The Devil and Deep Space

by Susan R. Matthews

  “Nicely done, Mister. Very pretty handling.”

  Of course. Hadn’t he told them that he could do it? Still, it had been tight, and there had been that evac craft. Why it should have mattered that they pick up that crew, when it was the survival of the thula that had been at stake — or its freedom, which amounted to the same thing — Lek wasn’t quite certain; but it had mattered.

  That was all he could really keep in his mind, just now, because he was tired, and it was comfortable and familiar to have Chief Stildyne behind him, reminding him about things he had to do.

  “Shut down and leave it for later, Lek. You’ve done all you could for now. And everything we asked you, too. Let’s go, Mister.”

  Thula locked in traction, mover engaged to transit to maintenance apron. Medical was already offloading emergency stasis modules, eight of them. Eight. Were there supposed to be eight? The officer had told Ragnarok that they’d been on time. So eight was clearly the right number.

  The officer was not following the stasis modules to Infirmary, though; he’d stopped on the receiving apron to have a word with the Captain, by the looks of it. It began to occur to Lek that there were a lot of people out on the receiving apron.

  There was no arguing with the Chief; Lek rose stiffly from out of his place and went meekly before Stildyne out of the wheelhouse, through the ship, out to the mover, across to the landing apron. Tired out. Well, he’d been concentrating. It was a little unusual still, how tired he felt. First Officer was out there, too, now.

  “Attention to pilot,” First Officer called, loudly, in his direction. Lek was confused; he’d been the pilot, how was he to come to attention? Oh. It was the other people who were supposed to come to attention.

  It wasn’t “a lot of people” on the apron: it was a formation on the apron, and he was in front of it. He and Chief Stildyne, but Stildyne was behind him, and as Lek tried to figure out what was happening, Captain ap Rhiannon marched briskly front and center of the assembly with First Officer and Chief Medical, halting her officer–detachment right in front of his nose.

  “Mister Kerenko.”

  She sounded very stern. Very serious. He hoped he wasn’t in trouble. He was just a little confused. Bowing sharply, he acknowledged her address, in the best form he knew how.

  “As it please the officer. Yes, your Excellency.”

  She wasn’t his officer. The officer was his officer — but Chief Medical was subordinate to the Captain. Chief Medical was here, though, so it was bound to be all right.

  “Based upon your expressed willingness and with the concurrence of Chief Medical, Ship’s Engineer, and Ship’s First Officer, you were entrusted with piloting this thula on a mission critical to the safe escape and possible survival of this ship. You accomplished your mission with exceptional skill, Mister Kerenko.”

  But he shouldn’t have peeled off for the evacuation craft. He’d had no permission to deviate from assigned task. He hadn’t even asked for a deviation.

  “Yes, your Excellency.” What else could he say? He knew he shouldn’t have done it. He’d known at the time that he shouldn’t be doing it. And he knew that under the same set of conditions he’d do it again, instructions or no instructions. What if the officer had told him to let the evacuation craft’s crew die, and return to Ragnarok? What would he have done then?

  “In addition to this essential mission, however, your ability to pilot your craft permitted the safe recovery of eight Fleet resources, living souls. This recovery was effected under extreme pressure, Mister Kerenko, and at considerable risk to the thula and everyone on it.”

  No one of which, Lek realized, had raised their voice in protest. No message from the Ragnarok had come, to bring him back into line. It was all right?

  “For your demonstrated flight mastery in piloting the thula, and for your principle contribution to saving the lives of eight Fleet crew, you are to be commended in the second degree of performance. On behalf of Fleet, the Bench, and the Ragnarok, I thank you, Mister Kerenko.”

  He’d never earned a flight commendation in all his years under Bond. Such honors weren’t usually issued to bond–involuntaries, no matter what their accomplishments; still less in public, in front of what looked like every Security troop assigned to Ragnarok — and some of Engineering, as well.

  “The appropriate entries are to be made in your personnel records. That will be all.”

  He was supposed to salute again, now. The bow helped him wrestle with his startled pleasure, gave him time to get his face back into order. He wasn’t expected to say anything. It was just as well. He was speechless.

  “First Officer, dismiss.”

  Ship’s First and Chief Medical bowed in unison, and ap Rhiannon left the maintenance apron. His officer came forward to embrace him, with evident emotion. “It was beautifully done,” Koscuisko repeated. Koscuisko had been there. It must have been so, then. “Superlative performance, Lek. Stildyne. I have to go to duty, but it was well shot as well as well piloted. I am very proud of you all.”

  First Officer was about to say something; but the Engineer’s voice came over all-ship, and overrode him. “All stations stand by for vector transit. Beginning spins in five eighths, mark. All stations stand by for vector transit.”

  Or, in other words, get off the apron, out of the maintenance atmosphere and to wherever you were supposed to be, right now. Lek’s moment of glory was over — or at the least, postponed. He was just as glad of the distraction. He’d never had a moment of glory. He found he didn’t have the first idea what to do with it.

  Stildyne tapped him on the shoulder to get him moving, and Lek jogged after the rest of the crew to get to his post and await the vector transit.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Devil and Deep Space

  The thula outdistanced its hunters by a slim but adequate margin and gained the sanctuary shadow of the Ragnarok’s black hull. The main pursuit party was still vainly trying to come up to speed to catch the Ragnarok, but now that the thula had rejoined its foster parent — would the ship come about?

  Admiral Brecinn blinked, and the thula was gone.

  Staring at the great display station, frowning, feeling stupid, Brecinn tried to figure out what had happened. The thula had disappeared. The display was tracking Ragnarok, but the pursuit ships were on display as well, and there was no trail of debris and mangled metal that Brecinn could see in Ragnarok’s wake, no evidence of destruction. What had happened?

  Senior Auditor Ormbach tapped the prediction module reporter at the front of the observer station with one well–groomed fingernail, and shook her head. “The Taisheki vector. As you predicted, Fleet Admiral. The corvettes are going to have to fall back. There isn’t any sense trying to follow them from here.”

  Ragnarok had taken the thula on, that was what had happened. That explained the queer maneuver that the thula had performed, just prior to its disappearance — turning sidewise to the parent ship’s heading, from what Brecinn had been able to gather from the target–detail screen. Ragnarok had taken the thula to itself. Now that thula was back on board, the Ragnarok would make for the vector.

  Brecinn felt a pang of loss and longing. That thula was worth money. If only she could have found a way to possess herself of it. “Bloodless engagement,” another of the auditors noted aloud, apparently just to make conversation. “That much to the good, at least. No lives lost.”

  “That we know of,” Brecinn reminded them all, a bit sharply. “We don’t know about that evacuation craft.”

  “Still, it’s a Brief in the third order of magnitude at most.” Auditor Ormbach did not seem to be suffering from any particular irritation at the Ragnarok’s escape. “The most cause against the Ragnarok for that would be destruction of Fleet resources with concomitant loss of life, a disciplinary offense, but hardly a Judicial one. And the crew may not be dead.”

  “They certainly would be if the thula hadn’t gone back for them — ” one of the auditors starte
d to point out. The priority signal warning interrupted her before she could finish her point, however.

  Chilleau Judiciary, Second Judge Sem Por Harr Presiding. For Taisheki Station. What could Chilleau Judiciary want at Fleet Audit Appeals Authority?

  Jils Ivers. She must have talked to Verlaine about Noycannir. “Chilleau Judiciary, this is Taisheki Station, Senior Auditor Ormbach. In the war and maneuvers room, Fleet Admiral Sandri Brecinn accompanying as an observer.”

  The signal stepped down from global transmit to the observer station restrict, and Brecinn knew by the subtle tingling at the nape of her neck that the privacy mutes had been engaged. Verlaine didn’t mind talking to Taisheki in her presence, then. That was encouraging. Maybe she could salvage something from this after all.

  “What is this news of the Ragnarok, Auditor?” First Secretary Verlaine. Deep voice. Calm. Contemplative. Concerned about something. Noycannir’s treachery? Or sensibly aware that he looked a great deal like an antagonist to Fleet, now that the Second Judge had issued her program?

  Auditor Ormbach watched the projections tile across the alert–border of the far remote screens, apparently putting her thoughts together. The First Secretary was still the First Secretary. The Second Judge was still only the Second Judge, but she was the Second Judge all the same.

  “Ragnarok has declined to enter Taisheki Station, citing as unacceptable requirements to submit to search; to surrender evidence; and to surrender crew, taken together as evidence of failure of intent to investigate its Appeal.”

  The pursuit ships had fallen too far away from the Ragnarok to do any good. As Brecinn watched the projections, the detail-insert came up with a plot projection, a vector transit line — tight, but they would be in a hurry. Either that, or the Engineer was showing off, since he could be certain that this particular vector transit was to be observed with keen interest.

  “What is your current status?”

  “The Ragnarok has started vector transit preparations for the Taisheki vector, having stated its determination to protect the integrity of ship and crew at some neutral location pending resolution of its Appeal. Possible destination, Amberlin.”

  “Auditor Ormbach.” The First Secretary’s voice paused, as though he was thinking carefully about what he was going to say next. “Andrej Koscuisko is in possession of very sensitive evidence that reflects negatively on this Judiciary. It is therefore of critical importance to the Second Judge that no punitive action be taken against the Ragnarok while its Appeal is pending. To do otherwise would present the appearance of reprisals contrary to the upholding of the rule of Law.”

  What was he talking about? What evidence?

  Then Brecinn realized. He had to cover up Noycannir’s crimes. He was soliciting the cooperation of the Fleet Audit Appeals Authority to help him, in return for implied benefit in the future; and Auditor Ormbach might decide to listen to him.

  She wasn’t about to let it go so easily. “First Secretary,” Brecinn said suddenly. “Fleet Admiral Sandri Brecinn speaking. If I may, sir.” And why shouldn’t she? She had the rank. Not to speak of the influence.

  “Fleet Admiral,” Verlaine said, agreeably enough — Ivers clearly hadn’t made the connection between Noycannir and Pesadie, at least not for Verlaine. “Please.”

  “Sir, while assigned to the Pesadie Training Command’s administrative oversight, the Ragnarok left its area of assignment without leave, first for Silboomie Station and then for Taisheki. It has since explicitly rejected lawful and received instruction to surrender itself. There are strong indications of mutinous intent on the part of the acting Captain and an unknown number of her crew.”

  The majority of the Ragnarok’s crew actually, but there was no need to whistle against that reed. Verlaine might ask her how she knew, and she had no easy and appropriate reply.

  Verlaine did not seem to understand the hints she was giving him, however. “The acting Captain is young and inexperienced with Command of equivalent complexity, Fleet Admiral. It would be a potentially tragic error on our part if we mistook a miscalculation under pressure for intent to commit so grievous a crime. I understand the officer is crèche–bred.”

  He couldn’t mean to suggest that they interpret ap Rhiannon’s insolence as a mere miscalculation under pressure, surely. Ormbach glanced at Brecinn with an amused expression on her face, but Brecinn kept her own countenance utterly expressionless. Ap Rhiannon knew exactly what she was doing; they all knew it. But when all was written and read in, it was to be the Audit Authority’s careful and politically sensitive finding on the matter that was to become truth.

  If Ormbach agreed that ap Rhiannon was just young and inexperienced, then Brecinn was going to have no choice but to play along — and look for a worthier and more responsive patron to support in the upcoming Selection. “We must of course take all such circumstances carefully under advisement,” Brecinn said icily.

  Ormbach continued, without acknowledging Brecinn’s points; testing the limits of Verlaine’s nerve, perhaps. “And still the Ragnarok has refused to enter Taisheki Station. Has blown a clearance through mine field, and is even now commencing its vector spin with a privately owned thula and an evacuation craft on board, as it happens. If the First Secretary would care to advise the next appropriate measure?”

  Perfectly reasonable. Perfectly responsive to the existence of political pressures unrelated to the strict confines of the Audit Authority. She’d known that there were reasonable people at Taisheki Station, but she hadn’t expected Ormbach to be quite so blatantly opportunistic, even so.

  The Ragnarok was well into its vector spin. And it was clear that the First Secretary had made up his mind about something.

  “Fleet does not have resources to spare chasing off to Amberlin after the Ragnarok. Senior Auditor, the Second Judge anticipates that Fleet Audit Appeals Authority will investigate the Ragnarok’s appeal in as full and fair a manner as may be possible, absent the ship and crew.”

  The on–screen tracks went blank, the scroll frozen at the last point of verified transmission. The Ragnarok had made the vector. There was no calling the ship back now; Verlaine was still talking, persuasively, calmly, cajolingly.

  “I suggest a preliminary finding of mutiny in form. I believe we can all agree on the importance of preventing it from becoming mutiny in fact. If the Ragnarok will stay out of harm’s reach until the Appeal has been completed, there is still good hope of proposing acceptable administrative disciplinary measures. We must not allow an error of such proportions to unbalance the Bench at the beginning of a Presidence, regardless of the outcome of the Selection.”

  Meaning that with so much work to do once the Selection was decided, they’d have no choice but to make an example of the Ragnarok if the ship continued to push its luck. Verlaine clearly didn’t want it to come to that; but did he realize how angry Fleet was at the Second Judge?

  “Mutiny in form.” The mildest interpretation that could be put on it, and Ormbach rolled the words in her mouth with mild scorn. “As you direct, First Secretary, subject of course to Fleet endorsement.” Because Taisheki answered to the Fleet, not to the Bench. It was not a bad idea, perhaps, to remind Verlaine of that.

  “And in form only, Auditor, I assure you of that. There are elements at play which cannot be revealed prematurely. I ask you to excuse my silence. Fleet Admiral.”

  Brecinn was surprised to be called out; Verlaine had seemed to forget that she was there. “First Secretary,” she replied, careful to give him no note of undue deference. Taisheki Station had just put Verlaine on notice. He was going to have to solicit their cooperation.

  “Go back to Pesadie, Fleet Admiral. You have no business at Taisheki Station. Unless you have an Appeal of your own? I am in possession of some interesting information from one of my Clerks of Court, Dame Noycannir. Perhaps you would care to take advantage of the coming break in training schedules to set your house in order. For your replacement.”

  Ormbach loo
ked at her, and almost sneered. Brecinn felt her face go white with fury. “Thank you, First Secretary,” she said, as calmly as she could. “You’ll know exactly how much of what Noycannir says to believe soon enough. I only hope it doesn’t cause the Second Judge any embarrassment. But I appreciate the friendly advice, and will leave immediately.”

  Go back to Pesadie, yes. Where she had lost the main battle cannon with which she had been entrusted by reasonable people. Where she owed replacement in kind, good munitions for bad, for inventory lost in an accident that had been caused by the Ragnarok, a direct result of the selfish arrogance of its Captain and crew.

  Where she had in an unfortunate moment been gulled into listening to — trusting! — a double agent for Chilleau Judiciary, who had ingratiated herself only in order to betray her to the First Secretary. Her mission to Taisheki Station had failed.

  She would leave immediately. But she would be very careful to avoid ever arriving, because the only things that awaited her now at Pesadie were disgrace and humiliation and death.

  ###

  Andrej Koscuisko stood on the docking apron of the Ragnarok’s maintenance atmosphere looking up into the passenger bay of the Malcontent’s thula, waiting for the time when it would be ready to close.

  Technically speaking launch clearance was the Engineer’s function, but First Officer had asked him to perform the formalities in this case on pretext of it being an Aznir ship. Andrej had his suspicions about that, though. He thought they — the Captain, Wheatfields, First Officer — were still waiting for him to change his mind and leave. He supposed he appreciated their attempts to make it as easy as possible for him to do so.

  “I will keep the documents, yes, Bench specialist,” he said. Jils Ivers stood beside him. The crew that they’d rescued from the evac craft were going aboard. One or two of them would help Cousin Ferinc pilot the thula from the interim Kazar vector back to Chilleau Judiciary, where Ivers had things to say to the First Secretary. “It is nothing personal.”