Linesman

by S. K. Dunstall

  “We have to ship them off,” Orsaya said. She frowned at Ean. Why? He hadn’t done anything yet. But he would, as soon as he could work out what would help Abram and Michelle the most. “Markan won’t give us the time. I didn’t even think he’d let me walk out like he did.”

  “We’re ready for Markan,” Auburn said.

  Orsaya nodded, then frowned again. “Galenos doesn’t want an escalation any more than we do. He’ll hold off until the last moment.” Which gave Ean some room to figure out what to do. He hoped. “If we can hold Markan off, we might all get out of this with nothing more than embarrassment on the Alliance’s side.”

  Why should his side be the one to be embarrassed? “We haven’t done anything,” Ean said. Orsaya’s side had kidnapped him. “Incidentally, you should know by now that kidnapping doesn’t work.”

  Orsaya ignored the second part and attacked him on the first. “The confluence is ours. Your people jumped here.”

  “That wasn’t their choice.”

  Orsaya looked at Ean. Her ageless eyes seemed to look right into his soul. She looked to Grayson. “It doesn’t matter which ship initiates the jump?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Ean didn’t need the lines to know what she was thinking. If Wendell could control his ship and keep jumping with it, then the Lancastrian Princess and the Eleven were virtual prisoners.

  He froze, panicked, and felt Rossi’s lines leaking amusement.

  Should he tell her he had to sing to keep them together? It wasn’t really the truth because they’d all been in the void when he’d started singing last time. But it would make her think she couldn’t do it without him, and that would give him some time to work out what to do.

  “You know that I have to—” But they’d stopped outside the viewing station. Ean recognized it from the vids.

  His heart fluttered, and for once, it wasn’t due to the lines. He was here. Soon he would experience the confluence in all its glory. He stepped forward.

  Orsaya said, “Wait until we have it secured.”

  He waited.

  The lines of the fleet made music in his head. All was well with the six ships. No one was shooting. No one was threatening anyone. He didn’t realize he’d joined in the chorus—or that he’d extended it to include the lines on the station—until Rossi and Orsaya both turned to frown at him.

  Not long after that, soldiers started herding linesmen out of the viewing station. An angry, fighting mob, because none of them wanted to leave—although many of them were hindered by breathing problems. Some of them attacked the soldiers. At least two linesmen went down stunned, and another bled from an open wound on his temple.

  Ean recognized two tens. Nina Golf from House of Aquarius and Geraint Jones from House of Rickenback. Jones didn’t even notice Rossi. Ean couldn’t tell how Rossi felt about that. He sang under his breath to the lines he recognized as Rossi to find out.

  “Get out of my lines, bastard,” Rossi said, and would have lunged for him, but one of the soldiers guarding them restrained him.

  Orsaya watched with interest.

  “Sorry,” Ean said, and he was sorry for his rudeness. Sometimes he forgot that human lines—like Rossi’s—were different.

  If any of the linesmen had noticed the ruckus, Ean didn’t see. They were gone before it was over.

  “All clear,” one of the soldiers said, and Orsaya stepped aside to let Ean and Rossi go first.

  Ean forgot about the others. This was it. He made his way across to the huge Plexiglas area that looked out over the confluence.

  Nothing.

  Disappointment dropped him to his knees. The back-beat of line eleven was stronger here. It was hard to breathe.

  One of the soldiers hurried forward with an oxygen mask. Ean waved them away.

  Rossi stared out at nothing, his face suffused with something that looked like hate.

  Ean couldn’t feel anything.

  Failure tasted bitter.

  Even the lower lines could feel the confluence. Yet Ean couldn’t. Maybe Rebekah Grimes was right. Maybe he was defective.

  Or maybe he was another Fergus. As blind to the confluence as Fergus was to everything but line seven.

  He sat on the floor of the viewing deck and tried to pull himself together. Right now, he wanted a shower.

  Michelle would understand that.

  Michelle would understand his disappointment, too, but she wouldn’t understand being pulled halfway across the galaxy when her ship was supposed to be in control. Michelle—and Abram—wouldn’t be sitting around doing nothing.

  Right now, Ean could have done with Michelle beside him, smiling her wry smile, cheek curving into that dimple. Or Radko, telling him the void was messing with his mind again.

  Rossi blinked and came back from whatever private hell he’d been in. He stared at Ean. Ean kept his face impassive but couldn’t stop his disappointment leaking into the lines.

  Rossi’s mouth curved upward in a malicious smile. “Confluence a little underwhelming, Linesman?” He emphasized the “Linesman” as if it left a dirty taste in his mouth.

  Even dressed in casual clothes, he looked like a poster boy for the cartels. Tall and straight, the light gleaming off his bald head, the shirt emphasizing the muscular arms, the wide Plexiglas window with space and the confluence behind him. He could have been posing, but he wasn’t. He fitted here. Ean didn’t.

  Ean looked out into space and didn’t deny it.

  Then, unexpectedly, Rossi got angry. “You have no idea what you have, and you are disappointed. Disappointed.”

  He stepped close, crowding Ean, so that Ean was forced back against the Plexiglas. “You make me sick with your tainted lines and your music and your crazy protectors and six ships following you around. Then you come here and have the cheek to say you are disappointed.”

  Two of Orsaya’s guards pulled him away.

  “I hope your precious line eleven is disappointed in you, too.”

  Line eleven probably was.

  Even restrained and forcibly held back by the two soldiers, Rossi still looked far more a linesman than Ean ever would. Looks weren’t everything, and Ean was making a place for himself, despite what the other linesmen thought of him. He’d discovered line eleven. He didn’t need to explain himself to Rossi. So why did he say, “I didn’t expect to be deaf to it.”

  “Deaf to it.” Rossi lunged forward, and the guards lost their hold momentarily. If the glass had been any thinner, Ean would be breathing space by now.

  They snatched Rossi back roughly, so that he banged his face against the window hard enough to cut his lip and draw blood.

  But Rossi seemed to have lost any fight. He stared at Ean speculatively. “You really can’t hear it?” and hope made his face brighten.

  Ean shook his head.

  Then the light died out of Rossi’s face. “But you can hear line eleven?”

  “Of course.”

  Rossi spat blood. “How many lines eleven?”

  “Just the one, but there’s something—” Wrong, Ean had been going to say. Part of line eleven was stuck in the void.

  Rossi shook his head.

  What if it wasn’t his line eleven?

  Ean started to sing. If they stopped him, he would fight them. He had to know.

  Line eleven—his line eleven—surged in with its own song. Clear and strong enough to bring Rossi to his knees. Ean would have fallen, too, except he was already down.

  The echo in the void didn’t respond. Ean widened his song and finally received in reply the lost, lonely wail of a totally different line.

  When he could breathe again, Ean said wonderingly, “There’s another line eleven out there.”

  “Of course there is, sweetheart. Only out here we don’t call it line eleven. We call it the confluence.
”

  Line eleven was a beat. A metronomic thump-kerthump that had nothing to do with the glory and the ecstasy that everyone felt about the confluence. Line eleven couldn’t be the confluence.

  Rossi laughed at Ean’s expression. “If you’d paid attention, you would have known that a while ago. It hasn’t been the best-kept secret. Why do you think you are here?”

  He’d assumed Orsaya wanted the Eleven.

  Didn’t she? But as he gazed at her, then at Rossi, Ean realized that wasn’t what she wanted at all. She wanted the ship stuck in the void.

  “Bright,” Rossi said.

  He was an imposing man, Jordan Rossi. Big in size, big in confidence. If Ean hadn’t met Michelle first, Rossi would have overwhelmed him. If he hadn’t heard Rebekah Grimes take on “crazy Ean Lambert,” he would have been cowed by the brooding way Rossi glared at him. Two short weeks ago, he’d have been like the apprentices in the cart.

  Ean laughed grimly to himself. Two weeks ago, he’d been a different person.

  “What’s so funny?” Rossi demanded.

  He needed to clear his mind of what had happened today and work out what to do. He needed a shower.

  He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Orsaya said frostily, “A shower?”

  He didn’t particularly mean a shower here, right now. “I think better in the fresher, and I have to work out how to rescue the line.” And how to prevent Orsaya’s getting it once he’d done it.

  “Do your work here, and you can spend as long as you like in the fresher.”

  “Unbelievable,” Rossi said.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  JORDAN ROSSI

  ORSAYA’S COMMS BEEPED. She flicked it on.

  Rossi heard the tight vowels of a Yaolin accent. She switched her line to private and listened, frowning. Halfway through, she started moving her free hand in intricate patterns, twitching as if she couldn’t keep still. The second time she did it, Rossi realized her soldiers were watching intently. If he were Ean Lambert, he could probably listen in and hear what secret message they were getting.

  Lambert looked as if his world had fallen apart around him. And the lines—no, Rossi was imagining the lines reacting to that.

  “I hear you,” Orsaya said finally, and as she clicked off, beckoned to Lambert. “Get that ship for me. Now.”

  “I can’t—”

  Orsaya’s comms buzzed again. She answered it on silent, nodded once. “I hear you,” again.

  This time she inclined her head toward Auburn. “Get Lambert away. I’ll meet you at the shuttles. Take Rossi with you.”

  While they were busy pandering to Lambert, Rossi could work out how to take control of the line that was rightfully his. First, he had to get away.

  Two soldiers came at him from behind, dragging him forward and toward Auburn, who’d grabbed Lambert. He struggled.

  They made it to the door.

  Only to be stopped by Markan and two teams of armed soldiers, weapons raised ready to fire.

  Auburn stepped back. One step, two.

  “Admiral Orsaya,” Markan said. “Gate Union has had a change of government. Confluence Station is under my command.”

  Orsaya blew out her breath in a mannerism that reminded Rossi of Wendell. “You’re a fool, Markan. You are dancing to strings pulled by Redmond and Sandhurst and ex-Alliance worlds like Aquacaelum. You start a war we don’t even know we can win. In less than a year, worlds like Roscracia and Yaolin will be secondary citizens in a union we helped to start.”

  “Yaolin maybe,” Markan said. “Not Roscracia. We will lead Gate Union, for we control the lines.” He glanced out the Plexiglas of the viewing station, where the Eleven and its fleet of ships hung in the dark space. “And once we have that ship out there, along with our own alien ship, the Alliance is finished, too.”

  Orsaya’s people were outnumbered two to one. Rossi hoped she would go quietly. He eased toward one side of the room, trying not to draw attention to himself. One of Markan’s soldiers raised her weapon.

  He stopped.

  Orsaya’s comms beeped. She raised her arm, then looked questioningly at Markan.

  “Go ahead,” Markan said.

  It was Captain MacIntyre. “I have just heard from headquarters, ma’am. Admiral Markan is now in charge at Confluence Station.” He sounded apologetic. “I will be following Markan’s orders, ma’am.”

  “You’re a fool,” Orsaya said to Markan again.

  Rossi refused to admit he agreed with her.

  Gann burst into the room. “You need to get that ship now. They’ve had the coup at—” He stopped when he saw the guards.

  “Ahmed Gann,” Markan said. “Who would have guessed,” but he didn’t look surprised. He glanced away, across to Ean, then to Rossi. “Kill the linesmen,” he told the soldier who had raised her weapon before. “Both of them.”

  For a moment, Rossi thought he’d misheard, but the soldier tightened her finger on the trigger.

  And jerked back, spraying the beam across the ceiling as Orsaya’s blaster hit her.

  Orsaya’s people picked off Markan’s soldiers in a long, sustained sweep of fire. They had to have started firing almost before Markan spoke.

  “Out, out,” Auburn yelled, and the Yaolins raced toward the door, the two linesmen and Ahmed Gann shielded in the middle of them.

  Beside him, Rossi heard Lambert’s voice raised in song and felt it on every single one of his ten lines. Stupid bastard. What a time to try to talk to the lines.

  Then he realized what Lambert was doing.

  He was singing the alarms open.

  Every alarm on station went off. Minor alarms, like servicing warnings, right up to the major ones—hull breach, asteroid proximity, life-support failure, and engine meltdown.

  It was a clever move. On a ship or space station, there was only one thing to do when a major alarm went off. Get to the nearest emergency station and suit up.

  Orsaya’s guards were out the door while Markan’s remaining people were still reacting.

  THIRTY-NINE

  EAN LAMBERT

  THE STATION WAS full of noise, the lines were full of noise. Ean couldn’t sing and run at the same time. He tripped once, and Jordan Rossi dragged him up.

  “Don’t stop,” Rossi gasped, when Orsaya would have stopped at the nearest set of emergency suits. “Not a problem. Bastard’s doing it.”

  Ean didn’t need Rossi’s rescuing him, and he didn’t need Orsaya, either, but Rossi’s grip was like steel. He kept running. At least Orsaya wanted him alive, and it was obvious the Roscracians didn’t.

  Ean was going to learn to sing while he ran. As it was, all he could do was listen.

  Through line five he heard orders go out from six Gate Union ships.

  “Weapons, armed.”

  “Prepare to fire.”

  A platoon of Roscracian soldiers rounded the corridor in front of them. Ean turned to run the other way, found himself grabbed by Orsaya and forced to continue the way they were going.

  He heard Captain Wendell leaning on the lines, keeping them open. “For God’s sake don’t fire on the Alliance ships. You don’t know what the Eleven can do. And if you do fire, have a jump ready.”

  At least Captain Wendell understood.

  Two of Orsaya’s people fired on the approaching Roscracians. Only two? A white, reflective sheet billowed out in front of them. The sheet heated, but none of the blasters came through. Orsaya’s soldiers turned into a doorway under the cover of it. They sealed the door behind them.

  Through the lines—from MacIntyre’s ship—a single voice said, “Fire.”

  A burst of noise from the Lancastrian Princess knocked Ean against the wall. They had fired on the Lancastrian Princess.

  Rossi hauled him upright. “I should leave you for Markan to kill.�
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  They escaped out into another corridor and continued running.

  Through line five, Captain Helmo said, “Return fire.” Then, “Sections. Report,” and the reports started coming in. “Hull breached, sector 11. Contained. Hull breached sector 12. Contained. Sector 6. Fine.”

  He slowed down to sing. Why didn’t Abram jump? He could take the Alliance ships somewhere safe?

  “Keep moving.” Auburn prodded him from behind. “We’ve only a small window before they lock the whole ship down on us.” She pushed them both against the wall and fired back the way they had come. “Or we get killed.” A blaster beam sizzled past close enough to feel the heat.

  “They have to stop firing on the ship.” Ean tried to stop again, to sing. Rossi grabbed his arm and dragged him.

  They turned another corner. A door at the far end opened.

  The lead soldier tossed a small disk down the passage. It rolled to the end and stopped as a team of Roscracians poured through the door. Ean didn’t see what happened because Orsaya’s team turned into a passage halfway along. No one followed them.

  Orsaya’s people knew where they were going. They must have had this route planned out long before they’d arrived on station. How long had Orsaya known she would need this?

  He stopped halfway along the passage, gasping for breath.

  The soldier behind them walked on his heels. “Keep going, or we’ll be trapped in here. If that happens, they’ll pick us off like target practice.”

  Rossi shoved him forward.

  The lights went out as the doors at either end of the passage clicked shut. After a few seconds, Ean’s eyes adjusted to the dim emergency lighting.

  Admiral Markan had locked down the station.

  Despite Rossi’s pushing him from behind, despite the guard in front pulling him, Ean couldn’t move. He leaned against the wall and dragged in lungfuls of air.