Dragon Ship

by Sharon Lee

  “Think so,” Clarence returned thinly around the fuff of escaping breath as he tugged his webbings into place, muttering as he did—no, not muttering, but talking into his comm gear.

  “More news, Pilot,” he broke in, “from Guide Seventy-Nine. She says that against usual protocols we’re being given to another controller for flight direction. We’re to expect the next info from Orsec Twelve.”

  “What’s an Orsec?” Theo wondered.

  Joyita looked up. “Orsec appears to be Orbital Security, a division of the Ynsolti military.”

  “Military?” Theo bit her lip. “Clarence, query your seventy-nine on this cross-traffic. Maybe they’re only smugglers…”

  “Pilots,” came Bechimo’s voice, “approximately three minutes to the first potential interception. I believe we may be facing an extraordinary threat. Pilot Waitley, we shall need to test several key items, which may take one of the main boards off line briefly.”

  Theo felt her stomach, already roiling, tighten. She danced a calming exercise in her head, and said, “Then we need Kara’s board live.”

  “I have anticipated that need. The back-up piloting board, on its own circuit, is now in the control loop. Kara ven’Arith, please place your hand on the palm plate.”

  Kara looked to her and Theo saw on her board that Kara’s board light was blinking Available.

  Do, Theo signaled.

  Kara drew a breath and put her hand on the plate. “Ouch!”

  “Pilot accepted,” said Bechimo.

  “Acknowledged,” said Kara, shaking her hand slightly as she scanned the now live controls.

  “Pilot O’Berin. We are performing a security check on your board. Please lock it to your palm, and then remove the key.”

  “Pilot?” Clarence asked Theo.

  She met his eyes, but it was Rig Tranza’s voice she heard, Gotta trust your ship, Pilot Theo; she’ll take care of you, if she can.

  “Do it,” she said.

  He moved quickly then, slapping the palm spot and pulling his key—the key that had been Win Ton’s.

  “Excellent. Pilot O’Berin, please hand your key to Pilot Waitley.”

  The intake of breath was palpable as all three crew exchanged glances.

  “There’s no reason for me to take Clarence’s key; he’s been exemplary—”

  “There is a reason,” insisted Bechimo. “You are an essential part of this test, Theo Waitley. Please take the key. Quickly.”

  Clarence released himself from his webbing, moved the several paces to Theo’s outstretched hand, face softening as he saw Hevelin, and then hardening grimly as he dropped the key into her palm.

  The key was warm, almost hot. Theo stared at it…felt it…and felt that it did not deny her.

  “Please consider the signal, Pilot.”

  The signal? But yes, she’d held this key before and it was almost as if its time in Clarence’s possession had left it…muted.

  “It’s quieter,” she said. “Not ugly or bad, just quieter. Or moody.”

  “Return the key. Pilot O’Berin, please bring your board live.”

  They made the exchange, and Clarence pulled the webbing even tighter this time, relief palpable.

  “Pilot Waitley, please lock your board, remove the key, place it around your neck, as you so often wore it.”

  Theo did so, feeling the key complain, as it did sometimes in her head, resisting being disconnected from the board.

  She slipped it onto the necklace, tucked it down her shirt…where it felt hot, too, and—

  “Not pleased,” she said in a mumbled way, “it’s there, but bothered about something. Not me, but something…”

  “I am testing the combined systems. Pilot ven’Arith, your board will be defacto control board for a short while. Please drive carefully.”

  Theo looked up sharply, saw Joyita with a half-grin, heard Kara say something in Liaden under her breath, and, louder, “Yes. Surely.”

  The ship twitched around them—the gravity field had been adjusted in place.

  “Pilot Waitley, please resume command by replacing your key. Pilot ven’Arith, your board is second board until Pilot Waitley’s key is replaced.”

  Theo tugged the key off again, the chain snagging her ear.

  “Can you explain this test?” she asked

  Bechimo changed the screens, updating locations while Theo inserted and twisted the key, watching the board go through paces and come live.

  “We are among those who would wield old weapons and devices as if they understood them. They have attempted to suborn myself and the keys. We are under attack, with no violence obvious to outsiders. The three corsairs—”

  Clarence and Kara watched the screens tell the story: Theo was running the ship—or at least her board was the one Bechimo said he was following. Clarence grabbed a close up of one of the ships in question—

  “They look like Scout ships, Bechimo!”

  “Yes—they do. They are nearly indistinguishable and likely of Liaden origins; perhaps of the same shipyards, else they are built to confuse, which is a significant probability.”

  Kara muttered something about “Balance owner” under her breath.

  “Kara, bring up your microphone,” Theo said; “I missed that.”

  Clarence gave a low snicker and Kara’s voice practically boomed out, “I was asking the question proper Liadens would ask: who should act as if they are another, within bounds of melant’i…”

  Theo glanced in her direction, brows pulled, while Clarence nodded.

  “In Terran I think the question would be, “What sumbitch wears so much stupidity?”

  Kara shook her head, hands emphatically indicating deliver balance. She managed a quiet follow-up:

  “No, simply, whose name do we write into the debt book on this?”

  “Write it big,” Clarence said. “Must be the Department of the Interior again. D-O-I!”

  “Full shields, and full arms, now,” said Theo.

  About the same time Joyita said with a touch of excitement in his voice and a considering squint around his eyes, “One minute until the three DOI ships will be in Clarence’s box with us.”

  “Wish you wouldn’t put it that way. Theo, Guide Seventy-Nine says she can’t discuss anything with me anymore since we’re not her assignment now. She says hat we ought to be dealing with Orsec. And she offers us good luck!”

  * * *

  Around them fell a galaxy of complaint: first from the ships nearest themselves, rightly complaining that newly activated shields might jostle everyone and create guidance problems. Though, surely, Theo thought, these massive ships weren’t vulnerable in the way smaller ones were, like the Eylot spy vessel Bechimo had bounced away in Codrescu’s approach lanes.

  Next came complaints of live weapons—but by then screens showed shields going up across the sector as the three incoming DOI ships maneuvered their way haphazardly into the stream of vessels, weapons armed, warnaways blaring.

  And from the lead of the four local ships, just appearing beyond the bulk of them came:

  “Bechimo, Bechimo. Exec, Captain, or Pilot One respond. This is Orsec Twelve, your vessel has been transferred from Guide Seventy-Nine to our traffic control. Again this is Orbital Security Twelve, of Ynsolt’i Security. Be aware that your initial berth clearance has been canceled. Power down your shields and weapons and prepare to descend to Megway Field. Repeat, and acknowledge…Your berth clearance has been canceled and your ship is being investigated for actions against the common commercial good in the Eylot system. You will be escorted to Megway Field. You will…”

  Theo lost the next few words, because she was too busy rattling orders out.

  “Bechimo, broadcast what you can of the Codrescu recordings—start with Beeslady, then Peltzer appointing us the Pilot Guild’s Eylot flagship for the duration of the evacuation. And I mean broadcast!”

  “On it!” Joyita said, eagerly. His image showed him as if on vid, speaking clearly, a
nd with deliberation.

  “Comm Officer Joyita of Bechimo on all-call. We’re providing files and recordings, video and otherwise, on channels one-seven-nine through one-eight-three, including supporting information from Guildmaster Peltzer of Eylot, on our actions in the Eylot system responding to a Pilots-in-peril situation. Ship Bechimo and crew have received commendations from the Pilot’s Guild for these actions, which were supported by commercial vessels, as well as observers from the Liaden Scouts and the Carresens.”

  Theo watched the main screen as the three DOI ships angled to close the gap; their way not as smooth as might be for the warnaways of the huge ore-carriers and an odd rotation on the part of the Metrose. She had to say something, to respond—

  “Orsec Twelve, First Class Pilot Theo Waitley, on Bechimo, flying for Laughing Cat Limited here. Be advised that we’re targeted by three unannounced ships and that we are targeting in return. I am directing my Exec and my ship to take immediate defensive and responsive action as required. We will not comply with your request while outside hunter ships approach.”

  The complaints and warnaways from other vessels in the stream increased; a drawl of a voice came through, tagged Metrose on the screen.

  “Just ’minding pilots that we run active auto-shields and if them shields think you’re closing space junk, that’s what you’ll be! And thank you, Bechimo, we got your news reports here.”

  Metrose, was, indeed rotating very slowly, the great length of it threatening to span the box.

  “Tried three times to get a tight beam warnaway to them ships,” Clarence said—“Nothing back. They’re still running up on our course.”

  “Tell them we’ve set perimeters and they approach at their own peril.”

  “Bechimo,” Orsec Twelve announced, “those ships are doing cloak suppression for us. We are aware of the difficulties you caused at Eylot. You will follow orders.”

  Cloak suppression? The fools must have claimed to know what—no. Old Tech. Bechimo had said that the hunter ships were using Old Tech like they knew what it was. Just like the pirates who had taken Win Ton captive and turned his own cells against him…

  “Ynsolt’i, if we’re not wanted here all you had to do is say so,” Clarence said into comm. “Didn’t need to let us get in here. We’ll ease out-system, soon’s you call off the pack.”

  “Pilot,” came Bechimo’s voice, “the strength of the subetheric emanations has increased. It is minutely possible that their activities could affect the Remastering Unit’s calibrations. I have suggested course corrections that will make a joint approach more difficult.”

  Those numbers showed on the screen, along with Bechimo’s intention to slide between the Vitran ships and accelerate outward as rapidly as possible, crossing another stream of ships and…affect the Remastering Unit? What did she know about what powered and guided it? Win Ton!

  “Pilot—” Orsec 12 again; “you are wearing the Tree-and-Dragon and we are a Liaden society here. Tree-and-Dragon has fired on the homeworld, and been banished for it!”

  “And I’m a trader from Waymart wearing my corporate colors,” Theo snapped. “I’ve got contracts, and Korval’s one of them. Since we’re not wanted, we’ll be away—”

  “You are in our traffic zone, Bechimo, wearing Tree-and-Dragon. You will follow our instructions. You must permit our associates—”

  “You associates are risking themselves. We will observe safe distance here, by force if necessary!”

  “Ynsolt’i Security?” came Metrose’s drawling voice again. “These folks you’re calling associates is flying stupid. Me, I have to match my joinpoint when I get to the foundry, and I’ve started that rotation. In all the flight plans, and we do every time we come in. Them ships best be elsewhere right quick. They can argue with the ambassador’s ship later.”

  “Ambassador’s ship!”

  “That info they sent out. Yep, looks like an ambassador’s ship there.”

  The screens looked like a child had thrown ink and paint at a wall—most of the ships in range had shields glowing to the fullest extent they could and those that had weapons, had weapons live, against all usual in-system protocols.

  Theo touched the toggle, felt the weapons board rise to her hand. She selected the screen with the proposed course and brought it to main.

  “Crew, we’re taking Bechimo’s advice,” she said, wondering how her voice sounded so calm. “Everyone’s nervous, and we’re all at risk. Bechimo, once we’re through that slot, you can add a couple Gs to your proposed course if it’ll help…we must be too close in to Jump. You can start now.”

  “Yes, Pilot, course understood. We may attempt a Jump at any time, but the interference of these devices is impossible to quantify. They could induce coil overloads, or other—”

  “Hold on the Jump idea, and go for the slot. Once we’re through we’ll try to get some distance, and then we’ll get out!”

  Bechimo courteously sounded an acceleration warning for a count of three, and then, despite the self-compensation inherent in the ship’s gravity, Theo felt as if they were falling hard to the right. This course distanced them from two of the black spears that were the DOI ships, but would bring them closer to the the third.

  “Do not deviate from your settled course,” screamed Ynsolt’i Security, far too late. It was a slow motion break at orbital speeds; there was only so much they could do within local space, and they depended on every other ship staying in approximately the same relative location. Metrose continued its ponderous turn, but elsewise…Bechimo was committed.

  Pressure built, the feeling of falling to the right intensified, the webbing slacked, then tightened as it compensated.

  “Pilot, DOI One has changed course again. I regard it as interfering with our plans.”

  “You’ve got it targeted,” Theo managed, remembering now her previous encounter with a DOI ship, hoping that this pilot was more committed to life than to her plan.

  Theo saw two of the Ynsolt’i craft close enough to be a problem, but this was all undeclared…could she order weapons unleashed with so many ships nearby?

  And weren’t the DOI ships counting on her answer to be—no?

  The radio was full of noise—threats, complaints, demands, pilots calling for calm and pilots demanding sense—all suddenly lost inside another noise, like screeches, screams, and metal drawn against metal.

  “Radio jamming,” commented Joyita; “very broadband. Given the power, I assume a subetheric generator is being employed. I detect an extreme increase in neutrino emissions, consistent with timonium powered devices.”

  “But why?” came Kara’s voice across a sudden lull in the noise, and Theo managed a

  quick healthy “Pharst!” as the ship jolted and the gravity wavered. Her mouth was dry and she clung to the armrest with her right hand as she saw damage estimates appear suddenly on the operations screen. On another, the numerals 2 and 4 blazed red, once twice, three times.

  “I am returning fire, Pilot, as you warned,” Bechimo said. “DOI One has fired on us with a beam weapon. I believe they used the Tree-and-Dragon as a target.”

  Yowls of outrage filled the radio spectrum briefly, then the radio traffic became squeals and metal again. A hand motion from Clarence dropped the sound level to near nil.

  “What about the other DOI ships?”

  The vid of the outside showed a purplish glow playing well away from the ship now, with a strange pulsing in it that hurt the eyes to follow.

  “Course corrections?” asked Clarence.

  “Vitran Seven has understood our intent, I believe,” Bechimo answered. “We should have ten or twelve ship lengths…within two minutes.”

  Another jolt, less severe, but still a shock and the number 2 appeared twice in quick succession…return fire.

  Joyita spoke, “Damage report, Pilot.”

  Theo was too tense to do other than say: “Give it.”

  “The Tree-and-Dragon markings are dulled; one navigation b
eacon will require resetting, three may. End of report.”

  “Chimmy, if that’s all, we’re good!” Clarence said. “Hate being in a fight without a warning.”

  “Everyone hold non-critical reports,” said Theo, trying to form a plan, to make sense of things while the ship-to transmissions from other craft were increasing and time was getting dear in terms of their approach to the getaway slot the were aiming for.

  “If you hit us you’ll bounce,” came Vitran Seven’s warning out of the muddle of noise.

  “Pilot, I’m trying to filter,” Joyita explained.

  Orsec’s demands for cease and desist seemed aimed only at them, or their transmissions to the other ships were direct. Or—there was a flare across multiple screens. Theo bit her lip until she tasted copper.

  “Target One has been struck by both our initial beams; their shields remained in force throughout. They were also struck by our second response; they are maneuvering…Target One will be nearly between us and the opening when we arrive, Pilot.”

  “They know where we’ll be—anyone with a brain does. They’ll try missiles…and we can expect harrying fire from the others. Why did you stop firing?”

  “The order was to respond, Pilot!”

  Theo grimaced. Done what she’d said, yes.

  “It was the order, thank you. We’re going through, Bechimo, so they can’t be in our way. Where would they mount the generators? Do they need projectors? They must have traded something off…”

  “Pilot, yes, the generators will take up space. There’s no room in that class of ship to reduce the living quarters…”

  “Target the holds, then, and the missile pods if they show any. And…target all beams on that ship and prepare to fire when they can be brought to bear!”

  The ship jolted around Theo—and she felt warm, as if Bechimo’s air control was slowing. Then, ordinary progress, with the G-press of extra acceleration still upon them.

  Into that came Bechimo’s voice, and then Joyita’s.

  “Long range particle beams, Pilot, from the other ships. They can sap my shielding over time.”