by AM Scott
Ruhger’s good mood plummeted like a sub-orbital rocket into a sea. Lashtar—and Ferra—waited at the Alpha shuttle hatch. Blast it all to a black hole, what now? He nodded grimly at them. “What do I owe the honor of your presence to now, Sisters?”
Lashtar gave him an ironic smile in return and motioned to the hatch. “Can we speak in private, Ruhger?”
He snorted. “Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Blast, blast, blast and rad.
He let them in, securing the hatches behind him. With the increased security requirements, no intruder, even the Sisters’ net experts, could access command and control, but he felt better knowing he’d secured the hatches. Better to be trapped with them than ambushed from behind. If this was a takeover attempt, he could easily deal with the two of them. He doubted that was Lashtar’s reason for coming, but he didn’t trust Ferra one little bit. Stepping around them, he walked to his desk chair, and swept an arm in invitation. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thanks,” Lashtar said. They sat in the observer chairs, turning to face him.
Ruhger lowered himself carefully into his desk chair, buying time to rein in his temper. He wanted to plop down and glare at her, but that would display too much agitation. “What problem are you throwing at me now, Lashtar?” So much for not displaying agitation. Guess his mood was worse than he thought.
“Sister Lashtar,” Ferra snapped.
Before he could reply, Lashtar turned on her with a vicious snarl. “Penitent Ferra. You will be silent. Remember your place.”
Anger blazed and Ferra opened her mouth. Then she closed it with a snap and bowed her head. From the flags of color across her cheeks and the stiffness of her shoulders, Ferra was pissed, but she held herself in check. Lashtar continued to look at her, intent but not glaring, and after a few seconds, Ferra’s shoulders sagged.
Lashtar turned back to him and Ruhger raised his brows at her. The sharp reprimand brought back memories of her y’ga teachings, but he was Captain, not her, and she’d better remember it. Besides, while a public set-down might be her style, it wasn’t his. This little show reminded him why the phrase ‘punish in private, praise in public’ was a truism. But perhaps Lashtar didn’t consider him ‘public?’ Or maybe this was the final straw with Ferra? Looking at her, he could believe it. She was a very proud woman who’d dropped a very long way, very suddenly. Ferra probably needed constant reminders of her new position at the bottom of the ladder.
Besides, he’d address Lashtar as ‘Sister’ when she called him ‘Captain’ and meant it.
Lashtar snorted, then sobered. “I’m not bringing you a problem, just information. Penitent Ferra thought we should bring you a problem but I won’t. Not when you’ve already solved so many for us at such great risk. But as you so effectively pointed out at our last meeting, secrets get in the way and get people killed.” Lashtar’s mouth twisted. “And they are not in keeping with the Mother’s wishes.”
Ruhger waited. There was nothing he was willing to say to that.
Lashtar blew out a breath with a slight nod. “Penitent Ferra finished reading Sister Trena’s journal. As the Scholar said, Sister Trena struggled with her decision to keep her discovery to herself, but in the end, she decided her best interests outweighed the interests of the group.” Lashtar waved a hand, dismissively. “Oh, there was lots of self-deception and justification, but what else is new?” She looked pointedly at Ferra again, who shrunk farther at Lashtar’s derisive tone.
That was Lashtar. Honest to a fault and never used a gentle push when a sledgehammer would work. Ruhger preferred blunt Lashtar’s approach for himself, but seeing it used on someone else made him uncomfortable.
Even someone who deserved it.
“Penitent Ferra believes she knows the location of the supposed transuranic deposit Sister Trena found. There is, if she’s correct, a safer entrance to the Badlands tunnels, far from the Inquisitors, that could be used to reach this supposed evidence. And the deposit seems to be a considerable distance from where the Inquisitors are holed up, but it’s really impossible to tell without further exploration. I have absolutely forbidden any return to the surface for such explorations.” Lashtar glared down at Ferra, then looked back up at him, expressionless.
Ruhger nodded, and Lashtar continued.
“Cygnus-Secundus has deeded us a large tract of homesteading land in one of the best remaining locations. It will be challenging to clear and farm but it is possible. Cygnus-Prime offered assistance to everyone, but they’ve made additional offers to us in exchange for vid rights and first right of refusal for any excess we produce.” Lashtar’s lip curled in derision. “While I have no desire for our faith to become a joke in the core as the ‘stars’ of a new reality show—” she made the air quotes blatant “—the credits will make our first year on Secundus much easier. And risks our pride, not our lives. Trying to dig out Sister Trena’s supposed discovery under the noses of the Inquisitors is a death sentence.”
Lashtar’s mouth twisted. “Hopefully we can demonstrate our sincere worship of the Mother, but even if we become a galaxy-wide joke, it’s worth the price.” She bowed her head, and unlike Ferra’s so-called penitence, her remorseful gesture looked real. “I believe this is a just punishment, true confession and true contrition all in one big, potentially ugly package.” Lashtar looked up at him again, her honesty shining. “And the majority of the Sisters agree. We believe it is our duty to demonstrate the Mother’s love for all to see. And if that means leaving our secretive, cloistered lifestyle behind, it’s a price worth paying. Seeing where those secrets led, we should have done so long ago.”
Ruhger nodded thoughtfully. He could see Lashtar’s point. It would be a difficult transition, fraught with difficulties and trouble, but there was a distinct possibility the new approach would pay off. “The transition will be difficult, Sister, but if everyone demonstrates their faith the way you are, you will succeed. I wish you all the luck in the universe.”
Lashtar looked shocked at his sincerity, then smiled gratefully at him. “If you can see that, Captain Ruhger, perhaps we have a real chance. Thank you.” She nodded firmly. “I came here not only to tell you about our decision but to make sure you knew about the discovery. I do not want you blindsided by a misguided Sister pleading for a return to the surface. Some of our members don’t see the Mother’s hand on the path we’ve chosen. They have been outvoted and instructed, but some will persist in forging their best interests as the Mother’s.”
Ruhger noted Ferra’s shoulders stiffening.
Lashtar arrowed a look down at her as well, obviously noting the signs of protest or disavowal herself, then she looked back up at him. “If a Sister comes to you or one of your crew, Captain, refer them back to me.”
“Of course, Sister.” Since she used his rank, and sincerely at that, he’d return the courtesy. “I will definitely let you know about any such attempt. You have been honest and open with me, and I will return the favor.” Ruhger snorted. “Not that we’re going to return to Gliese for anything but water anyway.” He wondered… “Sister Lashtar, who is the new Mother of the Sisters of Cygnus?”
Lashtar smiled at him, a little proudly. “No one. We have a Mother but she is not embodied on this plane. We have a senior council instead. If at all possible, we’ll reach a consensus, but we’ll use majority rule if necessary. In case of emergency, each of the senior council has authority to act alone in their area of expertise. For example, I can make security decisions unilaterally, but I must defend those decisions in front of all the Sisters after the fact. And to the Mother herself.” Lashtar bowed her head. “We believe part of our problem was the hubris of taking on the title of Mother at all. It doesn’t belong to us. We are not the Mother.” Sister Lashtar, for all that she joined the Sisters as a mature adult, demonstrated her faith—it shined like a beacon. And, looking down at Ferra’s bowed head, stronger than some born to it. Perhaps familiarity bred contempt? Or power became the real deity?
Both were possible.
“Well then, Sister Lashtar, I will continue to work with you, since I believe fold transport remains under the heading of security. I thank you for the information. I was about to start planning the orderly transition of wounded to the Deneb hospital ship. We should do that as a group, Lightwave, Sisters and Havenites together. Will you gather your leaders, and the Havenites you think appropriate, and meet me in the dining area in…” Ruhger glanced at the time. “Fifteen minutes?”
“Of course, Captain. Good idea. Thank you for your time. I’ll see you shortly.” Sister Lashtar stood and bowed, Ferra hurriedly copying her. They exited the shuttle, securing the hatches as they went—he checked. Ruhger leaned back, his chair creaking. Good thing Lashtar came to him—Ferra was going to be trouble. He’d risk Lightwave on that bet.
Ruhger had the system make a transcript of Sister Lashtar’s speech and copied the relevant decision points, putting them into the crew ‘must read’ file. He also left a link to the entire recorded timeframe. Maybe it would ease Katryn’s anger a little and allow her to reconcile with some of the senior Sisters. For her sake, he hoped it did. You should never leave family angry—they could be taken from you at any moment.
Sighing, Ruhger gathered his passenger lists, ready for the next step.
Chapter 14
Saree smiled at her students. “Thank you for your attention, Gentles. I hope you had fun and that you’ll continue practicing.” She held up a hand and looked around the room with a warning on her face. “During the day, please, let’s not practice during quiet hours.” She smiled again—they really were very attentive for kids. “If you’d like more advanced instruction, please send me a message and I’ll find a time for the next class. Have a wonderful day.” Smiling at all of them as they applauded politely, Saree gathered her music and placed the giant guitar fretboard prop against the wall, out of the way. Several of her students came up and thanked her individually and she answered a couple of questions. Eventually, they all left and she was able to leave the dining hall.
Smiling, Saree wove her way around the groups of talking girls, finally entering the passageway. The staccato of knives on chopping boards made keeping a steady rhythm a little challenging for the students, but one of the Sisters joined in with a hand drum, giving them all a louder beat to strum to. Teaching wasn’t her strongest skill, but basic guitar chords and rhythm were easy and fun. Especially after Tyron, of all people, figured out a way to make learner guitars on the 3D printer. And Katryn found some animated chord diagrams, letting everyone see the proper finger positions. In the end, they’d played a few simple songs as a group, the girls at the chopping boards singing along. There was more enthusiasm than expertise, but the attempt counted, not the result.
Saree swept a swath of soft cloth hanging across the entire passageway out of her way, frowning. Obviously some of the girls were still ignoring the instructions to keep the passageway clear. Lightwave’s crew kept removing these privacy shields, but they kept popping up. If the girls would surround just their hammocks, it would be okay, but they kept putting them across the entire corridor. They did dampen the noise a little, so she understood their reasoning, but blocking the passageway was a safety hazard. Saree tugged on the cloth, but it didn’t come down. She’d message Sister Navarr from the shuttle.
Saree swept through another hanging, pushing away the unusually rough, heavy cloth. A hand clamped around Saree’s wrist, wrenching her arm painfully high behind her back and shoving her face into the wall. Agony flared behind her left knee, her leg collapsing. A body pressed hers into the wall, hard, with weight pressing down on the back of her calves—she couldn’t move! She dropped her guitar to attack, but a hard hand gripped her wrist. Both wrists were pulled down to the small of her back, something thin and cold cinching around both wrists. A sharp stab on the outside of her right shoulder, her e-torc scraped against her skin as it was jerked from her neck, and a cold, heavy band replaced it, clamping too tight around her neck. She swallowed, hard, her throat moving against the wide band. Saree, you can breathe. Don’t panic!
“Scholar, that’s a slave collar around your neck. Any attempt to escape or do anything but exactly what I say will result in intense pain,” a woman’s voice said in her ear. The voice was quiet, but clear and calm. “I can turn it up high enough to cause damage and even kill you if necessary. Do not make it necessary. Now. I will let you up and you will go to your shuttle. We are returning to the planet’s surface. Any attempt to make trouble will be swiftly punished. Do you understand?” The voice was clear and ice cold, like a deep space asteroid.
Suns. How would Hal react to this scenario? Searing pain radiated from her neck, her muscles seizing and twitching, her breath frozen in her throat.
“Do you understand? That is a low setting, Scholar.”
She gasped for air. “Yes,” Saree choked out when she could speak.
“Let’s go.”
Saree levered herself to her feet, not the easiest task with her wrists secured behind her back. In the end, she pushed her body along the wall to help, smashing her face against the smooth paint as she rose. Now she was happy Lightwave had no decorations on their walls. A bruising grip on her right shoulder pulled, turning her to the right, then pushed her forward. She stumbled a few steps, blundering through another heavy fall of fabric. The hand on her shoulder turned her again. She stared, finally realizing she was at the airlock to her shuttle. Why was she so tired?
“Open the hatch, Scholar.”
She swallowed again, and tried to bring her hand up, wrenching her left shoulder. Oh, her hands were cuffed behind her. Saree said, “I can’t.”
An annoyed breath hissed out and her right hand hung free. “Open the hatch.”
Her hand didn’t seem connected to her body. It was heavy and hard to move, but Saree hauled her arm up and entered the code, her fingers dragging across the keypad. It took her several tries before she could enter the number correctly. The grip on her shoulder pulled back and the door swung open in front of her. The hand on her shoulder released, then landed on Saree’s back, pushing her into the airlock.
“Open the hatch.”
Who was this woman? The voice sounded familiar, even through the fog clouding her mind. Saree opened the hatch and stepped inside her shuttle airlock. A shove sent her stumbling across the airlock and into the inner hatch, but she managed to stop herself from running into it face first with her free hand. The hatches behind her closed and sealed with a thunk and hiss.
“Open the hatch, Scholar. Do not say a word. Any attempt to flood this compartment with gas will be painful for you, Scholar, and I have a mask.”
Saree blinked, trying to think about those words, but she raised her hand and entered the code, letting the DNA sampler take her blood. The hatch released and she pulled it open. The hand on her wrist pushed her forward, then wrenched her to a stop. Another thunk and hiss from the hatch behind her.
“Forward to the pilot’s seat, Scholar.” The rough hand on her left wrist shoved hard and she stumbled forward, crossing to the control area. Saree plopped down with a thud into the pilot’s seat, air hissing from the cushion. Her left wrist was yanked behind the seat, leaving her perched awkwardly across the chair, the armrest pressing into her side. Fingers grasped her right wrist and she tried to pull away, but the hand tightened, and her back smacked against the seatback, hard bands around her both wrists. Suns. Saree blinked again, trying to think, trying to struggle, but nothing seemed to work right.
Hands yanked her feet underneath the seat, gripping each ankle, then the hands released and she could put her feet down again. She sagged back into the chair. The hard hand gripped her right wrist again. Saree tried to pull her feet forward farther, but bands pressed against the front of her ankles. Was she tied to the chair? She must be, but it was hard to tell, her thoughts distant and hazy.
“Don’t try anything tricky, Scholar. You won’t succeed and it will be extremely painful. We’
re returning to Gliese. Bring up your navigation panel. Now.”
Her right hand was released. Saree swept up the nav panel, her body moving so slowly, like she played a dirge. A hand gripped her right wrist again, pulling it back behind the seat, and she gasped at the pain in her shoulders. A body leaned forward against her right shoulder, increasing the pain, and a gloved hand reached for the nav panel. The intense pain cleared her head a little. The glove, a dirty brown material, probably animal skin, entered a set of coordinates, and set the computer to calculating a trajectory. Saree blinked at the path display, the destination the northwest side of the Badlands. Why there? It was far from the Sisters’ compound and far from the Inquisitors, too. Why couldn’t she think?
“Scholar, release your shuttle using the emergency procedures. Now.” Her right wrist was released and shoved forward.
Saree blinked at the nav panel, then pushed it away, bringing up the security panel. “Hal,” she said. Intense pain radiated from her throat, and she scrabbled and scratched at the band, trying to wrench it away from her skin.
“Scholar, I said nothing tricky. Do you understand?”
She nodded frantically, wincing as the movement of her head crushed the skin of her neck against the slave band. The pain cleared the fog from her mind a little more. “I have to give voice commands to Hal,” Saree said, wincing in anticipation of more pain.
“Who is Hal?”
“My virtual assistant.” Saree clamped her mouth shut before she said anything else. She must have been drugged. She didn’t want to tell this woman about Hal.
“Fine. Give the commands.”
“Hal, emergency release from Lightwave. Initiate now.”
“Initiating emergency release,” Hal’s voice said, his normal warm, smooth tones stilted and mechanical. Hal must be playing along for now. Why hadn’t she installed those stunners Hal suggested? Blast it all to the seven suns of…someplace…
