by J. L. Doty
Notay wasn’t exaggerating about Sab’ach’ahn. The breed warrior had lost weight, and while she probably outweighed most full-grown men, on such a tall frame the weight loss had taken her from gaunt to emaciated.
She sat in a corner of the cell, her legs crossed haphazardly, her back against a bulkhead, one hand tucked absentmindedly into a handhold to keep her from floating away in zero-G. She’d torn the sleeves off her tunic, and to hold back her matted and unwashed hair she’d tied a strip of cloth around her head like a bandanna. She’d painted the upper and lower eyelids of her left eye with some sort of dark, reddish-brown paint. The air around her held a faintly pungent and oddly foreign smell of stale sweat. Her eyes were distant, unseeing, lost in some other universe of thought, or escape.
York held onto a small girder, floating directly in front of her cell. Still she seemed unaware of him and stared right through him. He spoke softly, “Sublegion.”
The Kinathin didn’t move, and her eyes still remained focused on a spot far past York. York tried a different tack. He kept his voice steady and level, and he spoke as if she were one of his subordinates. “Sublegion Sab’ach’ahn.”
Her shoulders shifted slightly, then her eyes came into focus. She didn’t move other than to blink once, and a small fleck of the dark reddish-brown paint around her left eye broke loose and floated away from her cheek. York realized it was dried blood.
“Captain Ballin,” she said, her voice flat and lifeless. “What may I do for you?”
“Tell me what you’re doing to yourself.”
She lifted one of her own hands, looked at the dark skin of the fingers, considered it for a moment and lowered it again. “I have done nothing.”
York shook his head. “You’re not eating, not bathing, not taking care of yourself.” York had used the ship’s library files to learn what he could about the Kinathins. Most of what the empire knew was speculation and rumor, sometimes legend, but it appeared they had strict rules concerning their own code of conduct and honor. “I am responsible for you. I have asked you a question that does not require you to betray your comrades, so you must answer.”
She looked at him carefully for the first time since Anachron IV. “I am in disgrace,” she said flatly.
“Why are you in disgrace?”
“I broke the contract of truce between us.”
“Andleman was the one who violated the truce.”
“But he was my responsibility.”
“And so you’re going to starve yourself to death?”
She didn’t answer, and while he was trying to think of another approach his implants came to life. “Captain, this is Gant on bridge watch. I think that Syndonese armada is getting ready to leave. They’re lining up for transition out system. This could be it, sir.”
York keyed his implants. “I’ll be right up.”
York growled one last order at the Kinathin. “You’re my prisoner and my responsibility. You will eat, and you will bath, and you will take care of yourself. That is an order.”
He didn’t have time to argue with her, or to wait for her to reply, or to even confirm that she’d heard him and not slipped back into her trance. He turned and started pulling his way from one handhold to the next, heading for the bridge.
It took the Syndonese armada more than two hours to form up into seven wings and begin driving out of the system. By that time Cinesstar was deep into her swing around the planet at the edge of the system. When the ships in the armada started up-transiting Cinesstar was already coasting back in toward the center of the system. An hour later Gant declared, “There goes the last one, sir.”
York stared at his screens carefully. Maggie said, “I think we’re all alone here. I think those feddies pulled out completely, took all the imperials they could find as prisoners.”
“York, old boy,” Jondee said, breathing a sigh of relief for all of them. “I sure wish I had your luck. But I guess I’ll have to be happy hanging around the edges of it, picking up magical emanations from the wondrous glow.”
“Funny transition vectors, though,” Maggie said.
York nodded. “Ya.”
Rame’s voice was almost a ghostly whisper. “All spread out. Fanning out, heading back into Syndonese territory, transiting in all directions.”
The feddies were going back the way they’d come, not pursuing the defeated imperial fleet—good news for Cinesstar. For all intents and purposes that feddie fleet defined the front line in this sector—which meant Cinesstar was back in imperial territory—heavily disputed, but still imperial territory.
Jondee asked, “But why would they fan out like that?”
It was Gant who gave them the answer. “They’re looking for someone.”
“They’re looking for us,” York said, “probably think we haven’t gotten here yet and are fanning out to intercept us before we do.”
“I wonder if that’s why they were here in the first place,” Jondee speculated, mirroring York’s own thoughts. “Do you think they were looking for us all along, and they sent an entire armada to take a god damn sector headquarters just for us?”
For York it was all coming together now. “And they didn’t find us here, so they’re searching their back trail. But that’s a stroke of luck for us. We’re clear now.”
Rame asked, “Shall I instruct engineering to give us some power, sir?”
York shook his head. He still felt uneasy. “Belay that. Anda, what’s our present course? Are we going to yo-yo back into the system again?”
York’s caution killed their relief. “No, sir. We’re headed into the system, but we won’t be passing near enough to any planets to be deflected by more than a few degrees. We should be well out the other side in about four hours.”
“Then steady as she goes,” York said. “Once we pass through we’ll be headed roughly in the direction of Sarasan. We won’t have to do a lot of maneuvering to line up for transition. So we’ll just sit tight for the time being, make sure they didn’t leave anyone behind running silent and waiting for us. Then when we’re through the system we’ll drive like all hell straight for Sarasan.”
An hour passed, and an eerie silence descended over the Aagerbanne system, matched by the hush on the bridge of Cinesstar. “Sir,” Jondee whispered. “Her Majesty would like admittance to the bridge.”
“There’s no need to whisper, Mister Jondee,” York said, though by comparison his voice boomed. “And yes, admit the empress.”
Straegga, the d’Hart woman and Andow accompanied Cassandra, with all three of the civilians fumbling a bit in zero gravity, though the women had had the presence of mind to abandon their gowns in favor of less fashionable but far more practical coveralls. York had found it necessary to assign Straegga to the empress almost as a combat station. The ex-hunter-killer captain could read a console and keep the empress informed and off York’s back during any tense situations.
“Captain,” Cassandra said.
York turned toward her. “Your Majesty, if you don’t mind, the usual rules.”
She grinned. “Strap down, keep our mouths shut and our hands off the instruments.”
Gant was constantly mapping the system, isolating anything that might be a concealed enemy, then using every trick she and the rest of them knew to learn what they could.
“Why are we waiting?” the empress whispered over the command circuit. She too had succumbed to the hush that held them all.
“Because it won’t do us any harm. At worst we’ll waste a few hours coasting quietly through the system. At best, if there are any hidden dangers we won’t advertise our presence until we’re well out of reach.”
“Ever cautious, eh?”
“And still alive.”
Gant continued to sweat over her instruments, but suddenly Jondee started and jumped. “I’ve got a distress signal,” he said excitedly. He listened further . . . “H.M.S. Dominant, imperial registry. Heavy damage on all decks . . . life support failing on some . . . an ope
n request for aid . . .”
“Miss Gant, what’s her range?”
“About eleven astronomical units, sir.”
York needed to hear this. “Put it on the bridge channel, Mister Jondee.”
A strange voice spoke in York’s implants. “. . . Mayday. Mayday. This is H.M.S. Dominant requesting emergency aid . . .”
Jondee asked, “Shall I answer, sir?”
“Negative,” York snapped.
The empress had leaned heavily to one side to see past the fire control console. “But Captain,” she said. “Those are our comrades. Surely there’s no danger in aiding them?”
“Which is more important, Your Majesty, getting you and the people with you back to safety, or taking a chance we might step into a trap? How important is your mission?”
She hesitated for a moment, and that told York that whatever she was up to, it was important enough for her to consider abandoning some of her subjects to certain death. “But there should be no reason we can’t do both. We should be able to do . . .”
York reached down to the controls on his console, intending to open a private channel between them, to remind her of her promise not to second guess him, but Gant suddenly shouted, “I’ve got a ship powering up. Way out on the edge of the system, a good thirty astronomical units out. Looks like something in the destroyer class, though I’ve got no recognition sequence on her. She’s not showing any colors.”
A situation summary appeared on one of York’s screens. The unidentified ship was obviously powering up for a short jump through transition. They all watched and waited for a few moments, then Gant called, “Transition flare.”
The unidentified ship quickly accelerated to better than a thousand lights, was in transition for thirty-four seconds, then, “Down-transition,” Gant said excitedly. “Big flare. They dumped most of their velocity, trying to match velocity with Dominant. Dominant isn’t responding, probably dead in space.”
“Well that solves our problem,” the empress said. “Help is on the way, and we can leave with a clear conscience.”
York said nothing, but wondered why the unidentified ship had lain quietly in wait. The voice of the com officer on Dominant echoed hauntingly in York’s ear. “This is H.M.S. Dominant to the unknown ship approaching us. Please identify. Please identify.”
The unidentified ship remained silent, refused to answer his request. He repeated it again and again as the ship approached and matched velocities with Dominant, and though he was obviously disciplined, a hint of fear began to show in his voice at the continued silence. The unidentified ship took up a position about a hundred kilometers off Dominant’s bow, then released a small shuttle.
“This is H.M.S. Dominant to the unknown ship approaching us. Do not approach further until you identify yourself. Please identify. If you don’t we’ll assume hostile intent and—”
A loud crash in the background interrupted the com officer. He grunted, demanded, “What the hell—” Another crash and an explosion interrupted him again.
Gant shouted, “That ship’s firing on Dominant.”
Cassandra asked, “What’s happening?”
“It’s a raider,” York said. “A pirate. They’re on a scavenging run. They’ll blow Dominant’s bridge, try to board her, kill anyone who’s alive, then strip her for ordinance, weapons, anything they can find.”
“Mayday! Mayday! Someone help us. Please—” Another crash in the background.
“Do something,” Cassandra pleaded. “I don’t care about anything else. We can’t leave them at the mercy of those animals.”
Andow and Cassandra both started shouting at York. The d’Hart woman stared at him silently through a gap in the instrument clusters. She was like his crew in that, leaning awkwardly to one side to get some faint glimpse of him between consoles and displays, but smart enough to keep her mouth shut.
“Mayday! Mayday! We’ve been—”
“Ah to hell with it,” he grumbled. “Mister Jondee. Cut that audio circuit, sound general quarters, watch condition red, and tell engineering to stand by for full combat status.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Jondee yelled a little too enthusiastically, and the alert klaxon started screaming at them.
York drifted into that odd, schizophrenic state of mind where he could isolate his fear in an almost separate personality, leaving the cold-blooded killer he needed free to do the work at hand. “Power up,” he ordered. “Gravity up. Shields up.” He settled into his seat under his own weight.
“Anda, where are the drones?”
Gant consulted one of her screens. “They’ve been drifting outward at about five hundred meters an hour. They’re presently out at seventeen kilometers.”
“Go fully active and take the drones out to one thousand kilometers. And compute a short transition hop to the nearspace of that raider—soonest.”
Maggie applied power to the drive and for the first time in days York felt the comforting pulse of Cinesstar’s main engines.
“Stand by forward main batteries.”
Straegga’s ex first officer was working with Stara at the fire control console. “Standing by, sir.”
The raider shuttle had already docked with Dominant. “Mister Stara,” York said. “We’re going to need a boarding party for that raider, and another one for the Dominant. You and Elkiss take thirty marines in One and board that raider after we loosen him up a bit. Tell Palevi and Simorka to take fifty marines in Two and board Dominant. Full combat armor all.”
York had done the same thing to Frank that Telyekev had done to him. He needed an experienced officer as CO for the marines, though Frank was no happier about it than York had been. Frank stood up from the fire control console, left Jakobee in charge and disappeared into the lift.
“Transition in ten seconds and counting, sir. That raider’s spotted us, started to run, leaving his shuttle behind.”
“Mister Jakobee. Put a shot across his bow.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Fire one!”
Cinesstar’s hull drummed as one of the big turrets spit a shell into transition.
“Transition in four seconds, sir.”
The shot flared just in front of the raider. “Mister Jakobee. Watch your defensive stations for incoming.”
The raider would be fast, certainly faster than Cinesstar, but nowhere near as heavily armed. And Cinesstar had the jump on him, was already close to transition, while the raider would have to build speed.
“Three seconds . . .”
The raider ignored the warning shot. “Another shot across their bow, Mister Jakobee.”
“Two seconds. Drones in, sir.”
“Fire two, sir.”
“One . . .”
On one of his screens York watched the second shell explode in front of the fleeing raider. “Transition,” Jondee shouted, and York’s screens froze as they went blind.
“Ten seconds to down-transition.”
York growled, “Maggie, take evasive action. He’s going to try to hit us now. And dump all our velocity when we down-transit. Anda, drones out immediately on transition. Mister Jakobee, kill-target that raider as soon as you—”
The power plant red-lined as Cinesstar’s shields sucked power for a near miss. The raider had taken his shot.
“Two seconds, sir.”
The power plant red-lined again, the hull creaked and whined.
“Transition,” Gant screeched. “Drones out.”
“Incoming,” Jakobee said much more calmly. “Defensive stations responding. I’ve got acquisition, sir. Ranging at thirty-one million kilometers and closing rapidly.”
“All forward main batteries, Mister Jakobee . . . fire!”
Cinesstar’s hull groaned and shook as all four forward turrets slammed shells into transition. An instant later one of the shells flashed by the raider harmlessly, but two more tore off a small piece of his bow, and the fourth punched a hole amidships. The raider went dead in space.
“All stop,” York ord
ered. “But stay alert, don’t trust that raider’s dead yet. Mister Jondee, see if you can raise him. Also see if you can raise Dominant.”
Cinesstar swung past the raider, and it took close to a half hour to swing back and match velocities with the two stricken ships. Gant worked nervously, keeping an eye on the rest of the system for any activity, but their fears proved to be groundless.
The raider captain was nothing like York expected. He sat at his console ramrod straight, humorless, with an almost military demeanor, reminding York that such men were often deserters from one side or the other. “Captain,” he said. “I’m Captain Duart. I must protest this unwarranted attack on a legitimate salvage operation. I and my men—”
York cut him off. “Are pirates. You fired on a disabled vessel, and we fired on you. You can state your case before an Admiralty Court. Stand down and prepare to be boarded. You’re under arrest.”
Duart hesitated, considering his options. “We should discuss terms.”
York shook his head. “Surrender and you’ll not be tortured or subjected to inhuman treatment. Don’t, and I feed you a warhead. No terms beyond that.”
Duart nodded precisely. “Very well, Captain. We surrender.”
York made Duart remain on the screen while he dispatched the two boats. To be safe he held Cinesstar three hundred thousand kilometers off the raider’s stern, and a similar distance from the wreckage of Dominant. It was basically point-blank range for Cinesstar’s weapons systems, but far enough away to give her automatic defenses a fraction of a second to kick in if the raider tried something. It took the two boats nearly half an hour to cover the distance. York watched Duart on one screen, and Frank’s boat approaching him on another. Frank and Elkiss and their marines were about one hundred kilometers from the raider when suddenly Duart’s picture disappeared from his screen, and One blossomed into a white-hot globe of incandescent fire.
