The Horseshoe Nail (The Donn Book 1)

by S Thomson-Hillis

  The shuttle landed and they disembarked.

  At the end of the first metal corridor, Sam slipped away.

  Nobody noticed.

  It took scary hours of hard searching, before Sam found himself a new bolthole, a nice, shiny, compact escape-pod off the rim of one strut, a long way from the hub. Someone had thoughtfully kitted it out with all his survival needs and it would even transform into a deep-space capsule if ejected. It was claustrophobic and got stuffy fast but the only time he’d really occupy it was when he was hiding or sleeping or calling his father. It felt safe? Was it safe? Would he ever be safe? Finding the pod was a lucky break, but Sam was convinced his talent had led him there. Coincidence and intent were getting all tangled up in his head. He even dared to mind-scan the ship for Hannah. So far as he knew she wasn’t aboard, not that he’d really hoped or expected she would be. She hadn’t made it, he knew that, and part of him was queerly glad. His Hannah with those blank eyes and the shiny gleam in her ear. It made him feel sick. Hard on the tail of nausea trod anger and Sam learned quickly that anger could be used. It was a thin whip of light that could be focused like a laser; while it shone it stopped him feeling, and while he couldn’t feel he could think. It helped shut out the past.

  The vibration from the energy core at the pivot of the wheel was strong. When it revved up for departure Sam sensed it. A Donn always knew he thought smugly, but in fact the rhythm changed and any engineer would’ve noticed the difference. The wheels left Belthan while he shivered in his cramped pod and waited for false gravity to kick in.

  Attempts to call his father met with no success. Sam knew he had the signature right, it was branded on his brain so he’d never forget it. His hope of his father was the only thing he had left in all of the worlds. Kim, his father, who would rescue him, tell the Union, do something, anything to help Sam. Perhaps Kim had his own problems. Perhaps the wheels were in the Bylanes and everybody knew that once you were in the Bylanes communications with the outside was problematic. Thinking back, Sam believed he’d felt the tell-tale phase- shift stutter through the ship, even if he’d only felt phase-shift a couple of times before. If so, it’d most probably be some time before he could get through to his father again.

  He decided to use the Bylanes time to gather information for Kim.

  It would be his mission. As soon as they were out of the Bylanes, he’d report.

  He needed to find out where they were bound.

  His father would have to know where to come and fetch him, wouldn’t he?

  Marking the location of the pod on his mental map, Sam went exploring.

  He didn’t expect many problems. Soon Sam would make his way to the central energy core where the main operation centres had to be located. That’s what Soren would’ve done. It was what Soren had done, some innate caution warned, and look what happened.

  No matter. He was Sam Nevus, newly reborn Donn, how could he fail?

  He was mistaking beginners’ luck for years of training and skill.

  Sam was getting cocky.

  * * *

  Ellis slumped in the second’s seat on the bridge of the ZR-3, so quiet even Jenson couldn’t grab himself a tongue-lashing. And, boy, he was surely giving it a try.

  She’d spent most of the short journey to Harth Norn working out what had gone wrong with her Ritual. It should’ve been so easy and most people looked forward to it. Mind you, she was guiltily aware that her own initial reactions hadn’t been, well, useful was probably the kindest word. They’d both been shocked and the timing was appalling, but it often was. Mark’s approach had been clumsy and arrogant, but then her mother had said much the same about her father, and that had worked beautifully. Attitude was hardwired into most adult Donn. The point was that none of that should’ve mattered. None of it.

  So what was wrong?

  Another talk with the kind and sensible Tam had been illuminating and what she’d learned about her prospective partner made sense, even down to his eerie ability to block everything out. It was why he was doing it that confused her. He had to realise what had happened, when Ritual struck you knew it. The exclusive mindspeak kicking in early didn’t bother Ellis, it often happened. One of her friends had heard a rogue voice that no one else could hear for days before his partner turned up – they’d been sharing jokes. Mark had done what any Donn would do, worked the hand he’d been dealt. Nothing was perfect, and given the weird circumstances, they were very lucky. Her kneejerk response to Tam in the lounge had been just that, no more, but as Mark continued to block, she realised it was the truth. He wanted none of her. He’d got what he needed then shoved the goods back on the shelf.

  There was a name for that, Ritual Rejection. Ellis Matheson was a Reject.

  Nothing prepared her for how that felt. Unless it was the first time a child saw flame, said pretty, reached out and touched. It burned. Being rational when you were scorching was... complicated. Rejection was rare, there was the horror of breeding Latents for one thing, but it did happen. Reasons? Reason had nothing to do with it. Emotions were the key, emotions like loyalty to a current or previous other-race partner or disinclination, gender or otherwise. When Ellis had been a toddler, a cousin with a human partner had steadfastly rejected his Ritual. The Reject had been a close family friend. Despite her parents’ best efforts, Ellis had inevitably picked up the flak before the Reject had been shipped off. They’d told Ellis that she had gone away to heal, but she’d never come back or even been mentioned again. For the first time Ellis understood why. Outsiders believed Donn shunned Rejects because they could not tolerate their mental instability, but maybe that wasn’t true. Being apart poured cool water on a burning wound and possibly Mark was right to stay away. Together, meeting every day, they’d go mad, apart they stood a chance. Was that why Donn always sent away the Rejects, she wondered. Proximity drove a Reject crazy? Perhaps.

  How she felt didn’t change what she had to do, her mission, the Dome and her fellow Domers. And though it was not enough, ever, for the future, it would do for now.

  Today was all she needed. Wasn’t it?

  The seat she sprawled over was traditionally taken by the mission’s second in command or the mission commander if there was a pilot who was not in command. Jenson had chosen to ignore Ellis’ tact bypass and Harris, devoutly grateful for his silence, had wisely decided to forego his rights. He was compensating from the third’s position over by the rear-screen, speed-learning the ZR’s eccentricities on the job. The choice of ship had been Jenson’s demand and he’d been surprised the engineers had managed to refit her so fast.

  “Ellis,” he said softly. “Ellis, look at the screens.”

  She didn’t answer.

  Jenson glanced over his shoulder. “She’s gone,” he said. “Leave it. Her loss.”

  Ellis opened her eyes. Fight? Was that a war cry? Jenson declaring war?

  “Ellis,” Harris chimed in quickly. “We’ve arrived. Look at the screens.”

  Their final approach was from the opposite side to Imperious’ present approach and the view was relatively unspectacular, blue-green Harth Norn from its furthest margin showing the various phases of its diminutive moons. Luckily for the tides on the ocean-ridden planet the moons had clustered together into a rare tight orbit. The ZR-3 was skipping in on a long, loose rope, playing peek-a-boo with them from under the planet. Harris had reckoned that if any of those Darts were still around – plus reinforcements probably – then the moons was where they’d be. He’d stuck parameters into the navi-computer that had superglued Jenson’s eyebrows to his hairline. Rather unworthily, he had enjoyed the pilot’s reaction.

  “You were right,” Jenson tapped his active defence cones. “There they blow, Darts. Won’t the boss be interested in that? Don’t you worry though, they won’t catch us.”

  “Recording,” reported a laconic Harris. “Two squads plus scouts. Try to miss’em.”

  “They won’t catch me, not in this ship,” Jenson gloated. He fi
ngered a cone-dent above his head, a blue light went blip and a slim, golden cone rose from his board.

  Playing to his audience, he held back, the ship hovered.

  “Risky,” Ellis warned. “They could spot us.”

  He ignored her. “Now you see us...” Tapping the cone he threw a wild grin over his shoulder at Tam. “...and now you don’t. Look at your board, big-shot navigator.”

  The gold cone glowed and mottled interference spiked Tam’s board.

  “Full-cloak? That’s new.” Tam frowned. “Where did you get the power?”

  “Crystal,” said Ellis, nodding at the cone. “I thought you pious twats banned Autocracy SC technology.” A swift sideways look stopped her short. Tams’ face was a picture and she remembered his attitude the last time she’d stood up for SC. He was dead against SC, strange that he hadn’t sussed the ZR until the moment that cone rose up.

  Harris was running diagnostics as if his life depended on it. “No. Nothing showed on the original specs... Oh, oh, there it goes.” Reading, he blanched. “Oh crap... We are now running from a Sentient Crystal power source. Nobody told me. H – what the hell?”

  “Been using it on and off all the way down,” admitted Jenson, keeping eyes front and away from Tam’s scowl. “No need to take the long way round, just chuck in dodge and weave from the skilled hands of your pilot. Rigged the cone so it wouldn’t show, reckoned you’d appreciate the surprise.” A quick glance showed him Tam was far from appreciative.

  “That’s how we dodged so fast last time. Crack-Crystal.” It was a curse. “Of course, it was, and it only kicks in when we need it so it’s not on any specs. Crack-Crystal.”

  “No.” Ellis laid an urgent hand on his arm. “No,” she said. “No, Tam, no, it’s not Crack-Crystal, this is the real thing. Trust me, I know. The Donn always used Sentient Crystal, it’s a part of us. What we are. I would know if this was a Crack ship and it’s not.”

  “All SC A-tech is evil.” The tone was flat, impermeable.

  Jenson grimaced at his cone. He’d felt the same once.

  “No.” Ellis shook her head, her fingers clenched on Tam’s arm. It was a point of honour for the Donn and another reason to loath the Autocracy. “Sentient Crystal is good, it’s incredibly rare and it was tied to us, we could work miracles with it. They stole it. No matter how they tried they could never use it like us, and we wouldn’t work it for them.”

  Harris trod water in a raging current. “Is that why they hated you so much?”

  “One reason out of many,” wryly, “I could give you the list if you’ve got the rest of your life to spare. No, just one, but a very good one. You see, even we had no idea where the stuff came from. Sentient Crystal is the mineral without a source. They used up what they stole, and then they ran out, so they forged a cheap alternative. That’s your Crack-Crystal, Tam, false Crystal, Bastard-Crystal. It can be terrible when it’s been warped enough.”

  Jenson swung round. “This ship uses real Sentient Crystal. No shit.”

  She nodded. “Fair chunk, too. In my day, we had but a sliver to take with us onto whatever ship we were assigned. It was given to a person and not to their craft when you got to a certain rank. That tiny sliver saved lives. We mostly used it for diagnostics.”

  Watching Harth Norn loom, Tam tussled with a perfect world where right and wrong wore different coloured hats and people played by the rules. “That’s how you fixed the link in E-Blue-7. The ship told you. The ship told you what to do to stop us blowing up.”

  “I wasn’t sure at first if I really heard it,” Ellis gave a sheepish shrug. “I knew Jenson was up front with his hands full and you and Mark were gunning. There was only me. I was out of it, but I was taught to run Donn diagnostics and it started yelling, so I did it.”

  Jenson blew out his cheeks and snorted. Unsure. The Donn had their ways, he knew that, but it was hard to share credit with her. “I knew she was sweet, I knew that for sure,” he mumbled vaguely. “Do you think Mark felt anything? I know I did.”

  She nodded, dropping her grip on Tam’s arm. “Yes, oh yes. Oh, I do believe it, this is real Sentient Crystal, and it makes its own choices. In our heyday, hundreds of years before I was born, SC was ours, the Donn flew Crystal Ships. You should’ve heard the tall-tales the old ones spun about those ships. If you believed my granddad they could even leap time when they wanted. So I wonder, Jenson, who knows enough to kit out a Crystal ship today?”

  “Me too,” breathed Harris. Scolos had been one of the main manufacturing plants for Crack-Crystal and he’d seen what that stuff had done to people. The horror was drummed into Scolosians from birth. “Where did they get it from, let alone the know-how?”

  “There must be a source left,” Ellis pointed out. “There must be something left in your databases and Archives. It can’t all have been destroyed, that’s not feasible. Someone’s playing propaganda games if they tell you it is. After all, think about it, someone knew enough about our weak spots to disable Mark, and that is not common knowledge.”

  “Personally,” sniffed Jenson, “I blame the nerds back in Astro-Engineering.”

  “Bless them,” agreed Tam unwillingly. “Bless them to hell and back.”

  * * *

  Emir Carolli wallowed in warm, ripe smugness. In a matter of hours both Donn would be maudlin messes hardly able to tell the time of day, let alone get in his way. He felt secure enough to risk confirming this to the restlessly impatient creature waiting in the Dome.

  Now all he had to do was get down to Harth Norn and use his key.

  But it was not destined to be good news day.

  Breaking silence with either the Sisters or Harth Norn at that stage carried a considerable risk. It happened twice. One message slipped in, one message slipped out.

  Incoming: a signal confirming that the Seven Sisters had entered their final Bylanes leg but they were significantly off the predicted route. Taking that approach they would be easily spotted. He cursed. Any sighting could – and would – warn Krystie and he’d step up security and those bloody War Games. Departure would become virtually impossible.

  Emir Carolli had to move fast. Leave, he had to leave.

  He had to leave now.

  The transcripts of Krystie’s meeting duly arrived, the unexpurgated version, carefully decoded by the Baron’s personal team. After the first cursory glance, Carolli was tempted to tender congratulations. General WuVane intended to drill infantry at Long Island Spaceport, oh dear, but it was far enough away from Minon’s base and the primary Dome to cause no real problems. But reading on, he was deeply shaken to discover that the ZR-3 had already left for Harth Norn and who crewed it. All temptation to send sarcastic messages died.

  When he finally scanned the mission data. It was the death blow.

  She had the other key. How the hell had she got hold of that? Where? When? How?

  It had to be retrieved.

  Ellis Matheson, deeply unstable, held the second key. There was no telling what she’d do if she discovered the truth about that key. Anything. She could throw it away...

  Outgoing: Dandy Minon was immediately scheduled an urgent additional assignment.

  Carolli wanted the key handed to him as soon as he landed.

  And not one second later.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  After he’d left the orphanage Mark had worked his passage to the Academy and earned the credit to pay for his scholarship test. At first he’d done any job offered, but he’d ended up working Commercial Tramps in systems and engineering. There was a job title, but most people had just called the crews Fixers because they fixed anything on ships no longer able to rely on banned Autocracy technology. Computer systems weren’t a particular specialism but he’d done enough tinkering in his time. It took less than no time to locate and bypass the laughable restriction on his access and not long after that he got in deep enough to see that Carolli had been recently hacked. Yea, go bridge Communications. If there was anything there they
would probably had found it, but it was still worth checking out. There might be something he could get at from this end that was hidden from the other.

  “What are you doing?” asked his office-mate suspiciously.

  You don’t want to know, thought Mark. “Take a look,” he invited.

  The man did and found nothing. A meticulous soul, he also checked the work-space and immediate history. Mark only held junior clearance and that was exactly what was presented. There were gaps, but only what you’d expect from a novice. Warily, doubtfully the man settled down. Mark started work again. Once or twice he looked up, catching a doubtful gaze. Who cared? Go on, he thought, start something, I dare you. And he continued to steadily rake Carolli’s systems. There wasn’t much. Give Carolli his due, and Mark begrudged it, he wasn’t fool enough to take Imperious’ security systems for granted.

  So why the hell had he been so stupid in dealing with Mark?

  Did it make any difference?

  No, but all the same, it would be nice to know why he’d been written off.

  That rankled.

  There was a definite flurry of incoming signals from Belthan but nothing from Harth Norn. A few outgoing signals were hidden behind weird muddies that had to be A-tech. Lately Carolli seemed to be getting less fastidious about concealing them. Careless? Why? There was an old Autocracy spy-system called scrambles that when directed through enough power left tiny dirty smears and not much more. Well, fancy that. Once you’d made that link, because you were born and bred low-down suspicious, oh yes, and also Donn, you calculated how much power would be needed to use scrambles on Imperious, and you started thinking Crystal. Mark might not be able to decrypt scrambles but he’d bet he knew a man who’d just love the challenge. He could either send Timmis what he’d found from here and risk setting off the muddied Diplomatic security walls, or write a data-dot and keep it till he’d found out more. The idea of digging into the Baron’s murky past suited him. Ellis was the obvious link and finding out more about her, and Kai, was a bonus. Archives first, then Carolli’s private rooms (checking for traces of Crystal or a transmitter), then get the data-dot over to Timmis.