by Diane Duane
“Partly because there are Ship-clan sympathizers among them,” Gurrhim said, “and my loyalties are known. Partly because we have other connections. Much dilithium has been quietly diverted from its source in the Artaleirh system to other worlds farther out, for other purposes, with the help of trading companies on ch’Havran and elsewhere which I control. But more likely because the Artaleirhin know me to be, in my way, as they are: like a shaill of mixed blood, short, scrappy, and hard to ride, but more robust than the narrow-muzzled, thin-legged breeds that the purebreds have become in this latter day, creatures that have to be cosseted and fed their meat chopped up in little pieces. They know I have been doing in my lands, insofar as possible when one actually lives on one of the Hearthworlds, as they have been trying to do, farther away: running their lives as they wish to, with an eye to old law, local ways, commonsense justice. The Artaleirhin have become increasingly used to making their own way, and now they wish to do so as a freer people, in association with an empire, but not anymore as its subjects or slaves. They see Bloodwing’s lady as a way out of their troubles. They are willing to be a sword in her hand…for a while. At least they are willing to gamble, with their lives, that she will be useful to them.”
She was tempted to smile at his old-fashioned manners. Nothing would bring him to speak Ael’s name, which had been thrice written and thrice burned, and so did not exist, even though he was apparently willing to deal with her, even at one remove. “Why do you bring this news to me and not some other?” Arrhae said at last. “For all the sensibleness of your answer, I do not think it is merely a matter of Mak’khoi.”
“No,” Gurrhim said, standing. “It is because I feel you are one of very few people here who did not come with a preordained agenda. Oh, I know you are tr’Anierh’s creature, or must seem to be. But you seem to me to be in a position—and of a disposition—to judge rightly. One who will know what properly to do with this information to make the greatest difference. From what I hear, and what little I have seen of you, you seem like one who truly loves our worlds—our worlds as they ought to be, as they were once and can be again, and would be willing to risk something of value for them. Mnhei’sahe,” he said, “you understand that, I think.”
She nodded, uncertain why her eyes were starting to fill.
“And you do not flinch when you hear the word,” Gurrhim said with satisfaction. “I take that as a good sign.” He bent over to pick up the cloaking device, turned it over in his hands, pressed one of the patches on it.
Then he put it, heavy and cool, in her hands. “It has selfed to you, now, and will know your body readings and mask them,” Gurrhim said. “It will extend range to cover me out to the lifts, then collapse the field when I am out of range. This patch”—he turned the sphere over—“will access the documentation. Hide it away, now, and do not use it unless you are in great need. Quiet night to you.”
And he turned and left. Astonished, Arrhae watched him out the door, holding the thing close to her body.
Then she swallowed and hurried away to find a place to hide the cloaker, already composing in her mind her message to McCoy and trying to work out how in the worlds she was to get it to him.
Disruptor fire and phaser fire whined all around her, the deck shook with yet another explosion, and the air stank of burning plastic and scorched metal—and the other smell, the one she had not ever wanted to scent again: blood, Rihannsu and human, shed, mixed, burning. But there was no avoiding it, and the more she had tried to, the more the certainty of this moment had been pursuing her. Better to get it over with. She put her hand out behind her for one more phaser to set on overload and throw down that corridor, but no one put one into her hand. She turned to look over her shoulder at him.
He was not there. No one else was, either. No one stood behind her, no one waited to back her up in that charge around the corner and down the last corridor that lay between her and her desire. She was all alone. Her heart beat wildly. Mockingly, a voice said to her, If I must go alone… Her own voice.
Her eyes flew open. She saw only darkness.
The terminal on her desk chimed softly, and the sound of it reminded her when and where she was. Ael let out a breath, listened for a moment more to her heart hammering away in her side, and then sat up on her hard couch, pushing the silks away. For a moment she sat there with her fists clenched. Then she got up, made her way to the desk in the darkness, and touched the display.
“Ae.”
“Khre’Riov,” tr’Hrienteh’s voice said, “I am sorry to wake you, but you insisted.”
“I did, and I am glad you did. Who is it from?”
“One of the go-betweens.”
She sighed. “Send it here, if you would. Then I will come up to the bridge. No point in my seeking more sleep this shift.”
“I can give you something, if you like—”
Ael shook her head. “I would only fret my way through it. Better to save the drugs for when we truly need them.”
“Very well, khre’Riov,” The voice was the one tr’Hrienteh used when she was humoring a difficult patient, and Ael had to chuckle at the sound of it, for she had been hearing it a great deal recently.
“I am all right,” she said. “I will be with you shortly.”
“Out,” tr’Hrienteh said.
Ael sat down behind the desk and waited for the message to display its usual multiple screenful of gibberish. “Analyze,” she said to the computer, “and decrypt.”
Obediently it did so. The message was unusually brief, even by the standards of the communiqués that came from this particular source.
SIX FLEET LIGHT CRUISERS DISPATCHED TO ARTALEIRH NOW OFFICIALLY RECOGNIZED AS “MISSING.” NINE GRAND FLEET VESSELS HAVE BEEN RECALLED FROM PATROL ROUTES IN THE ZONE NEAREST LAESSIND / RV TRIANGULI AND ARE NOW PROCEEDING TO ARTALEIRH TO INVESTIGATE/INTERVENE. ACCORDINGLY, TYRAVA HAS DEPARTED TO MEET THEM.
ADVISE IMMEDIATELY AS TO YOUR INTENTIONS.
She swallowed. This was it at last, the hinge moment on which everything would ride. Her heartbeat had been slowing, but now it began to speed again.
Ael held very still and looked across her quarters at the chair by the wall and the barely seen shadow that lay across its arms.
“Computer,” she said, “record reply. I will come immediately. Will advise as to transit time. End message. Encrypt.”
And there her voice failed her.
“Send?” the computer said.
Her mouth was dry. “Send.”
The computer acknowledged the order, but she barely heard it. Ael got up and went to the ’fresher, put herself into it on its shortest cycle, and barely noticed that either. A few minutes later she was uniformed, out of her quarters, and on the way to the bridge.
Tr’Hrienteh was still there, working at the comms board. “I begin to think,” Ael said as she swung down from the lift to where the master surgeon sat, “that you are starting to enjoy this job.”
Tr’Hrienteh looked up at her. “I will enjoy it more profoundly still when my replacement is fully trained,” she said, “but even he has to sleep occasionally. What orders, khre’Riov?”
“Get me Ortisei, if you would be so kind,” Ael said, sitting down in her command chair. “We shall see if time has brought Captain Gutierrez wisdom.”
A glance at tr’Hrienteh’s expression told Ael what the surgeon thought of that possibility as she made the connection. A second or so later, the front viewscreen lit to show Ael the captain’s center seat, and Gutierrez in it, looking weary. “Captain,” Ael said, “a fair morning to you—assuming that our schedules are still running somewhat in tandem.”
“Somewhat,” Gutierrez said. “I’ve been trying to reach you for some time. Is there a comms problem?”
“I will investigate,” Ael said, “for we have had our share of those.” And that at least was true, if not specifically in this case. “Have you spoken to the commodore?”
“I have.”
“That is
well,” Ael said, “for I can wait no longer; we must return to RV Trianguli.”
“The commodore,” Gutierrez said, “when I spoke to him six hours ago, instructed me to attempt to dissuade you from making such a move right now.”
“You may try, but you will achieve no result you desire, Captain. I am sorry.”
Gutierrez looked at her in silence for a moment. “That being the case,” he said then, “Commodore Danilov has instructed me to accompany you wherever you go. If you would have your navs officer coordinate with mine, we can leave immediately for RV Tri, if you insist on going now, and be there within two standard hours.”
“I do insist,” Ael said. But how interesting. Either Ddan’ilof has realized that he sent too few ships with Bloodwing to enforce any order, or someone in Starfleet or elsewhere has become willing to allow this matter to come to a swifter conclusion. I suppose I should be grateful that for once we agree…but it is unusual…
She glanced at Khiy. “Arrange matters with Ortisei’s helm officer immediately,” she said. “And meanwhile, Captain, I thank you for your assistance. Is there anything else needs saying before we go?”
He gave her what for a human was a fairly dry look. “Don’t do anything cute.”
“Why, Captain, if I understand your idiom correctly, you have nothing to fear. Returning to RV Trianguli is all I desire.” For the moment…until what waits there has been dealt with. And after that, we will not linger.
“I’m delighted to be able to oblige you,” Gutierrez said. He glanced at his helm officer. “Feeding you coordinates now, Commander. If you would pace us at warp seven?”
“So ordered. I thank you, Captain.” She gave him about a finger-joint’s-depth of bow and then glanced sideways at tr’Hrienteh, who killed the connection.
“And now for it,” Ael said, straightening, as the warp drive came on line and Khiy took Bloodwing out along the course indicated. “All crew to alert stations. Run the priming checks on the weapons systems but do not bring them up to hot status, not yet. Shields up, and have the cloak ready, but do not under any circumstances implement it until I give the word.”
She glanced around her cramped little bridge and saw everyone bending to their instruments with the familiar looks of concentration, and a little more besides: excitement. It was beginning to stir in her, as well. “Aidoann,” she said, “I have a few things to set in order. I will be in my quarters for a short time, and then down in engineering, if you need me.”
“Yes, khre’Riov,” Aidoann said and smiled with that feral little look of eager preparedness that Ael had come to depend on over time. It was very unlike Tafv’s old calm, which had always set in harder the more excited he got.
She sighed. Very unlike. And she thought, as she got into the lift, How strange. This is the first time I have thought of him today. Not so long ago he would have been my first thought after waking.
He is finally beginning to slip away from me.
But is this a bad thing?
In her quarters, Ael moved around, putting away those few things she had taken out of their storage cupboards over the past couple of days’ quiet time—the clumsy cast-ceramic bird figurine Tafv had made as a present for her when he was little, the old hard-copy notebook from her days in the Colleges of the Great Art—and folded away the couch. Then she slipped around to sit at the desk again, and found the terminal’s screen blinking with the notifier herald that indicated another message waiting for her. Apparently it had been waiting long enough that the audio signal had turned itself off.
“Analyze,” she said, “and decrypt.”
The characters on the screen descrambled themselves, leaving her looking at another very short message. It was from Jim.
For once the name did not bring the customary smile to her lips as she read the message. Ael leaned on her elbows, laced her fingers together, leaned her chin on them, and looked at the screen.
It is not too late to change my mind. Though doubtless it would irk poor Gutierrez, despite the fact that we would be following Ddan’ilof’s wishes.
Yet here she could see the commodore’s hand at work, and she did not trust his motives. She trusted Jim’s, but at the same time the captain was subordinate to Ddan’ilof, and had little choice about obeying his orders. Though if the captain agreed with the commodore’s reasons…
After a moment Ael unlaced her fingers and reached out to touch the comms control on the display. But then she stopped herself.
They do not know what I know about Artaleirh…or about Tyrava. And I have already told those who are waiting for us that I am on my way.
I cannot do as he asks. And just now, I dare not tell him why. It must wait.
“No reply. Store,” she said.
“Stored.”
Ael stared at the blanked screen for a moment more, and then got up and went out, making for the engine room and one last consultation with tr’Keirianh.
In the dim late-night lighting of the corridor aboard Gorget, Arrhae pressed the door signal one more time. She was starting to get impatient, and letting it show for the benefit of any scanner. She was just lifting a fist to bang on the door when it slid open.
Tr’AAnikh stood there in rather charming disarray, barefoot, breeches pulled on hastily, and one of his sleeping silks draped around his torso for modesty’s sake. His eyes widened at the sight of Arrhae. She swept straight past him into his cubbyhole, taking it all in at a glance—in fact, it was hard not to, it was so small: couch-pallet, silks, clothes cupboard, a very minimal ’fresher. As the door shut she turned to face him again, wearing an expression of careful disdain. “I have decided,” Arrhae said, “how I may after all allow you to do me a service as penance for your recent crude behavior.”
“You have? I mean, ah, yes, you have,” tr’AAnikh said, running a hand through his hair as if trying to push it into some kind of order, and failing.
“Yes. Now straighten up and attend me, tr’AAnikh. You have been running documents back and forth several times each day from your mistress’s office to Ambassador Fox’s, I understand.”
“Yes, noble deihu,” he said, looking more bemused every moment.
“Very well. It will be morning in a matter of an hour or so aboard their ships. I require you to deliver this package to the ambassador’s office for me, along with whatever else you would normally be taking there on your first errand.”
She thrust the film-wrapped box she had been carrying at him, and tr’AAnikh took it and stared at it. “What is it, noble lady?”
“As if that’s any of your business,” Arrhae said. “Or as if I need to explain myself to such as you. It’s a flask of ale. I was rather abrupt with the poor doctor the other evening—more so than necessary, in the face of what he intended as a courtesy. And good behavior should be reinforced, even when it’s aliens and barbarians evincing it. He has a taste for ale, apparently, and I’ve enough of the stuff in my suite to swim in if I chose. I can easily enough spare him a bottle. So see to it that this comes to him without delay. The ambassador’s assistant will manage it.”
“Uh,” tr’AAnikh said.
“Without delay,” Arrhae said, her eyes locking with his, “or you’ll smart for it. Your mistress asked me how I wanted you punished for your behavior. I’ve given her no answer yet. If you prove dilatory in this, I’ll think of something with great speed. Now be about it.”
And very, very slightly, as he bowed to her, she winked at him.
The bow got caught for just a fraction of a second, then went deep. “Noble deihu, I will attend to it instantly,” tr’AAnikh said.
Arrhae sniffed and swept out of the tiny cabin, hearing behind her, as the door closed, the sound of someone starting very hurriedly to get dressed.
Now, she thought as she made her way casually back to her suite, the matter is in the Elements’ domain. Let Them speed the message to where it needs to be…
She had barely made it inside and shut the door before a dreadful noise e
rupted in her suite, and as far as she could tell, everywhere in the ship. Her first horrified thought was that she was already betrayed, that someone had scanned that bottle preparatory to beaming it out. Ffairrl came immediately out of his little galley-room, where he had been preparing breakfast.
“What in the worlds is that?” Arrhae said, not having to work very hard to sound frightened.
“Security alert,” Ffairrl said. “The level just below battle stations.” He looked pale.
And then the terminal on the desk in her office started chiming urgently for attention.
Arrhae swallowed once, then went in and touched it awake. “I-Khellian,” she said.
“Deihu—” The face looking at her from the screen was one she did not know, a young man with light hair, but the uniform was intelligence green-sashed black. “Are you all right? Is everything well there?”
“Yes, everything is fine, except for that dreadful noise,” Arrhae said. “What’s amiss?”
“Someone has shot the Praetor Gurrhim tr’Siedhri,” the young officer said. “We are checking on everyone in the delegation while the ship is searched for the perpetrator and the weapon. Please stay in your quarters until the search is complete, deihu, and assist the search party when they arrive.”
“Of course. But the Praetor, is he…”
“Living still. He is in the infirmary. But his injuries are severe, and the surgeons are uncertain whether they can save him…”
“Thank you,” Arrhae said, and touched the connection off.
She looked up and saw Ffairrl looking in the office door at her. Her mind was in turmoil. “You heard that?” she said.
“I could not help it, noble deihu.”
“Terrible,” she said. “Terrible…” She walked out into the main room again, while one thought burned hot in her brain: Whoever tried to kill him will find it all too easy to finish the job in the infirmary—assuming the surgeons themselves are not even now being told to do so, by action or inaction. Either way, he will not survive if he remains aboard Gorget.
