****
The images beamed up from Andreena’s surface were just like those from Dilmar. Strafe the ground, send in ground troops and if the whole place catches fire, so what? At least this time the inhabitants had had a little warning and a few families had managed to survive. But they couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. A pity he couldn’t have reached here in time after Ajagara called for help. He still had no evidence, no real idea of what he was up against. And where would they strike next?
“Well, Prasad? Do you have any suggestions?” Ravindra said.
“The same pattern we saw on Dilmar, Srimana. They certainly made a mess of Ajagara.” The blackened remains of the frigate drifted, a larger piece of flotsam. “She must have been hit in the power units.”
“Mm.”
All gone; a frigate and her crew, all her fighters. Not one survivor. Ravindra wished he knew what had happened. What could he tell their families? Killed in action by alien interlopers. And as before, hardly a scrap of Yogina ship to be found, and no bodies. It was as if the defenders had been taken completely unawares. Yet Captain Farvel had launched all his fighters.
Prasad cleared his throat. “We do have some evidence of another ship, Srimana.”
“Yes?”
“We found emissions here.” Prasad indicated the spot. “A vessel came out of shift-space here, almost stopped, turned around and retreated. It would have been the same time as the action here. My people are checking the travel manifests at the most likely departure points for Andreena now to see if anything was expected. Maybe they saw something.”
“Good. I hope they did.” Ravindra rested his forearm on his desk. “Where will they hit next? That’s the real issue. Along with working out how to stop them.”
“They seem to be keeping to the outskirts of our territory. If they keep following this line,” Prasad traced a line on the sector hologram with a lightpen, “they’ll hit Poldark.”
“Yes, or Mumbasa or Bangalar or Krystor or Dahl or Zhabesh or…” Ravindra frowned. “I don’t have enough ships to protect them all. Find that ship.”
****
Vidhvansaka had barely made Hendra orbit when Prasad appeared in Ravindra’s office after the most perfunctory of bows. “We’ve found that ship, Admiral. The one that appeared off Andreena,” he said without preamble.
“Ah. Excellent.” Ravindra stood. “Where is the master?”
“We can bring him up, Srimana, or you can go to him.”
“We will go to him.”
****
Ravindra took over the Hendra space station’s manager’s office for the interview, sitting behind the man’s Spartan desk. Neat and functional; just as it should be. The view screens on the round walls fed pictures from mounted cameras so they looked like windows out into space. They weren’t of course; the office was well within the center of the station’s hub.
A brief knock, Ravindra nodded and the guard opened the door. The master, shabby in a frayed jacket and baggy pants fastened at the ankle, stood between Prasad and a junior NCO.
“This is Admiral Ravindra, Master Pitt,” Prasad said. “He wishes to hear your story as much as I do.”
“Come in, Master and sit,” Ravindra said.
The man bowed, shuffled forward and perched on the edge of the visitor’s chair.
“Not much to tell, Admiral,” said Pitt, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. “We didn’t hang around.”
“No. Very wise,” Ravindra said. “I doubt you would have lasted.”
“We saw the warship blow. Pow!” He described a blossom in the air with his arms. He blinked so rapidly his eyes appeared to flicker. “Nothing we could have done.”
“So you arrived out of shift-space near Andreena. This was a routine delivery?” Ravindra asked.
“Yes. Just supplies. And there was this huge…” Pitt hesitated, searching for words, “…thing, ship. Long and dark. No running lights.”
“We have vision, Srimana,” Prasad said. “Sensor data.”
Magnificent. “Show me.”
Prasad projected to a view screen on the wall.
At last. Ravindra leaned forward. His enemy, vast and featureless. A long, dark rectangle, little more, silhouetted against the starry backdrop. Andreena, a typical blue, green and white inhabited world, appeared to its left, surrounded by moving dots and short dashes.
“There it was,” Pitt said. “It’s at an angle so you can’t see how long it was. Must’ve been fifteen, twenty klicks. Around the planet there were these other, smaller ships and fighters.”
Prasad zoomed in on the smaller ships. Yogina assault ships, as the survivor had described them back at Dilmar, many damaged but more, many more, continuing on to orbit. The familiar arrowhead fighters headed for the planet. In between, dodging and darting, manesan fighters engaged the enemy. As he watched, a Yogina ship’s shields flared and a missile struck.
“There’s debris everywhere,” Prasad murmured.
“Oh, yes,” Pitt said. “Dead ships, hulks. And the warship—ours—charged on to attack that monster.”
A suicide attack. He would have to have the images analyzed but it seemed clear enough. Farvel had aimed Ajagara at the mother ship. Brave man. He deserved a commendation.
What was this, now? The alien ship appeared to pulse. Lightning bolts of energy shot out from points along the vessel’s length, like a broadside. When they hit Ajagara’s shields they dissipated into a mist that engulfed the attacking ship. Ephemeral blue tendrils coalesced and groped blindly, seemingly searching for an entrance. This was incredible. He’d never seen anything like it, like roots probing into the crevices between rocks. A tendril at Ajagara’s stern brightened, stabbing down. The energy gathered, glowed bright as a star and the ship’s engines exploded.
Ravindra closed his eyes. A ship and its crew, gone. Ajagara’s blackened hulk drifted. He mourned for them. That was the agony of command, ordering people to go into situations where they might die.
“That mist looked alive,” Prasad said.
“That’s what I thought.” Pitt said, nodding vigorously. “Like tentacles, looking for weaknesses.”
“And found them,” Ravindra murmured. The images faltered, panned away from the planet. He turned his gaze to Pitt. “And this is where you turned.”
“I wasn’t hanging around, Srimana. Not me.” Pitt hesitated, his tongue flicking over his lips. “Narla Maid is a freighter, Admiral, Srimana. I don’t know anything about fighting.”
“No. You were very wise. I thank you.”
“You’ll catch them? Clean it up?”
“Yes. Ravindra rose to his feet, wishing he was as confident as he sounded. “Senior Commander Prasad will see you out.”
Ravindra replayed the images back to just before Ajagara was blown to pieces. Prasad closed the door behind Pitt and rejoined him. “You noticed that too, Srimana?”
“That they’ve taken all their debris with them. Yes.” Ravindra rested his elbow on the desk and fingered his chin. “That weapon… intriguing. Ajagara still had power in her shields by the looks.”
“I’ll have it analyzed. But I agree.” Prasad caught Ravindra’s eye. “We’re going to have trouble matching that ship with anything in our armory.”
That was the understatement of the century. “Let’s hope Selwood can do something with this.” He hoped so. He was running out of ideas.
Chapter Twelve
Light filtered down through the high window of the room, a spotlight on the ephemeral display of dust motes dancing in its beam. It only happened at this time of day and only if the sun was shining, bringing with it a fleeting memory of fresh air and freedom. Jones eased his buttocks in the chair and admired the tiny, swirling specks of brightness. This way and that they flitted and glided, almost as if they were alive. More so than he was.
At least the university was better than military headquarters, which in turn was better than the battle cruiser. Here, they’d treated him
kindly, given him a small apartment, a modicum of comfort. A sitting room with three chairs and a holovid, a few pictures on the walls in exchange for more blood tests, more samples, more scans. And more questions.
The sun moved on across the roof.
Display over, Jones filled a kettle in the tiny kitchen to boil water for the ubiquitous charb. He wished he could go home. Wake up from this nightmare, tangled up in bedclothes in his own bed.
The kettle boiled. He spooned some dried charb root into a mug, poured and left it to steep, breathing in the familiar, bitter odor. Was this what depression felt like? When dying seemed a happy option? He shivered. Maybe not quite so bad. But hopelessness, sure. Even if they let him out of here, what then? No friends, no contacts, no money. And no skills. Not like Selwood. Where would she be? Still on the battle cruiser? Or executed for insubordination?
A door creaked open, the one into the corridor. Odd. They usually told him when they were coming. He turned to confront the blue-uniformed university guard.
“You are to come. Quickly.” The fellow waved a nerve stick.
They’d used one of those on him at the military headquarters. His whole body prickled at the very thought. “Sure.”
Leaving his charb, he preceded his escort into the corridor, where another man waited. He didn’t recognize either of them. But then, he’d only been here for five or six days. Maybe this was a rotation.
They hurried him along, past the turn to the main university laboratories and down a dark passage. His nerves jangled a warning. This was something new. What now? A service area, narrow and utilitarian, poorly lit, smelling musty with a chemical hint. They hustled past store cupboards and an entrance marked ‘janitor’. At the end, the leading guard swiped a passcard over a panel. The door ground upwards, slow and noisy, revealing an enclosed vehicle carrying cleaning supplies.
Even before the portal had finished its ascent, the second guard urged him into the back. “Get in. Hurry.”
He clambered inside, over cartons and bundles.
“Lie down here. And remain silent.”
A few bundles of towels were thrown over him, then the guard clumped out of the vehicle and the doors closed. A breakout? Is that what this was? Sayvu’s father, maybe? Hope, a wavering candle flame, ignited in his heart. An arthritic wheeze and the van trundled off. Judging by the bump and sway, this one had wheels. Now with the doors closed the smell of cleaning fluids filled the space and fibers from the towels tickled his nose.
The van stopped. Feet crunched on gravel. The door opened. Jones buried his head, mouth dry with fear. Please don’t find me. Please don’t take me back.
“Just at the front here.”
A muffled thump as something was dropped on the floor and the doors closed again, throwing the van into blessed darkness. Jones sagged.
More bumping and thumping. The vehicle jolted to a halt, the door opened again.
“Sur Jones, come.” The words were hissed, urgent.
He pushed the covering towels aside, clambered past buckets and boxes and dropped to the ground. An enclosed yard. Two other vehicles, identical to the one he’d just emerged from, stood side-by-side. All three had ‘Dhobi Cleaning Services’ emblazoned on their sides in blue.
“This way.”
A hand fastened on his upper arm and dragged him into the building. He just had time to notice steam and shiny cylinders on a tiled floor before he was towed into an office. Desk, chair, computer station, view screens on the walls, one of them monitoring the steam-filled room he’d just crossed.
“Put this on.” His benefactor thrust a garment at him.
A hooded coat. Jones pulled it on, flicked up the hood and gazed at an older man with yellow streaks in his long hair. He wore a blue coat over yellow trousers and a yellow, collarless shirt. “Who are you?”
“You can call me Lakshman. Keep the hood pulled down.”
He led Jones outside, where a breeze stirred the trees and clouds drifted across a sparkling blue-green sky. A glimpse of foliage, of trees and he was pushed into the back seat of a skimmer.
“Where exactly are we going?”
Lakshman smiled. “I have a few friends who are anxious to meet you.”
The vehicle lifted and moved off, smooth and silent. No wheels on this machine. Expensive. Jones could smell the opulence even without the golden appointments, the plush red seats, the paneled interior. These were the sorts of friends he liked.
“Why do they want to meet me?”
“We think we could be of mutual benefit to each other.”
“Who is ‘we’ and what sort of benefit?”
“When we arrive.”
Jones gazed out the darkened window. ‘We’ would be Bunyada, he was certain. Help—his guess would be Selwood. They didn’t really think he could help get her off the warship did they? Just the thought of it was enough to send shivers down his spine. His hands tingled with remembered pain. They’d hurt him just to prove they could.
For a few klicks the car traveled between ugly grey blocks and yards surrounded by open fencing. Twice the limousine lifted to pass over the top of wheeled vans. An industrial estate? He supposed every planet had them.
Soon the vehicle left the city behind and followed a winding forest road. This person they were visiting must be a country lad. He didn’t think Vesha would be country lads, but what would he know.
The last light was draining from the sky when the skimmer slowed and stopped in front of high gates. Lakshman flashed a card out of the window and the gates slid apart. The skimmer drove on.
A dark garden crowded close to both sides of a wide, curved driveway. Something large bounded out of the shrubbery to pace effortlessly along beside the vehicle. Jones couldn’t see the beast properly but some primal instinct told him he didn’t want to come face to face with it. They passed out from under overhanging trees into an open space in front of a well-lit house. Three people dressed in red ran down a shallow flight of steps to meet them. One man called the beast that had followed them, an enormous black brute with red eyes. It glowered at the car and snarled its reluctance before it responded to a second, more urgent call. Jones watched it lope away. Not a place to walk around the garden at night, no indeed.
The vehicle’s door had opened. One of the fellows stood expressionless, waiting for him to alight while the other performed the same service for Lakshman. Jones climbed out and gaped at a huge house, rather like the mansions favored by the rich and famous in the Coalition.
The place seemed new, built of some unfamiliar material that glowed like cold and eerie moonlight. The building itself looked like somebody’s mangled memory of a fairytale palace, all turrets and arches, narrow windows and strange embellishments like ugly heads or peculiar, malformed creatures. What they were for was anybody’s guess.
“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” Lakshman’s feet crunched on gravel as he walked around to join Jones. “Asbarthi had it designed to emulate the ninth epoch of our civilization. Most of the grand homes of that period were destroyed by war. Needless to say, it has all the modern features as well.” Smiling he directed Jones toward the front door. “We’re expected.”
Another red-suited servant opened the door and led the two men down a corridor, its walls decorated with frescoes and hangings, the tiled floor inlaid with what appeared to be gold. They were ushered into a room even more opulent than the corridor, a sitting room furnished in an elaborate style. Too much furniture stood on a thick, multi-colored carpet, pictures in heavy frames crowded the walls. Jones found it all overwhelming and tasteless, even if it oozed wealth.
“Asbarthi.” Lakshman stepped forward to meet the man rising out of a chair. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you.” The man gripped Lakshman’s forearm as the two shared a bow. His gaze flicked to Jones, avidly curious. “And this is your unusual friend.”
“It is,” replied Lakshman. “Tony Jones, please meet Sitivan Asbarthi.”
Jones bow
ed, arms at his side, making sure his stance was suitably respectful. “A pleasure, Srimana,” he said with a pleasant smile. “You have a most remarkable house. It is truly magnificent.”
Asbarthi made an expansive gesture with his arm. “Please, do sit down. We do not use Srimana. It is a military term. Call me Sur or Asbarthi.” He sat back in a chair and linked his hands in a steeple. “We’ll be taking you off-planet very soon, but you’ll have time for dinner. I’ve been most anxious to meet you.”
“Oh?”
“Lakshman has told us about you. He has contacts on Ravindra’s flagship.” Asbarthi accepted a glass from a servant’s golden tray. “And you know, of course, that we are Bunyada.”
“I’d assumed so.” Jones examined the contents of the tray the servant offered him and opted for a short glass containing pale blue liquor.
“The place you come from does not have classes.” Asbarthi crossed one leg over the other. “You are not dominated by Mirka.” He almost spat the word. “You can see, looking around you, that I am enormously wealthy. Yet I can take no part in ruling the planet I live on.”
“Yes, so I understand.” Jones sipped diffidently at the glass. It was deceptive, mild on the tongue until you swallowed. After all this time without alcohol, he’d best be careful. “I can see you’d find that frustrating and I’d be happy to help your cause however I can.” As long as they paid him for his effort.
“You have heard the legend that before the classes separated, the manesa had different eyes. Like yours.” Asbarthi walked over to a tall cabinet, unlocked it and extracted what looked to Jones like a piece of broken tile.
“This is extremely rare and very valuable.” He held the piece so Jones could see it. The fragment showed the heads of a man and a woman and for a moment, Jones wondered why he was being shown it—until he realized that the eyes were like human eyes, his eyes.
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