“True, Nikophoris.”
“Fine. It’s agreed.” Dee pressed the call button for the lift. “Let’s go.”
“Uh—the captain? Bonita? Me? Don’t you have to get these peoples’ permission?”
“Dr. Hernandez has enthusiastically agreed to supervise Life Sciences in my absence. Eamon doesn’t really want you to go by yourself, not that he said so in so many words. He did initial the temporary transfer form with a particularly sentimental flourish, I thought.”
“What about me?”
“You don’t want to go alone, either.”
How very true. “It is a good idea. But remember what happened the last time you were off the ship.”
“I got wounded. It wasn’t pretty. Bonadem is a civilized world.” The car arrived, its doors swishing suggestively open. “And you’ll be there to fix me if anything happens. Let’s go.” Dee stepped in and waited.
Roxy hefted her duffel and looked up and down the empty corridor. “Right,” she said and joined her friend. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Five
“I’ve changed my mind,” Pyr announced. It was the first time he’d spoken since coming onto the bridge. He had been silently watching the view screen and thinking until Linch interrupted his concentration to tell him the ETA to Calrod was two hours.
Pyr stretched his long legs out before him as he lounged in the bridge’s center seat and looked up at the main screen through a fringe of hair. He kept his gaze on the silver-streaked tunnel of the FTL distortion field, waiting while a circle of eyes turned questioningly on him. Linch and Pilsane were in front of him, between the big screen and his chair. Mik was behind him at the engineering post. Simon and Rhod flanked him at the communications and ship’s functions stations. The Raptor was running silent, but Simon was monitoring the sensors for other ships’ chatter. There hadn’t been any so far. Taylre was with Mik at engineering. Pyr had been listening to their quiet technical conversation, amused because the pair were having a wonderful time discussing an interface procedure.
“All right,” Linch finally said after even the engineers had tuned their attention to Pyr. “What have you changed your mind about?”
“Denvry. We aren’t going to kill Denvry,” he elaborated. “We are going to take the time to be civilized after all.”
Pilsane pounded a fist on his console. “Why?”
“What if he has Axylel?” Linch’s quiet question undercut Pilsane’s annoyed growl.
“Then we’ll kill him,” Pyr answered, enjoying Pilsane’s uncharacteristic show of frustration. He wondered if it was a Rust reaction at last.
“Oh, good.” Linch went back to manning the helm.
This left Pilsane free to jump out of his chair and angrily approach the center seat. Simon, Rhod, and Taylre waited impatiently as well. None of them dared defy the captain for fear of being quickly returned to rot in the chattel hold with the rest of the pirate crew. Each hoped Pilsane would do the shouting for them. Mik waited too, hands hovering over his board. It wasn’t likely he’d join in any verbal discussion, but his interest pressed on Pyr’s shields. And Pilsane’s as well, Pyr supposed. Mik was nothing if not fair.
There was heat in Pilsane’s normally cool gray eyes when he confronted Pyr. “The crew,” he began warningly. “A raid?”
“Did I promise?” He watched the navigator’s fists clench at his sides, then Pilsane’s hands relaxed, one finger at a time, while he fought his expression back to its usual placidity. Pyr knew he shouldn’t be amused at Pilsane’s trying to regain his calm in the face of an unperturbed captain… but the role-reversal happened so rarely. “I suppose you’d like an explanation,” he offered graciously.
“Give me something I can go along with, Captain.” Pilsane’s voice was still tight. He glanced past Pyr to Simon and Rhod and Taylre.
Dangerous men, Pyr agreed with him silently.
“Give us something we can all go along with,” Pilsane urged.
“Politics.” It was a dirty word, but sometimes one had to use that sort of language in front of the children. He took a deep breath to avoid laughing, and wished he could shake this sudden almost giddy mood out of his head. Along with the raging headache he was attempting to ignore. Maybe it was all a Rust reaction; defensive walls slipping inside all their minds, letting useless bits of personality surface.
“The Bucon Empire,” he explained to the smoldering Pilsane and the others who silently surrounded him. “It is unstable at best right now. The government is concerned with keeping the Systems in the dark. The trading houses are sniping away at each other, and the slavers are fighting over the remains of the trading houses that fall. And the pirate’s guild is playing a waiting game while things go from bad to worse.”
“But the pirates are restless,” Linch added, with his back still turned on the confrontation. “Greater Pirates’ League is pushing the Bucon pirate guild hard to throw in with their warlords.”
Pilsane shot a glance between Pyr and the back of Linch’s head. He nodded thoughtfully.
Pyr continued. “There are lots of big operators looking sideways at each other, openly agreeing to keep the Emperor’s Peace, but each one is looking for the slightest excuse to increase their power, maybe even head for the throne. At least three of the major operators have a chance, if the Manalo family would all drop dead and get out of their way—and if they can find excuses to get some of the other houses to follow them. No one is strong enough to hold the throne, so a coup will ultimately hand the Bucon Empire over to the pirates and then to the League, never mind the so-called alliance with the United Systems. You may have noticed that the Raptor is not exactly popular with the Bucon pirate guild.”
“Our not being members of the guild might have something to do with their not liking us,” Mik offered.
“Might,” Pyr agreed. “And if we take out a mid-level operator like Denvry, someone is going to get the bright idea of proclaiming us a threat to the stability of the Empire. Hunting down unaligned border-lord scum like us will be used as a rallying point to draw in supporters for someone eager to try for the throne. Do we really want that?”
“Just yet,” Linch added.
“We’re going to have to take out whoever has Axylel anyway,” Pilsane reminded them.
Pyr nodded. “Whoever has Axylel dies. Then the guild might come after us, but it’s not a certainty. They’ll see the situation with Axylel as taking care of our own business. Can’t come down on somebody who is only playing by their rules; hard to get any enthusiasm for a jihad going that way. If Denvry has the boy, we take him down. If not, we negotiate and keep the guild off us a while longer. It improves our chances of keeping the border and ourselves intact. I’m in favor of it.” He glanced around the bridge. “Anyone opposed?”
No one bothered to complain, but Pilsane said, “What about the rest of the crew? We can’t keep them locked away forever. Some of them are good with locks, Captain. And we can’t live without raiding—we all need the Rust. Denvry might have Rust.”
Pyr had a great deal of trouble keeping from pounding his good fist against the chair arm. Tell me something I don’t know, boy! Find me some way out of this hell that’s overtaking the galaxy. He kept the thoughts and frustration to himself and said mildly, “We will give the crew a raid—after Denvry. There are plenty of slavers and raiders in this part of the Empire to choose from.” He cocked an eyebrow at Pilsane. “Fair enough?”
Pyr smiled as he watched Pilsane force himself to relax. After a pause, Pilsane smiled back. “Fair,” he agreed. “Slavers and traders are better pickings, anyway. I’ll convince the crew on that point.”
“As long as I make the Denvry visit short and sweet,” Pyr added. He kept on smiling even though the muscles of his face hurt. As Pilsane resumed his post, Pyr looked up at the passing starfield. He tried to let go of the pain and fall into the rush of light, to remember what he knew of meditation. Maybe the exercise would help the time pass a little more peacefully.<
br />
———
“Excuse me,” Pyr said politely, holding the hand weapon steadily on the surprised trio seated near the blazing fireplace. “Which one of you is Denvry Edin?” The door guard was peacefully asleep at his feet. Pyr stepped over him to enter, heavily armed, but not necessarily trying to look hostile. Ship’s biosensors had pinpointed the location of the well-guarded mansion’s main room, and the number of occupants. Pyr noticed that besides the two men and the woman, the big room held a great deal of heavy furniture made of woods and woven fabric, a huge stone fireplace, and one enormous window.
He was glad he’d donned his hat and coat for traveling down to Calrod. It was winter on the northern part of the mountainous continent where Denvry made his headquarters. The bay window took up most of one wall of the room, and leaked cold air into the room despite the environmental controls and the heat from the fire. The view showed craggy cliffs and blue-granite mountains; bare bones of rock at this height, mostly overlaid with snow. A driving wind howled noisily around the fortress and an icy glow of house shields surrounded the grounds. No intruder should have been able to walk in.
“Your shielding’s intact,” Pyr assured the round-faced man who took a step forward.
“I doubt that.” He had a soft voice, and an air of innocence that made him seem harmless. “I’m Denvry Edin. Captain Pyr, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I thought I recognized the hat.”
It surprised Pyr to discover that it was his headgear and not his reputation that proceeded him. He didn’t comment. He wanted to sit down, but stayed firmly planted where he was, weapon held before him. “My engineer has a way of making pinpricks in shields,” he explained. “It’s a hobby I find useful. I just stopped by to make a small trade.”
Denvry looked justifiably suspicious, but he smiled brightly. “You could have called first, Captain.”
“I’m in a hurry. I want a woman,” he went on. “Here’s the trade I’m offering. You want to stay in business. Your fleet is in orbit around Calrod. So’s my Raptor. The Raptor can see your ships, but your ships don’t know where to look for the Raptor.” And he had no intention of giving Denvry time to call any of his ships to verify this. All their transmissions were being jammed anyway. Mik estimated they had four minutes before sensors deciphered the Raptor’s cloaking frequency. “Give me the woman and you stay in business. Fair?”
Denvry hesitated, eyes on the weapon. Then he gestured toward the woman seated in one of the deep chairs by the fire. “The only woman here is my sister, Captain.” She was sitting very stiff and straight in her chair, a tumble of black hair framing her tense face. Her gaze moved from Pyr to Denvry the moment Pyr mentioned wanting a woman. She did not look as if she had any confidence in family affection.
“You’ve got a nasty reputation,” the second man spoke up. He rose slowly from his chair, empty hands spread before him.
Pyr touched his hat brim with his numb hand while silently cursing his luck. “A well-earned reputation. Admiral Ral Manalo, isn’t it?”
The man nodded, dark eyes warily amused above a hawk nose that nearly matched Pyr’s own for its arrogant slant. It was damned inconvenient to meet a powerful member of the Bucon emperor’s own family at a drug trafficker’s stronghold. Pyr kept the sigh in his chest; walking in on private negotiations was so rude. And he’d probably have the Bucon Security Service after the Raptor for this little breach of etiquette. “I want to talk to the woman,” he assured them. “Nothing else interests me.”
“But why, Captain?” Manalo wondered, voice and smile mild. He had deep laugh lines around his eyes, and a reputation for being just as ruthless as Pyr of the Raptor. His expression was openly speculative. Pyr knew Manalo was a supporter of the alliance with the United Systems, and that the hypocrites of the Systems were trying to curtail the traditional Bucon trades. Manalo wouldn’t normally be found in the same room with Denvry. A week ago, Pyr would have happily settled into manipulating whatever was going on between the Security Forces commander and the drug dealer—or at least turned it over to Pilsane, who reveled in conspiracies. But thanks to a love bite, he was left with no way to control the future, only time enough to make a few more enemies.
Manalo was known to approve even less of independents—but these were uncertain times. “If we could be of some assistance, Captain Pyr… ?” he trailed off suggestively.
“Perhaps a glass of wine,” Denvry added, suddenly sociable in the face of the admiral’s interest.
“No time right now.” Pyr’s gaze bored into the woman’s. She went pale, and slowly stood, taking several steps toward him.
“Denvry,” she said to her brother, pleading despite being drawn by Pyr’s telepathic call.
Denvry took her arm. “How did you get in here, Captain? I’ve heard stories that you’re a tech wizard—”
“All of them true,” Pyr interrupted.
“A sort of piratical match for Shireny,” Manalo added. “If you have the teleportation device that rumor claims, you could be a very useful asset to the Empire. I think we should have a long talk, Captain Pyr.”
The fire blazed at their backs, and the trio he held in weapon range waited; speculatively, nervously, angrily. Pyr touched his hat brim again. “I wish you luck, Admiral.” He dismissed Manalo from his attention and spoke to Denvry. “Do I take the woman with me, or do I start blowing your fleet out of space?” He wanted a modicum of cooperation from Denvry, especially with the Security Forces admiral as a witness.
She tried to pull away from her brother’s grasp, but Denvry wasn’t about to let her loose. “What do you want with me?” she demanded shrilly.
“A replacement for Axylel, perhaps?” Denvry suggested. He smiled benignly at his struggling sister. “An alliance with the family, Captain? Should I be flattered?”
Demons! Why must they always be trying to cut deals? “No,” he answered flatly. “I’ve had a stroll through your stronghold. You have quite a few sleeping guards, but she is the only woman here. So I suppose your sister is the one selling secrets—yours and others—to Paal. And you know how Paal loves to talk.”
Denvry’s hand dropped from his sister’s arm, leaving red marks on pale skin. He gave her a hard look, the innocent air completely erased from his expression. “Hanni?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped back. “I wouldn’t—”
“And after you promised,” he scolded. “She has this chronic problem,” he confided to Pyr, “of not knowing where her best interests lie.”
“I’d be happy to teach her,” Pyr offered. “No charge.”
Denvry accepted gracefully, backing away from the woman, leaving Hanni alone in front of Pyr. She started to whirl toward her brother. Pyr reached out and grabbed her around the waist. He thumbed the recall button on his bracelet. The Door opened. He pushed Hanni through without waiting to see the looks of astonishment on Manalo and Denvry’s faces as the rumor was confirmed.
———
“Hi,” Mik said, smiling at the attractive woman.
Pyr pushed Hanni forward as Mik came around the control console that took up most of the small room. They stopped in front of the huge engineer. Pyr curled his arm around Hanni’s shoulder, keeping her immobile while Mik’s plain face veered out of focus. He kept perfectly still, hiding surprise and dizziness from the engineer.
“That took longer than expected.”
The words echoed in Pyr’s ears. He heard each individual sound, but it took him several seconds to string them together into a coherent sentence. As the words sorted themselves out, Mik’s face came back into clarity, expression unchanged. Good. “Here.” He pushed Hanni toward Mik.
“Hi,” Mik said again, draping an arm over her shoulder. The gesture was almost friendly. She stared up at him as he added, “Don’t look so scared. It won’t hurt any more than it has to. I promise.”
Pyr clumsily pressed another stud on his bracelet.
“Bridge,” Linch respon
ded immediately.
“We’re leaving.”
“Going where?”
“Pilsane’s choice. Run open for now. I want to see what follows.”
“Very good, Captain.”
Pyr returned his attention to Mik. “Use the room.”
Without a medic?
The room’s fast and impersonal. Pyr didn’t have the energy for this kind of job, or the taste for that kind of rape. He used to make a habit of killing any telepath he found who did. Better for everybody, yes?
Mik looked sympathetically at the frightened woman. “Non-combatants,” he muttered. He sighed, and stunned her before flinging her unconscious body over his broad shoulder. “Why do I get this job?” he complained.
“Because you don’t like it,” Pyr answered. Mik nodded his agreement and headed for the door. My thanks, Mih-ahr, Pyr thought after him.
You’re welcome.
The words came into Pyr’s mind as an avalanche growl. The crushing, rumbling debris of thought blocked out any awareness of the small, cluttered room. When his head cleared, Pyr was seated on the deck, his head hanging between his upraised knees. He was watching his hat, which lay on the deck in front of him. He became acutely aware of the smell of leather and the taste of bile in his mouth. The pain was hardly noticed at all.
How long have I been like this? He wondered as he struggled to rise to his feet. Was this fit punishment for ordering the torture of the semi-innocent? He stood, and kicked the hat across the room. Vi would come along to pick it up eventually. Better get to the bridge, he told himself. He needed to find out where they were heading. To pretend he had some control of the ship, if not his bodily functions.
And for the ancestors’ sake, he pleaded with his body as he walked through the door, don’t puke your guts out once you get there. Someone might think you’re hung-over, Captain.
Chapter Six
“Dear Eamon,
“I’m tired and lonely and depressed. I feel lost. Maybe I really don’t belong outside our little metal box. MilService reality doesn’t seem to have a lot in common with planet-based reality—so, yes, I’m as disoriented as you thought I’d be in that way. Plus, nobody mentioned I’d have to work with other koltiri before I got here. Does the term shunning have meaning for you? You’d think I was Amish instead of Jewish on my daddy’s side. I thought that might happen. The great big world outside is also full of death, which, unfortunately, I am too used to.”
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