by Stefon Mears
Jacobs’ relief at the realization that his ship’s mage was still in the fight gave way to the insanity of that request.
“He expects me to make my ship an easy target?”
“My master anticipated that question and has instructed me to tell you that he has had to reach far up his sleeve to find this trick.”
Jacobs stared at the panther, considered saying something else, but the familiar vanished in a swirl of smoke. One magician against a host of enemies. Nothing for the captain to do, no way that Jacobs could affect the outcome.
The frustration of it ground his teeth. Ripped tension from his neck down his spine. Clenched his fists tight enough that his nails would have drawn blood had Jacobs not kept them as short as his hair.
But then he remembered that in the days of steel ships, every once in a while, needs of the whole ship would rest on the actions of one crewman, braving a storm to weld a key join or risking drowning to get a turbine turning again while others bailed madly.
Perhaps this was no different.
“All engines halt, Mr. Burke.” Jacobs forced out the breath he had been holding. Sucked in another and said, “But be ready to slam us to full speed on my mark.”
“Captain,” said Jefferson, “Mr. Mancuso is requesting your presence, along with Chief Goldberg and as many members of the ship’s watch as he can bring.”
“Tell him I’ll take care of it as soon as I can. Then wake Tunold and tell him what you just told me. But first warn Chief Jang that I’m going to want all the speed she can give me, as much as that Deception Drive can muster.
“As soon as Mash gives us the word, I want us out of here like we’re fleeing Hell one step ahead of the devil.”
Which, as far as Jacobs was concerned, was not far off from the truth.
◊
Tunold snapped awake the moment his comm pad buzzed. He sat bolt upright, the sheets of his long twin mattress falling around him, one hand slapping the comm pad just hard enough to activate it.
Another man might have felt self-conscious that he was naked to the waist, but Tunold would not have given it a thought even before he began the regimen of daily running and light lifting that had given him his toned, trim physique.
He took the message from Jefferson without wasting words on questions. Goldberg might know something by the time Tunold reached him. If not, Tunold had no doubt he would hear more from Mancuso than he could possibly want to know.
Kristoff Tunold’s quarters had once seemed downright luxurious compared to the accommodations he had dealt with in the military. But after only two days in the actual captain’s cabin, they felt small. The bedroom measured four meters on a side, and the sitting room three meters. Total size probably two-thirds of the space the ship’s captain enjoyed.
And Tunold had never really moved back into the executive officer’s cabin after Jacobs took over the ship once more. All his personal possessions remained packed in his crates and footlockers, making the “social” part of his cabin seem more like a warehouse than a place to entertain guests.
Even the walls remained denuded of the black-and-white landscapes Tunold favored. Only his clothes had found their way back into the places they had occupied for most of Tunold’s time on the Horizon Cusp.
But Tunold wasted no thoughts on reflection or comfort that morning. He showered with his habitual speed, using the dampen-soap-rinse style he had learned in the Navy to conserve water, then threw on and organized his uniform to inspection perfection.
Then and only then did he jog out the door and trot at long-distance speed for the Security Deck and Goldberg’s office.
At least the Old Man didn’t demand to deal with this himself.
◊
Jacobs dug through his three-dimensional charts, zooming and twisting the depictions of space at high speed. He dragged a miniature image of his ship along prospective routes, canceling and re-routing as he scrutinized the final two decans of space between the Horizon Cusp’s current position and Venus. Any moment now Machado would send up the flag and Jacobs needed the course ready and perfect.
He needed to get his ship away from the zuglodons without dragging it back into the no-fly zone. He wished he knew what Machado had in mind. He wished he knew the position of every zuglodon between where he was and where he needed to be. He wished he knew if those Navy boys had called for reinforcements.
There!
Jacobs found what he needed. If the Horizon Cusp dove thirty degrees as it gained speed, then leveled off seventeen and banked soft to port for thirty seconds, hard to starboard for ten, then came up three degrees and straightened course for Venus, they should be safe.
Assuming nothing went wrong.
Jacobs dragged the tiny map image of the gryphon-shaped ship one more time through his intended course, a scarlet planning trail following it as he did. He then set his palm on the updates pad.
“This is Captain John Jacobs,” he said. “Update course.”
The rubbery pad sounded a low gong that would also notify the helm and ex oh's stations. The scarlet trail turned bright blue, then faded and the tiny Horizon Cusp returned to its current position.
Jacobs had done everything he could.
The rest was up to Machado.
Seconds passed at the breakneck speed of ice ages. Jacobs tried not to drum his fingers, tried not to let any of his nervousness leak through to the crew. They were nervous enough. Jacobs could see the sweat on their brows and shirts, the strain in their faces and hands. He looked up through the dome at the slowly approaching zuglodons.
That they still moved slowly was a good sign, he knew. They moved fast when attacking. Jacobs remembered that all too well.
Then the zuglodons began to spin their snake bodies, flaring their tentacles out wide.
“Captain, we’re being hailed,” said Jefferson.
“Captain, the zuglodons are moving off,” said Grabowski with almost a cheer. “They’re spiraling on an attack vector at something that isn’t showing up on my scans.”
That’s it, Mash. You can do it.
“Hold position, Helm,” barked Jacobs. “Communications, do not respond.”
“It’s the destroyer, Sir. The Morganstern. They’re begging us to get to the lifeboats and swearing they’ll save as many as they can as soon as they—”
“Sir! The destroyer has opened fire on the zuglodons!”
Now Jacobs wanted to cheer, but held his tongue. Particularly because any misses might endanger his ship.
Machado’s familiar swirled into shape in front of Jacobs. “Now,” it said and shifted back into smoke.
“Helm! Punch it!”
“Now the cruiser has opened fire. And the zuglodons are moving to engage!”
“Calm down, Scanners. Helm, report.”
“Five klicks from battle now, Sir, steady on the new course...ten.”
“Scanners, report. And I don’t mean that battle.”
“The battle is all I have to report, Sir. The zugldons appear to have called for reinforcements. A half-dozen more are moving to join. But they’re all ignoring us. And the cruiser and destroyer are too busy to pursue.”
Steady, Old Man. Save your people.
“We’re not in the clear yet. Hold that speed, Mr. Burke.”
They have weapons. You have a magician on the brink of collapse.
Jacobs yanked off his captain’s hat, but resisted the urge to slam it down on his console. Still, his fist clenched with the urge to swing it or throw it. Something. Anything. Anything to distract Jacobs from what he had just done: left good men to fight overwhelming odds for nothing more than doing their duty.
Certainly Liatos could have given them a pass, could have even escorted the Horizon Cusp safely most of the way to Venus, all while safeguarding Earth’s precious restricted zone.
But damn it, the man had done his duty. And Jacobs understood duty all too well. Which was all that kept Jacobs from turning his ship around, flying his crew back on a suicide mission
to save better armed and armored ships from possible destruction under the tentacles of those great space monsters.
Jacobs’ Navy days were long behind him. His duty was to his ship and his own mission now.
But leaving men to die cut him to the core. And now he was doing it for the second time on this thrice-damned flight.
The Naval ships might yet outfly those great beasts. They might even have defenses specific to fighting zuglodons. That was a possibility. It would explain why they were willing to fly so near the hunting ground, even understate it on the charts.
Jacobs told himself that he believed that as he forced one more deep breath down his gut. Then he put his hat on and got back down to business.
◊
With a soft metallic click, Machado closed the lid on his censer and cut off the flow of incense. He forced his tired legs to carry him toward his workbench. The spells were cast. Piggybacking on what Cromartie had set up for him, Machado had drawn the zuglodons to attack where they believed the Horizon Cusp to be. As they moved in, he had deceived the scanners on the Navy ships to see the Horizon Cusp getting torn apart.
Both illusions took tremendous effort to pull off. Neither would last longer than perhaps a minute. But they also helped hide the smaller deception that made the Horizon Cusp look like another zuglodon.
The illusions also lasted long enough for the ships to open fire on the zuglodons, trying to save the civilians. The zuglodons would take care of the rest.
Their own fault for opening fire on a civilian vessel.
Machado stretched his arms, then grabbed a towel from his bench to mop away the sweat from his face and neck. He would need a shower before his hair could be saved.
“Master,” said Saravá, “there is still the matter of the message from Donal Cuthbert.”
“In a minute.” Machado pulled a second towel out of the workbench, and a small throw pillow. These he took over to Cromartie, who lay passed out in the middle of his circle. Machado slipped the pillow under the Initiate’s head and set the towel by his hand.
“Now, what does Cuthbert want badly enough to...”
Machado remembered the alarm that had triggered as he was busy defending the ship.
“Saravá, conta.”
His familiar knew what he wanted to hear. In Cuthbert’s voice, the panther began to speak.
“Magister, if you receive this message that means that Tai Shi Li Hua has challenged me to the Comórtas Draíocht and defeated me. She wants to prevent me from telling anyone that she has been building long term mental controls into Mr. Mancuso. She worked slow and deep, so they’ll be difficult to notice, and she’s using deception magic to further conceal them. She’s done this as part of a plot to make magicians into a ruling class.
“Because she has beaten me, I can no longer confirm or deny this. And I know that sending you this message violates your direct order not to tell anyone about the matter was between us. For that I offer a formal apology. I have further violated your order by sending this message to Mr. Mancuso himself, though I doubt her mental control will allow him to believe it.”
“That is the end of the message,” said the ghostly onça.
“He must have bound the spell into his familiar last night. Keyed it to release if he lost a duel, used some of the dissipating power to deliver it.” Machado shook his head. “Kid’s a genius. An absolute idiot in how he does things, but in thaumaturgy terms, a genius. If he’s still alive.”
Exhausted as he felt, Machado wanted to hunt down Tai Shi and deal with her himself. But that would have been something Cuthbert would have done.
No. Machado knew what he needed to do.
◊
Tunold leaned on Chief Goldberg’s desk, trying to keep sympathy in his voice. Of course, he knew full well that the effort accomplished nothing more than modulating his growl into a quieter growl that sometimes came out menacing. But the chief looked more exhausted than Tunold felt.
Well, more exhausted than Tunold had felt before fury took over at finding out he had been allowed to sleep through an attack on the ship. He would have choice words for the captain when he next saw him.
But for now, he needed the chief.
“I know you’ve had a short night and a rough morning. Mine’s not a lot of fun either. But our A Number One pain in the ass passenger — and new part owner so quite possibly our boss — wants you along with me when I go see him. And you know that the captain says about keeping customers happy.”
“I know that I don’t want to drag my ass along on a royal visit just to find out someone stole his cufflink. Let me send a lieutenant.”
“Enough!” Tunold stood straight and put his fists on his hips. “Are you coming? Or do I have to make it a direct order?”
“You wouldn’t.” Goldberg said the words, but the narrowing of his eyes told Tunold he wasn’t sure he believed it.
“The captain himself said you’re going. Now on your feet or I get the pleasure of assigning you a punishment for insubordination.”
Goldberg cracked his neck, then, grumbling words he wisely kept too quiet for his executive officer to hear, grabbed the arms of his chair and hauled himself to his feet.
“Sir. Yes. Sir. Chief Security Officer Saul Goldberg reporting for duty. As ordered. Sir.”
“Wiseass. Come on.”
The two men proceeded to the door when Tunold was surprised to see the doorway fill with the heavy frame of the ship’s mage. Mash looked so spent and sweaty Tunold wondered if he had run all the way here from his workshop.
“Christ, Mash,” said Goldberg. “You look like you’ve been pulling double shifts on the Flying Dutchman.”
“I feel like I have. Mancuso’s in trouble.”
“That’s where we’re going,” said Tunold. “Come on.”
“There’s more. You need to have men find Cuthbert and take him into protective custody.”
“Protective custody?” said Goldberg, suppressing a laugh.
“Now. The anti-caster cell. Have men wake Cromartie and key the cell for Tai Shi’s signature. He’ll know how to do it. You’ll find him on the floor of my workshop.”
“You’re serious,” said Tunold.
“Bring people with us,” said Machado who looked as though he were lecturing about magical safety. “As many as you can spare. This may get bad.”
“Chief,” said Tunold.
“On it.”
“Mash, you better catch me up.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Machado approached Mr. Mancuso’s suite alongside Tunold. Goldberg and a dozen men and women of the ship’s watch followed in formation.
“May I take lead?” said Machado. “This is a matter of thaumaturgy.”
“Mancuso called us. Let me take lead. That’ll give you room to make any discrete checks you want.”
Machado almost stopped walking. He would never have expected that level of subtlety from Tunold. But they reached the door, and Tunold knocked while Goldberg organized his people. Machado twiddled his thumbs and waited, only half his mind on what they were doing. The other half waited for the report he knew was coming and what he hoped it would say.
The door opened. A blonde woman. Stevens, as Machado recalled. Business assistant.
“Come in, gentlemen. I believe you know Mr. Davis.”
Davis, the other blond in a suit. This one a man. Social assistant, if Machado remembered correctly. Past Stevens and Davis the suite looked in good shape, from the clean furniture in the main room to the assortment of hors d'oeuvres on the coffee table and array of alcohols on the table between the recliners under the porthole.
Machado had to ignore a rumble in his empty stomach at the savory smell of the meats and cheeses on that table.
The door to the bedroom was closed. Mancuso had to be in there. No sign of Tai Shi, which was a help.
Stevens invited them in, and as they passed her, she said, “We were expecting the captain.”
“The captain is
unavoidably detained on ship matters,” said Tunold.
“It has been a busy morning,” said Davis.
Goldberg brought half of his team into the suite, with the other half taking up positions in the hall.
“Where is Tai Shi?” asked Tunold.
“We haven’t seen her this morning, but after Cuthbert’s disturbing message...”
Stevens continued talking, but Machado’s attention shifted entirely to his familiar, who had phased into the suite through the bulkhead.
Mind-to-mind, Saravá said, “Donal Cuthbert is unconscious but alive, and under a geas. He now rests in the anti-caster cell, which Aaron Cromartie has tuned according to your orders. Aaron Cromartie has now gone to rest. He apologizes and says he can do nothing more for now.”
“I wasn’t sure he could handle that much,” said Machado, in the same mental fashion. “Has the doctor been called?”
“Yes, and a dozen members of the ship’s watch stand guard.”
Machado thanked and dismissed his familiar to go about tracking down Tai Shi. By the time he tuned back into the conversation, Tunold was saying. “...understand.”
“Mr. Mancuso,” said Stevens, “refused to believe that he could be acting under anyone else’s control. Fortunately, a contingency in some of our business deals includes a stipulation that any credible accusation of magical influence immediately halts all business, and requires that the alleged influenced person be isolated until the truth can be determined.”
“What determines a threat’s credibility?” asked Goldberg.
“Well, the formal definitions go on for three pages, but when a man who saved Mr. Mancuso’s life on multiple occasions alleged that his girlfriend has been mind-controlling Mr. Mancuso, I immediately declared it credible according to a codicil of emergency provisions.”
“I seconded,” said Davis. “That meant we needed a respected third party. Though we do have many options on the ship right now, Stevens and I both agreed that the captain was the best choice.”
“But you say he is unavailable,” said Stevens. “I guess we can slide you in under the ‘designated party’ clause, if you can verify that you are empowered to speak on his behalf.”
