Susan’s voice was steady, but the worry was starting to show now. “Negative, Angel-One. RSR ETA is now four minutes. What is going on out there?”
The very end of her question was nearly eclipsed by another burst of static, and this time Gabe caught the edges of a word among the noise. He narrowed his eyes to magnify his view of the other rig and watched it shift carefully closer. Was it trying to speak to him? Gabe chose a communications channel close to the one sending the static and cleared his throat. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Static was the only response, and then the other rig’s head tilted to the side. It was a curiously quizzical gesture, one that made it seem like the other pilot was trying to study the CTR. Then it sent another blast of static, and this time there was a word nestled in the mess of noise, clear despite the confusion. “Atanaas?”
Gabe felt a chill at the voice. It had a deep, reverberating quality to it, as if it had elements that dipped far below a human’s hearing. The other rig waited for a response, and Gabe tried to find one despite the fear and uncertainty now swirling within him. “My name is Gabriel Miller. Gabriel.” He carefully turned his rifle away from the other rig. “What is your name?”
The other rig did not react for a moment. Then it shook its head as if frustrated. It sent another burst of static, and this time the voice was full of menace. “Atanaas? Atanaas?”
It didn’t take a genius to tell that the situation was not going well. Gabe shook his head. “Is that your name? Atanaas? What are you trying to tell me?”
His interrogator did not respond. In fact, the other rig seemed the slightest bit uncertain now, and it withdrew a short distance from him. It looked toward its companions, and Gabe heard a tone that told him it was signaling them. Then it looked back to him, its gaze steady. “Cuidse du Atanaas. Cuidse.”
Then it glanced back over its shoulder and froze. Without further warning, the rig shot down relative to Gabe’s CTR. Gabe watched it dive in a long, fast loop under him before shooting out of his sensor range. He watched the rest of the contacts vanish as well, probably joining up with their comrade.
He was still staring in that direction when the RSRs arrived, their insect-like forms skittering across the void toward him. Eyes-Five was the first to spot him, and the scout rig pilot contacted him with a hint of nervousness. “Angel-Lead, are you al lright? We thought we caught sight of something out here with you.”
Gabe shook himself as if he were waking up from a trance. “I’m fine, Eyes-Five. Just a little unknown contact. Let’s get back to base.” He glanced back to where the contacts had vanished. “And keep your sensors up. I don’t want those things following us home. Angel-One out.”
Susan walked along the corridors of her flagship and tried not to fume.
There was plenty to be angry about. Gabriel had returned from his patrol well over an hour ago and the data from his computers was still being analyzed, but she did not have to fully dissect that information to come to one conclusion. The man had once again decided to place himself directly in the line of fire without sparing one thought for the people who cared about him. This time, he’d done it on a spur-of-the-moment feeling of curiosity—with perhaps the desire to avoid a problem she knew was important. It was almost as infuriating as the continual bickering throughout the fleet that she had to deal with on a day-to-day basis. If she hadn’t truly cared about Gabriel, she would have jettisoned him out of the nearest airlock.
She shook her head and tried to divert her thoughts to other problems—a fact sadly made easier by the multitude of challenges she faced. The fleet she led now wasn’t nearly as well-organized and disciplined as the Directorate task forces she had once served. Not only were the defense ships far more unruly and inexperienced than the Directorate norm—after all, despite their victory over the Bennett Securities mercenary fleet a short while before, most had only been part of the Wayfarer Defense Force for less than three months—they were dragging along countless thousands of civilians on scores of passenger and supply ships. Worse, they had been forced to flee Eris and the rest of the Known Worlds in a rush, one that had been forced on them by the constant attacks by Bennett Securities and the looming deadline imposed by the Council of the Known Worlds.
As a result, the command structure of the fleet remained far more . . . fluid . . . than Susan preferred. The Defense Forces acknowledged her authority easily, but the civilian transports were far less inclined to accept her orders. Several times, ships had hesitated or refused basic maneuvering instructions on the basis that she was “merely” the admiral in charge of the military ships, rather than the fleet as a whole. Susan clenched her fists as she started down another corridor, this one looking a bit newer than the rest. It was as if the fleet wanted to remain disorganized and vulnerable to attack.
“Admiral Delacourt?” The mellow, unassuming voice brought her head up, and Susan saw a man waiting further along the corridor for her. Clark Miller, Speaker of the Way, did not show any signs of the megalomania that most of his opponents would have expected from him. The spiritual—and, for all intents and purposes, temporal—leader of the Wayfarers lived far more humbly than his power and influence would have suggested. He carried a small, antiquated cane for support and wore simple business attire rather than formal robes or casual wear. His calm expression was graced with a gentle smile, and he waved the cane at her in greeting. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Admiral, but I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time.”
Susan nodded sharply. She idly wondered if the Speaker had come to intercede for his son, but though Clark loved Gabriel deeply, she doubted he would interfere with their relationship so directly. At least, she hoped he would not. “Of course, Elder Miller. I would enjoy your company.”
He nodded and turned to walk alongside her. Rather than continuing to the bridge, Susan decided to turn aside into the lesser-used corridors of the Concord so as to allow them a more private conversation. Susan slowed her stride to accommodate him as well. Though the doctors had assured the Speaker that his wounds would not lead to serious incapacity, Elder Miller had continued to walk with a small measure of difficulty. She shuddered inwardly at the memory of the attack that had led to his crippling injuries, but she kept her attention on the ship around her. Better to focus on the present than on the past.
For a long moment, they simply walked together through the corridors of the Concord. There were no other crew members in sight, and Susan remained confident that she would not see anyone else for as long as they stayed away from the main corridors. The Concord was an old ship, and her interior was a catacomb of passages and hallways that few had bothered to explore over the decades of her service. For the past few years, the elderly carrier had been turned into a museum ship of sorts, and her crew had been substantially smaller than she had once needed. Much of her bulk had fallen into disuse, and only now that the Wayfarers had made her their flagship were some of the abandoned sections of the ship being restored. Despite the efforts of the crew, much of the ship was left to itself. She wondered how Elder Miller had managed to find her so quickly despite all that, and then shook her head.
“Elder Miller, may I ask what brought you to me today? I hope it’s not another problem with the Keeper.”
Elder Miller chuckled, though his expression seemed a little regretful. Keeper Hartwin Schreiber had been a consistent adversary of the followers of the Way before they left New Sonora, and even though he had chosen to accompany them on their journey, he had not given up his contentious attitude toward the Speaker himself. “No, no. Hartwin is no more agreeable than usual, but he hasn’t caused our little meeting today.”
Then Elder Miller paused. When he continued, his tone was a bit too cautious. “When I spoke with my son earlier, he implied that you might have been upset over my leadership. May I ask why?”
Susan came to a stop. She turned to look at the Speaker, and her mind whirred as she tried to put together a response that would not ruin
her previously stable relationship with the head of the Wayfarers. “Your leadership is not the problem, Elder Miller. The fact that we have not yet begun to effectively address the consequences of our situation is the problem.”
She sighed as Elder Miller directed a questioning look at her. “Elder Miller, I can appreciate the difficulties you must now face. Your people have barely escaped from those who wanted to kill you. You are starting out on a journey that may take you many years to complete. Even the process of finding a new world, let alone colonizing it, may prove close to impossible.
“All the same, there are issues closer to hand that need your attention. At the very least, they need someone’s attention.” Susan shook her head. “Our departure from New Sonora was done quickly and effectively, but we now lack several resources which we did not take the time to gather. Annihilation fuel is limited, and we don’t exactly have the opportunity to gather more. Without it, our ships won’t even be able to remain functional as their energy supplies run low. Medical supplies are growing rare, and there have been several outbreaks of disease among the civilians. Some of those outbreaks are threatening to spread to the military ships as well. The issue of the captured mercenaries needs to be dealt with. For now, they’ve been confined to their ships as prisoners, but that solution is only temporary.”
Elder Miller’s expression had grown more concerned with each problem. He shook his head. “Unfortunately, Admiral, these are problems that our people must face if we are to journey to a new home. We must find a way to bear them if we are to find the place the Lord has chosen for us.”
She snorted despite herself. “They would be much easier to bear, Elder Miller, if we were already on that journey. If we had chosen our destination and started toward it.” Susan chose another turn at random. “Without direction, and without progress, our problems will not be seen as obstacles or trials to overcome. They will fester and worsen until even the most devoted among you Wayfarers will start to doubt. There will be trouble from it, and worse.”
Susan had taken a few more steps down the corridor before she realized that the Speaker had not followed her. She turned to find him halted at the intersection, his expression still concerned. He met her eyes.
“It is your opinion, then, that unless we move soon, there will be more problems? That these issues will grow?”
Hoping she had not pressed the man too hard, Susan nodded. “Yes, sir. I do. We’ve done well to get this far, but your people are looking for a little more than an empty star system a handful of jumps from Eris. We need a new home, and we need it soon.”
Elder Miller nodded slowly. “I understand, Admiral. Unfortunately, the obstacle of finding such a place is more difficult than even you have realized. If we move too soon, without guidance from the Lord, we may be led astray and never find our way.” He glanced around at the corridor, and an amused look came over his expression. “For example, I don’t suppose you happen to know where we are, Admiral.”
Startled, Susan glanced around. Her surprise grew as she realized that she didn’t recognize any of the directional markings on the walls. With a frown, she brought out her personal phone and brought up a map of the ship’s corridors. To her dismay, the blinking dot which revealed her location was in the middle of a completely empty spot in the schematic. When she looked up, she found Elder Miller grinning at her. He looked entirely too much like Gabriel. “I’m afraid not. We seem to have wandered into a dead zone.”
Concern bloomed on Elder Miller’s face, but Susan waved it away. “It’s something that can happen a lot on these older ships. Some sections of the vessel are labeled as secret and the corridor maps are removed for security reasons. Occasionally, those sections never get reintroduced to the official map, but the commanding officers know about them.” She frowned at the map again. “Commander Mesic was supposed to have updated things, but he may have forgotten this one.”
“Or he may have never learned of it.” Elder Miller shrugged. “Nevertheless, you can see my point.”
Susan raised an eyebrow. “You may see mine as well, Speaker. We can stay here all we like, but the only way to get to where we need to be is to start moving.”
To her relief, Elder Miller laughed. She started to turn back and lead him further down the passageway, but he waved for her to stop. He gestured to a different branch of the corridor. “Would you mind if we go in this direction? There’s something about that hallway I don’t like.”
Susan hesitated. Her curiosity tugged at her, as it had always been her habit to explore such places. Then she shrugged and walked back to him. They began down the new corridor together, Elder Miller’s cane clicking on the metal of the hallway. He continued, his voice thoughtful. “The Lord has not spoken to me on our destination yet, Admiral. I am not sure where He wants us to go.”
Before she could respond, Elder Miller held up a hand to forestall her. “And yes, I do understand that He would have us make the best choices available to us. I have had that experience at plenty of junctures in my life. Yet it is also my experience that at times the Lord would have us wait, rather than jumping at every opportunity.”
He glanced at her, his gaze weighing her reaction. “Though I suppose I should be a bit more practical in my reasoning, Admiral?”
Susan tried to school her features from blatant frustration to professional neutrality. Her own doubts on the matter of his spiritual authority aside, Elder Miller’s respect for her, and for her decisions, had never wavered. The least she owed him was a return of that favor. “Elder Miller, I did not mean to—”
Elder Miller waved her explanation aside. “No, do not feel uncomfortable. A wise man adjusts his words to his audience, but I fear that I have not been counted among the sages of the world.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Though you would do me a great favor if you did not share that with my son.”
“I would not dream of it, sir.” Susan fought the urge to grin. “He likely has enough ammunition to use against either of us already. A smart admiral knows when to cut the enemy’s supply.”
“I suppose so.” Elder Miller sighed. “To sum up my concerns, Admiral Delacourt, I worry that if we were to move too quickly, we would lose the opportunity to find a true home. We may indeed locate a place to eke out a few years in relative peace, but we might just as easily run afoul of pirates, accidents, or disasters. I fear our flight from Eris has left us disorganized, unprepared, and afraid. We need time to sort things out before we commence our journey to safety and peace.”
He paused and his expression grew thoughtful, almost as if he was listening to something else. “Besides, I cannot shake the feeling that we are missing something. It may be something that an overly hasty departure would deny us forever. Perhaps there will be more who will join us in our flight, or some action that we must undertake while we wait here. The Lord has more planned for us than a simple flight from persecution, and He will place us where we are needed. I can only hope that we will be ready when the time comes.”
The words came with the unshakable certainty that Susan had come to expect from the Speaker’s occasional proclamations. Once, she had simply set them aside as the stagecraft of a simple preacher, but hard experience had taught her the conviction behind the speech. In her mind’s eye, she once again saw Elder Miller standing against the mercenaries who had come to kill them, warning them of the punishments their actions would bring. As she had then, she felt a surge of reassurance, though her more rational side struggled with the logic behind her feelings.
Outwardly, Susan nodded. “Of course, Elder Miller. I merely wished to remind you of my concerns. There is a fine line between reasonable delay and procrastination.”
“I know, Admiral Delacourt, and I will remember your advice.” Elder Miller smiled gently and nudged her with an elbow. “Who knows? Perhaps these aliens Gabriel claims to have found might be the reason for our pause here.”
Susan laughed. “Is that what he says they are now?” She gestured dismissively.
“They are probably just a batch of fringe pirates skirting the system for unwary travelers. They might bother a few rig patrols, but an entire combat fleet would give them something else entirely to worry about.”
“I’m sure you are correct, Admiral.” Elder Miller glanced around distractedly. “Now, I believe that I need to take my leave of you. Elder Ransour wanted to meet with me about our food supplies, so I will need to return to the Summer Rain.” He shook his head. “Thank you for your time, Admiral Delacourt. May you find what you are looking for.”
Susan watched as Elder Miller turned off onto a side corridor, waving his cane briefly in farewell. She waited until he had turned the nearest corner before she set off toward the bridge again. The needs of the fleet would not pause simply because she felt a little frustration over their overall position—and perhaps as she squashed those smaller problems, she would finally find the patience she needed to deal with a certain persistently annoying rig pilot as well.
Chapter Two
Captain David Wong of the Directorate of Defense warship Imperious stood to attention. The rest of his watchstanders stood in similar stances at their workstations, their eyes respectfully directed straight ahead. He was not surprised. No junior officer would dare show a sign of disrespect to a superior officer, especially when that officer held flag rank. It would have been even more foolish if the flag officer had amassed a certain level of fame—which, by all accounts, Admiral Nevlin certainly had. The Hero of Riaskat would not be pleased if he did not find the proper discipline expected on a Directorate warship—and his friends throughout the rest of the Directorate would also be unhappy.
Given that any repercussions would fall on him personally, Wong had made especially certain that discipline would hold. His personal sense of honor had demanded nothing less.
Broken Halo (Wayfarers) Page 2
