dubious honor of being called the Harlot of Satan."

  "Shares?"

  "With Barbara Bancroft, the woman they blame for foiling their coup to overthrow Grayson."

  "What about the rest of the diplomatic corps? What will happen to them?"

  Hill shrugged. "I think they'll be all right. The Masadans are going to be very careful about respecting diplomatic immunity until they've made up their mind who they want to get into bed with. The thing is, it could be argued that you're not covered. You're a Navy midshipman, making a courtesy call, you see. . . ."

  "Shit."

  "In a bucket. So you've been recalled to duty. Lieutenant Dunsinane is such a stickler. . . ."

  "That she is," Michael agreed. "Now that I think of it, my orders included having to report back shipboard every evening."

  Michael could see they had now arrived at the spaceport. He was unsurprised to find Intransigent's pinnace rising to meet them. Nor did John Hill disappoint him. The vehicle to vehicle transfer was managed as smoothly as if Hill had handled similar procedures numerous times before.

  As he took the hand the flight engineer held out to him, Michael called back.

  "Thanks!"

  "I'll try to keep you posted," Hill shouted over the wind's roar. Then he banked the air car and sped away.

  "What's going on, Sir?" the pilot asked once they were buttoned up and streaking for the edge of atmosphere.

  "I'm not sure," Michael admitted. "I guess we just follow orders."

  "And those are to get back to Intransigent," the pilot agreed.

  Michael took advantage of the pinnace's undermanned state to drop into the tac officer's cubby and bring its tactical plot on-line. He easily located what had to be the hijacked Templeton ship crawling tortoi
selike out-system. He thought about what John Hill had told him, about this improbable Sisterhood and their desperate Exodus, and felt a surge of sympathy for them.

  If they're really trying to get away, why don't they run? he thought. Why the hell don't they run?

  Carlie couldn't keep her mind off her absent middy and John Hill's peculiar call, so it was almost a relief when Intransigent was moved to a higher level of alert and she found herself on the bridge, officer of the watch, while Captain Boniece met with his department heads.

  "Our pinnace has left the surface," Midshipman Jones reported. "En route to rendezvous with Intransigent."

  Carlie acknowledged.

  "How's Aaron's Rod?"

  Ozzie Russo, another one of Carlie's middies, answered promptly.

  "Still heading out-system. Looks like she's on a direct line for hyper limit, Ma'am."

  "Hm."

  "Lieutenant Dunsinane?"

  "Yes, Mister Russo?"

  "Why is she moving so slowly? There's not much traffic there."

  "I couldn't say, Mister Russo. You sound like you have a theory."

  Carlie saw the normally confident, even cocky, Ozzie color.

  "Well, Ma'am, it reminds me of the first time my father let me take the helm of our yacht. It had looked so easy on the sims, but once I had all that to handle, I found out the sims hadn't really prepared me. Our pilot made me watch the tapes over and over again, just to get it through my head that I didn't know everything."

  The midshipman finished in an embarrassed rush, his color even higher. Carlie, accustomed to Ozzie's more usual rich boy attitude of self-importance, was amused and pleased.

  "You may well have a point, Mister Russo. I'll make a note of it."

  "Yes, Lieutenant. Thank you, Ma'am."

  Later still, the routine business was interrupted from Tactical.

  "Lieutenant Dunsinane, a pinnace just launched from the surface. It's going great guns. A second just followed it, also going fast."

  "Vector?"

  "First one is heading for an armed merchantman, Psalms. The second is heading for armed merchantman Proverbs."

  "Those are the other Templeton ships," Carlie said. "Inform Captain Boniece. Then tight-beam our pinnace and suggest she increase her accel. I want those people back on board."