Kinsman's Oath

by Susan Krinard

  "I must return to the bridge," she said. "I said that I wouldn't make you a prisoner, but I require your word that you will remain in this cabin until I send for you."

  His word. He did not know what humans regarded as keeping one's word. He only knew that if he gave a promise to this woman, he would hold to it at the cost of his life.

  "Will you do as I ask, Ronan?"

  "I will."

  She gave him a brisk nod and left the cabin. Her scent lingered long after she had gone, and he knew, for all her protests, that she had desired him.

  He had told Cynara that va'laik'i might choose their own mates for offspring or pleasure. Cynara's crew was made up of many unrelated Houses, forming a new House unto itself as happened when a be'laik'in on Walkabout selected as Will and attracted other be'laik'i to her.

  If Cynara had little opportunity to mate except among her crew, she might look for partners outside it—even at one ne'lin and forbidden. So he dared to imagine. No discouragement from her could quell such conceits, nor shame. Only the Eightfold Way had the power to make him remember what he was.

  He knelt upon the cool deck and closed his eyes, seeking the serenity that would not come.

  Damn you, Kord. Cynara slammed her fist against the wall of the lift, cursing her friend in all the creative ways Tyr had taught her.

  There was no time to make sense of what had happened with Ronan in his cabin, no time to think through her reaction to his astonishing invitation.

  Poseidon. Was it so easy for shaauri to suggest mating with total strangers? What had made her believe that she could create an instant friendship with a man raised by aliens, and that her sexual attraction to him would have no consequences? How much of Ronan was human and how much beyond human understanding?

  If not for the urgent message about Kord's reckless act, she might have learned the hard way. But the crisis only postponed what must eventually be faced.

  Now that crisis demanded all her attention. She raced to the bridge and took her chair, staring at the image spread across the screens. Janek stood braced against a deck railing with a look of grim satisfaction on his face. The Pegasus rang with the klaxons of high alert.

  "Status," she snapped.

  "A shaauri darter has triggered the torpedoes O'Deira placed outside the wormhole," Adumbe said, stepping up behind her. "The Pontos was well clear of the explosions, but we estimate that it is only a matter of minutes before the striker follows through."

  "And Kord isn't going to make it back before our friends arrive." The rudderless fool, disobeying her orders and taking it upon himself to rig the torpedoes at the risk of his own life. The shuttle was barely a blip on the monitor, much too near where the striker would emerge from the wormhole.

  Kord had been wrong, but so was she in assuming that the shaauri wouldn't pursue Ronan into human space. She bore the blame. If she'd had the sense to question Ronan more thoroughly…

  She called engineering. "Chads, what's the state of the drive?"

  "Not ready, Captain," the older woman's voice answered, "Give me five minutes."

  "Acknowledged. Montague, lay in a course for VAL03. Toussaint?"

  "We have enough firepower to hold off a striker for a short time, Captain D'Accorso-fila," the Dharman said, "but only as a delaying tactic."

  'That's exactly what I had in mind. Stand by." She turned to Adumbe. "Feasibility of the Pontos riding piggyback on the slingshot field?"

  The Nemesian nodded his understanding. "I would estimate the chances of Kord's survival as even, Captain. In theory, it should be possible, but in practice the field's boundaries may fluctuate—"

  "And dump Kord out. That's a risk we'll have to take. Balogh, patch me through to the Pontos… Kord, you'd better be listening. We'll delay the striker as long as we can, but I won't risk the ship. There won't be time for you to dock. You'll be riding piggyback, and that means you have to get inside our field before we run. Burn out the shuttle's engines if you have to, but get your fenek back here."

  "Acknowledged, Captain."

  No apology in Kord's voice, but she hadn't expected it. She and Taye followed the shuttle's trajectory as it flew at top speed toward the Pegasus. The mouth of the wormhole burned with sudden light, spewing forth the shaauri striker like the sea birthing a typhoon.

  'Toussaint?"

  'The striker will be within torpedo range in two minutes, Captain."

  And the Pontos was stuck in between.

  "Stand by. Balogh, open a channel to the striker. Let's hope their captain comprehends Standard." She made her voice into a flat, almost mechanical drone. "Shaauri vessel, this is the Alliance ship Pegasus. You have entered human space. Be advised that we will be compelled to fire if you continue on this course."

  No answer. The striker forged on, closing the gap.

  "They will not respond, Captain."

  She heard the voice with a start of disbelief and turned toward the door. Ronan stood on the bridge as if he belonged there, gazing at the viewport.

  He'd broken his word, but she'd been fool enough to accept it. There was a moment of stillness on the bridge as the crew became aware of the intruder, and then each went back to his or her duties.

  All except Janek. He drew his sidearm—the one his observer status permitted him to carry—and aimed it at Ronan.

  "Stand down, Janek," she commanded. "Hold him, but don't shoot unless you're attacked."

  "I warned you—"

  "I know the shaauri," Ronan said quietly, disregarding his danger. "Since they have entered human space, they will not be deterred by threats."

  "They're after you," Janek accused. "If we give him up, Captain, there won't be any need for a fight."

  "Enough. Ronan, is there any way to stall them?"

  He met her gaze with that deep inner stillness. 'They disdain long-range weapons, but they will not hesitate to attack with disruptors. It would be best if you do as Ser Janek suggests."

  "Surrender you, in human territory?" She laughed. "Toussaint, prepare to fire as soon as the striker's within range."

  The tension on the bridge was almost tangible. Ignoring Janek, Ronan had moved to stand just behind Cynara's chair. She could feel him with her body and her mind.

  "In range," Toussaint said.

  "Fire at will."

  Silent and deadly, two of the Pegasus's precious torpedoes streaked toward the shaauri ship, bypassing the Pontos. The striker's disruptors caught one of the torpedoes before it had gone half the remaining distance. The second torpedo hit and was brushed aside like a gnat on a seabull's tail.

  "Damage?"

  "Minor, Captain," Taye said. "The striker has decelerated fractionally, but the Pontos is nearly within range of their disruptors."

  If the shaauri considered the shuttle a worthy target. Why should they, when their weapons could take out the Pegasus just as easily?

  "It is sh'ei-lostajoi—the Reckoning," Ronan said, giving the human word a solemn emphasis. "They will show their contempt and approach within your range of fire before they attack. If you were shaauri, you would do the same or forfeit any chance of honorable victory."

  "You mean it's a test," Cynara said. "A test of our courage."

  "And of your willingness to die. In old days, one enemy would usually retreat before the shedding of blood."

  "Very tidy," she said. "Why do they grant us this honor when they generally destroy human ships outright?"

  "Because you are in human territory, not an intruder in theirs."

  'They risk little by getting close to a ship one-tenth then-size."

  "That is why they will wait, reckoning you of small consequence."

  "And perhaps forgetting that we are human. If we attack first—"

  "They may destroy you with all honor." Cynara felt Ronan's weight rest upon the back of her chair. He leaned close to her shoulder, watching her monitor. "There is a way you may delay them until your warrior reaches your drive field. Do you have access to detailed imag
es of striker-class ships?"

  Quickly she called up the scant information Alliance ships had gathered over the years and displayed the most detailed visuals one after another. Ronan studied them and stopped her at the third image.

  'There," he said, indicating a specific point on the striker's forward keel. 'This is the location of their sensor array and the section most vulnerable to attack. If you fire your weapons at the last possible moment, the ship will be temporarily blinded."

  Cynara breathed a prayer of thanks and sent the data to Toussaint's station. 'Toussaint, lock in on these coordinates and prepare to fire torpedoes on my mark."

  "You're taking a great risk," Janek said. "If—"

  "If Ronan has betrayed us, you have my permission to shoot him. Taye, is Kord close enough?"

  'Ten seconds, Captain."

  "Montague, turn about and stand by to activate the drive."

  "Captain," Toussaint cried, "the enemy is firing!"

  The Pegasus shuddered as the disruptor beam struck the hull.

  "Montague!"

  "Turning, Captain." The Pegasus began to wheel about, away from the shaauri vessel.

  "Five," Adumbe said. "Four… three…"

  "Fire."

  An intense shaft of white light illuminated the striker's image on the aft screen. A warm, strong hand gripped Cynara's shoulder.

  "Shuttle in range, Captain," Adumbe said.

  "Montague, go!"

  The young woman's fingers flew over her console, and at once the Pegasus vibrated with the almost inaudible whine of the slingshot drive as it sprang to life. The striker disappeared from the ship's sensors, and the screens revealed a distorted view of stars, dancing like the mysterious lights Dharman sailors professed lay deep in the waters of the Indigo Sea.

  "Kord?" she asked Adumbe.

  "He's safe." The relief in his voice spoke for everyone on the bridge. Cynara allowed herself a moment to breathe and glanced at the hand still resting on her shoulder.

  Ronan's hand, scarred from a hundred unequal battles far more personal than the one the Pegasus had so narrowly avoided.

  "Thank you," she said, shifting from beneath his touch. He took the hint and moved back, deftly sidestepping Janek and his gun. A cold draft blew down Cynara's collar.

  "Adumbe, damage report."

  "The shuttle bay suffered a hit which has disabled the door mechanism. A repair crew is on its way."

  "Charis, are the engines holding?"

  "Just barely. She's running at half capacity and showing the strain. I advise deactivation at the earliest possible moment."

  "Acknowledged. Montague, ETA to VAL03?"

  'Ten minutes, Captain."

  Now was the most critical moment of their escape. They had outrun the striker, but once the slingshot drive was deactivated, the Pegasus would revert to its prior velocity. The secondaries weren't powerful enough to keep it ahead of the shaauri vessel. If the Pegasus could hold out for another ten minutes, until they'd reached the wormhole…

  "Captain!" Adumbe said. "We've lost Kord."

  "Lost him? Poseidon's balls—"

  'The drive field fluctuated and dumped him," Adumbe said, frowning over his console. "The Pontos is intact, but she won't be able to reach us unless we deactivate the drive."

  Cynara punched her fist on the arm of her chair. If she turned off the drive and waited for Kord to catch up, the striker's engines might be powerful enough to close the distance before the Pegasus could enter the wormhole.

  Once in the wormhole, the drive could not be used at all without dire consequences.

  "Montague, shut it down."

  She felt the subtle change in the ship as it switched to the secondary drive. At this speed, the Pegasus wouldn't reach the wormhole for nearly an hour.

  "Kord? Copy that?"

  "Yes, Captain."

  "We've obviously got a problem. Once you get to us, you won't be able to dock."

  "I'll find a way, Little Mother."

  "You have one hour, and pray that the shaauri don't catch up."

  He acknowledged, and Cynara visited each of the bridge stations, sharing a joke with one crew member and a bit of encouragement or praise with another. It was impossible to forget Ronan's presence, though his only movement was the turn of his head to follow her progress. How could anyone stand so blasted still?

  The hour passed slowly, but it passed. Repairs on the shuttle bay doors continued. Lizbet Montague reported their imminent approach to VAL03, one of the three wormholes in the human Valhalla system. It wasn't until the last few minutes that the striker entered sensor range, and Cynara knew they were out of options.

  Kord was out of time. "I have the Pontos on visual," Adumbe said.

  "And it can't dock. Kord?"

  "Captain?"

  "You'll have to piggyback again and hope you don't fall off this time."

  "You plan to use the drive in the wormhole?"

  His question held as much alarm as she'd ever heard from him. "The striker's right on our tail. It'll catch us if we don't."

  Capture was the one fate they couldn't risk. She didn't have to ask Adumbe their odds of survival. If the slingshot drive were activated within a wormhole, the interference between the two would cause the wormhole's collapse. It was only a question of how quickly, and if the Pegasus, and the shuttle, could make it out before the wormhole imploded.

  "Adumbe?"

  "Kord is within field range."

  "Good water, my friend," she told Kord.

  'To you also, Little Mother."

  Cynara cut the link. "Montague, enter VAL03 and activate the drive."

  The Pegasus plunged into the wormhole. Walls like molten glass closed around the ship in a spinning, writhing tunnel. Cynara watched the aft screens. The striker was a solid darkness against the chaos of color and light.

  As the slingshot drive kicked in, the glass walls seemed to warp and collapse. A vast roaring, lamentation of death beyond imagination, erased every other sound. The ship's hull trembled, plates threatening to pull apart. Mere seconds stood between the Pegasus and obliteration.

  With a final burst of reckless speed, the Pegasus shot out the other side with hell nipping at its heels. Valhalla's sun filled the viewport like a beacon of safe harbor. The wormhole vanished in a searing holocaust, taking the striker with it.

  Someone let out a cheer. Others followed, each according to his or her custom, and Cynara let them have their celebration. She grinned at Ronan in the broad, unladylike fashion her mother had so often deplored. He returned the smile—not much of one, to be sure, but a smile nevertheless.

  "Thank you," she said. "You gave us the advantage we needed."

  "You are… welcome," he said. "That is the correct response?"

  "It is."

  To her private amusement, Janek had holstered his sidearm, though he didn't appear ready to claim undying friendship with their guest. As the clamor died, faces more curious than hostile turned to Ronan. Lizbet Montague stared at him with wide, almost worshipful eyes. Taye Adumbe, for all his scholarly detachment, looked ready to burst with questions.

  There were too many yet "unanswered. The Pegasus could hold its position while Charis and her crew completed full repairs. Plenty of time to resume where Cynara and Ronan had left off.

  She met Ronan's eyes and knew he was remembering their last exchange. She had the perfect opportunity to start over on more formal footing.

  "I'll be escorting Ronan back to his cabin," she said to Taye. "You have the bridge. Send Kord to me as soon as he's able to dock."

  Her second-in-command straightened from his station, eyes glittering behind his visor. "There is another problem, Captain," he said. "It appears that we have once again lost the shuttle."

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  Cynara's stomach clenched and the deck rotated under her feet. She reached within for her own strength and Tyr's, aware of the eyes always watching for weakness or i
nstability. Toussaint, Janek—how many others? Kord, Adumbe, Lizbet, and Zheng were the only ones she knew she could trust absolutely.

  Yet she sought out the man she knew least—Ronan, whose impassive face showed a deeper understanding than any of the crew who called Kord friend.

  She tore her gaze from his. "Was he caught in the wormhole?" she asked Taye calmly.

  Adumbe was silent for a time as his visor flickered with symbols only he could see. "No," he said. "It appears that the force of the wormhole's collapse ejected the Pontos from our field at high velocity."

  "Can you find him?"

  "Affirmative. His comlink is nonfunctional, but I've traced the shuttle's transponder signal to the fourth planet in this system, known as Bifrost."

  "Then he may have been able to land."

  "It is more likely that he lost control of the Pontos. I'm sorry, Captain."

  She shook her head. 'Tell me about this planet."

  "Bifrost was once the site of a small mining colony, in spite of its marginal suitability for human habitation. It was abandoned years ago when the shaauri blockade prevented the colonists from receiving critical provisions. Scans indicate that Bifrost is currently in its long winter, average diurnal temperature of minus fifty degrees centigrade."

  'Then we need to move quickly." She returned to her chair and tapped her fingers over the console. A holomap of the star system formed in the space above it. "Scholar-Commander, tell Cargomaster Basterra to have the Thalassa outfitted with environmental suits and ready for departure in fifteen minutes." Her muscles felt like springs, compelling her from her seat to pace the deck. "Montague, I need a pilot."

  "Yes, Captain."

  "Captain-fila," Toussaint protested. "A man should accompany you."

  "Your advice is noted, Toussaint. Lizbet, come with me. Taye, have Zheng meet us in the shuttle bay." She sprinted for the door. Someone stepped into her path.