“Please, what is this?” syn-Tavaite asked.
“One of my favorite dramas,” Jessan said. “A classic among my people. I was delighted to find that the Professor—your Masked One, that is—had this recording among his effects.”
“My Galcenian isn’t that good; I don’t understand what they’re saying.”
“They aren’t speaking Galcenian,” Jessan said. “That’s Khesatan. Here …”
He stood and checked the settings on the top of the projector. He found the options key to select language—as he’d suspected, the Professor had been as thorough with that as with everything else. Eraasian was on the list.
Who knows, Jessan thought. Maybe the Prof wanted to hear voices speaking in his own tongue once in a while.
He changed the setting and sat back down.
“I know the words by heart,” he said. “You can follow the story now.”
They watched the players come and go for some time. “What is this play called?” syn-Tavaite asked.
“It’s called By Honor Betray’d,” Jessan replied. “It’s one of what are called on Khesat the revenge dramas. That man there”—he pointed at an actor in a cloth-of-gold doublet and a waxed and gilded beard—“is the Duke. He doesn’t know that his three sons are planning to kill him and divide his lands among them. Now listen … I don’t know how good the translation is, but in the original the language is magnificent.”
The actors moved about the stage in their finery among the clearly artificial scenes. The director of this production had been a purist, and had chosen to abandon holographic naturalism in favor of historical authenticity of presentation. Then someone walked through one of the painted flats as if it wasn’t there—someone in modern dress.
“Gentlesir LeSoit,” Jessan said. “Was it truly necessary for you to ruin this, too?”
“Save your disapproval for later,” LeSoit said. “We have visitors.”
“Your friends, I suppose.”
“No,” said LeSoit. “Yours.”
The Mage agent gestured at the scenery behind him as two more people walked through the illusory stage play: the apprentice Adept Klea Santreny; and, following close after and looming above the frail-seeming young woman, Ari Rosselin-Metadi.
“Nothing in range that looks or acts like a Mage flagship,” reported the comptech at RSF Veratina’s main battle tank.
“Plague take it,” said General Metadi. “He has to be out here somewhere. Message traffic analysis?”
“Negative correlation, sir,” the comms tech on the intercept board said. “Random patterns in Mage comms.”
“Probe data coming in,” said the sensor tech. “Energy releases in Gyfferan system space. Signatures consistent with Gyfferan units and Space Force units. Negative Mage correlation.”
“Send to all units,” Metadi said to the TAO. “Break contact. Regroup at point Tango Five One.”
The crew in CIC felt the acceleration of a run-to-jump, then the momentary sense of dislocation as the cruiser underwent hyperspace translation.
“All right,” General Metadi said. “Relax, everyone. Let’s see if we can get some sandwiches passed around. I have to do some thinking.”
Commander Quetaya approached, looking worried. “More trouble, General?”
“I have a sinking feeling,” Metadi said, “that I know what’s going on at Gyffer.” He nodded toward her clipboard. “Bring up the plans which have Admiral Vallant allied with the Mages, acting under their direction, and hitting Gyffer first.”
“You sure expect a lot of me, General.”
“I know you’ll deliver. Now, where are the summaries?”
Another brief wave of dislocation passed through the compartment as the ’Tina dropped out of hyper.
“Clean in this area,” the TAO said. A moment later, he added, “Task force is present. Lost two units—Grenfyl and Tarpifex.”
“Lost two aye,” Metadi said. “Log their last known position. We’ll look for survivors later.”
“New data from Gyfferan system,” said a sensor tech. “Signature match on EM pulses. Space Force units currently operating in Gyfferan space belong to Infabede sector.”
“You were right, General,” Rosel said.
“I usually am—except when I’m wrong,” Metadi said. “Now, if Vallant is at Gyffer, where is the Mage commander going to linger?”
Quetaya proffered her clipboard. “Three areas of highest probability are marked, sir.”
Metadi studied the diagrams on her clipboard. “I don’t like any of these. Get me some better ones.”
“Sir?”
“Whoever’s running the Mages is a clever bastard. He knows we’ll be running probability checks. So I want you to find the inverse of the most likely places. I want to look there.”
“Message coming from Gyffer,” said a comms tech. “Citizen-Assembly is requesting aid from anyone capable of rendering it.”
“I’m way ahead of them,” Metadi said. “No one shoots up my home planet without ticking me off a bit.”
“I never thought the LDF would fold this easily,” the TAO said.
“They haven’t folded,” Metadi said sharply. “Remember, they’ve already spent the last two weeks holding off the same fleet that took Galcen and the Net without even breathing hard.”
“Sir,” said the comms tech. “Same frequency as the Gyfferan request for aid: reply from Net Patrol Fleet. Net Patrol is standing by to render assistance.”
“Who’s in command of that fleet?” Quetaya asked, checking ship’s memory as she spoke.
“Depends on what losses they took in the Mage breakthrough,” Metadi said. “Could be anyone by now.”
“Says here the boss used to be a Captain Gil.”
“That’s him. Good man. Bit of a romantic, but he hides it well—and he knows how to keep a cool head in a crisis. I hope whoever’s running the show now is as smart as he was.”
Metadi reached over for a stylus and drew a circle on one of Rosel’s charts. “Given the changing situation, I think we should look for our Mage right about there. TAO, make the signal.”
“Signal to the task force—make course for new coordinates, one-five-three-three-one-niner,” said the TAO.
“Stand by, jump.”
Again the ship entered hyper. The trip wasn’t very long this time. As soon as they dropped out the comptechs began to put up red Mage-ID’ed contacts in the main tank.
“Looks like you were right about people being here,” Quetaya said, “but I don’t see anything that looks like a flagship.”
“Message coming in, Infabede crypto,” the hyperspace comms tech said. “Personal for Captain Faramon.”
“Very well,” Metadi replied. He called the message to the screen by his control seat. “Let’s see …” He inserted Faramon’s personal cipher key. “ … and there it is. ‘From UDC Fezrisond To UDC Veratina, Personal For Captain Faramon. Make hyper transit of Gyffer, rendezvous with this unit. I intend to transfer my flag to you. Admiral Vallant sends.’”
General Metadi sat back and thought for a moment. “A thing like this requires some kind of response. Let’s see … Faramon’s personal cipher; message follows: ‘From RSF Veratina to UDC Fezrisond, Personal for Mutineer Vallant. I intend to capture or kill you, whichever is easier. General Metadi sends.’”
“Message sent,” said the hyperspace communications tech.
“Any response?”
“Just a minute,” said the tech, “Hi-comms losing integrity.” She pulled off her headset. “No good, General Metadi, sir. Hi-comms are down hard.”
“Switch to lightspeed comms,” Metadi ordered. “And work off of probabilities. The Mages are about to strike. If they get us with the same trick twice in a row, we deserve to lose.”
The main tank display was showing probability bubbles again, hollow spheres that changed volume and position as the possible location of each contact changed with time.
“Hang on,” said the main tank compt
ech. “Here’s something. Vessel dropping out of hyper. You were right, sir—it looks like a Mage.”
“Big one, too,” said another comptech. “Check out the emissions on that son of a bitch!”
“He’s in location for the center of a screen,” said the TAO. “Appears to be dropping off fighters. You were hunting for a large, well-protected unit, General? That one fits the bill.”
“Assume that vessel to be the Mage flagship,” Metadi said. “Keep a close watch on it. Constant track, with extrapolation.”
“Messenger arriving, docking bay two. Courier from Colonel Tyche’s recon group.”
“Send him up.”
Shortly afterward, a young infantry trooper came into the CIC. “Message from Colonel Tyche,” he said. “He requests permission to board and capture the large Mage target.”
“Wait,” Metadi said. “I’ll send him a reply shortly.”
“Sir,” Commander Quetaya said. “Since hi-comms are down, I’d like permission to take a shuttle and make contact with the CO of the Net Patrol forces. Inform him of our presence. Point out the Mage flagship and try to coordinate an attack.”
“I need you here,” Metadi said. “You’re the only one of my officers completely familiar with all our plans.”
“That’s why I have to go, sir,” she replied. “Without hi-comms, how else can we coordinate with Net Patrol?”
Metadi sighed. “You have a point, unfortunately. Permission granted to make contact with Net Patrol Fleet in Gyfferan space.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He turned to the PI trooper. “Message to the colonel: ‘Permission granted to board Mage flagship. Do not, I say again do not, commence operations without positive signal from me to begin.’”
“Yes, sir, understood.”
“Trouble,” said the TAO suddenly. He pointed toward the large Mage unit. The sphere of probability was stretching into an oval spheroid. The bubbles of the screening vessels around the Mage flagship were also elongating and distorting. “Looks like he’s putting on speed. Possible run-to-jump.”
“What’s on his path?”
“Gyfferan system space.”
“Match his velocity,” Metadi said. “Break EMCON. Signal to the fleet: when he jumps, we jump. Drop out close over Gyffer.”
The Void was cold grey fog—no sky, no land, no horizon. Light came from everywhere and nowhere at once. Llannat could feel the fog drawing the strength out of her as she stood. The silver cords were gone. She pulled off her mask and clipped it onto her belt, but the featureless grey non-place around her remained the same.
Owen was standing beside her. In his plain spacer’s coverall he seemed an unlikely figure to be Errec Ransome’s successor and Master of the Guild. But his strength was unmistakable, and so was the steady, uncompromising thread of his presence in the weave of the universe. She wondered what had persuaded him to give up the apprenticeship he’d always preferred, and claim mastery at last.
There was no time now to ask, however. Not with the Void leaching the power out of them with every breath they took.
“The Domina,” she said to Owen. “If Perada’s here, she’s been here for years. There’ll be nothing left to bring back.”
“Your teacher is guarding her. And for those not in-body, time means nothing. We’re the ones who need to worry.”
Llannat shivered. “How do you find somebody, though, when all places are the same place?”
“If all places are the same place,” Owen said, “then to make a journey is to arrive.” He pointed into the greyness seemingly at random. “There. See?”
She followed the gesture, and saw what looked like a black speck in the distance. “I didn’t see that before.”
“We weren’t going there before.”
They started moving through the mist toward the speck of darkness. As they approached, the speck turned from a dot level with their eyes to a flat black disk, and then to an orb hovering far up above them, like a black sun in a sky that never was. Another dark speck appeared before them: first a line, then a tower, jutting up like a black and broken tooth.
Llannat put out her hand to call a halt. The dark tower rose up from the mist before them, with more dark shapes in the mist hinting at walls to either side and a looming citadel behind. High in the air came a keening sound, as of some massive and hungry animal crying its need.
“I never saw this place,” she said. “And I’m not going in.”
“It’s the only place here,” Owen said. “It must be where we need to go.”
“No,” Llannat said. “It’s wrong; I can see the ugliness of it without needing a mask to make the patterns clearer. Whatever lives in there is dead beyond helping. You showed me doors, the times I saw you in trances and visions. Show us doors now.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Owen said.
“You do know,” Llannat said. “You have to know. Because if you can’t find us a way, we’ll die. And the Domina will never live.”
“Dropping out of hyper over the Gyfferan system,” reported the tactical action officer on RSF Veratina.
“Launch permission from dock one,” said the small-craft controller. “Shuttle away.”
“Very well,” General Metadi said. “Now where’s the Mage?”
“Getting sensor data,” the TAO said. “We’re in Gyfferan system space, all right. Hi-comms still down.”
“Find the bastard.”
“We’ve been spotted,” said the sensor tech. “Fire-control frequencies.”
“Evasive steering,” Metadi said. “Signal to all units, take loose line of bearing, two-four-zero on me. Fire independently. Target is Mage flagship. Make every shot count.”
“We’ve got EM flares up five,” said the sensor tech. “They evaluate as Space Force units attacking Mages.”
“ID units,” the TAO said.
“This is odd,” said the sensor tech. “Space Force units ID as members of Infabede Sector Fleet.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Metadi said. “All Mage units are hostile. All Infabede units are presumed hostile. Net Patrol, task force, and Gyffer units are friendlies. We have one target: the Mage flagship.”
“Mage flagship aye,” said the TAO. “Forpin reports under fire.” A pause. “Lost comms with Forpin.”
“Get me some speed,” Metadi said.
“We’re already pushing it, sir.”
“If we aren’t spattering tubes all over system space we aren’t pushing it hard enough.”
“Lost comms with Darmyn. Lost comms with Aleys.”
“Get an intercept course on that Mage,” Metadi said, leaning forward and pointing at the sphere of probability marking the unit he’d identified as the Mage flagship. “Take us up to jump speed, but do not jump. Run in realspace.”
“We can’t go at jump speed for that long,” the TAO protested. “We’ll start losing the engines.”
“Follow my orders,” Metadi replied. “I want to get this ship over there.”
“Jump speed aye.”
“Very well,” Metadi said. “Signal to Colonel Tyche: Commence boarding action. Execute.”
“Message to Colonel Tyche, aye,” the comms tech on the lightspeed board echoed.
“Now, this is the way to go,” Metadi said, leaning back again. “Just me and him, and all I need is one shot at him.”
“One shot’s all that we’re going to get,” the TAO said. “Mages are inbound Gyffer: tentative count on friendlies and unknowns show Mage numerical superiority.”
“That doesn’t concern me,” Metadi said. “This is what I drew my pay for from the Republic, all those years. I want to give them their money’s worth.”
“Show me a door,” repeated Llannat. “Show me a door now.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Owen said.
“You know,” Llannat said. “You have to know, because if you don’t know, we’ll die.” She paused. “You said you’d been in the Void befo
re. Tell me what you saw.”
“I saw the dead, and I killed a Mage, and I went away hurt and bleeding. An Adept’s skills count for nothing in the Void.”
“That’s what they always told us, anyway,” Llannat said. “But even if you were pulled in here against your will, you found your own way out. How?”
“I followed the man I killed.”
“You followed him? Then we’ll follow you.”
Llannat concentrated on the man before her, in his worn grey spacer’s coverall with his staff in his hands. She remembered how the Mage she had fought in the Void had formed an ally out of the swirling mist, and how the dark tower had come when Owen looked for it.
It can be done, she reassured herself. I’ve seen it done.
Out of the mist beside them rose an image of Owen Rosselin-Metadi, sculpted of fog-smoke and the chilling vapor that was the substance of the Void. The phantom turned, running away into the mist.
It can be done. I did it.
There was no time left for thought—already the phantom Owen was lost in the swirling greyness. But his staff was blazing with white light, making a beacon for them in the shadows.
“Come on,” Llannat said. “We have to follow him.”
They started off again, running, following the bobbing white light in the mist. For a long, mind-deadening time the pursuit continued, while the cold and the mist burned away Llannat’s strength even further.
How does he do it? Llannat wondered, casting a glance aside at Owen. He was moving in a steady, ground-eating stride, not even breathing hard. The light ahead grew neither nearer nor farther as they ran along. Llannat felt a pain growing in her side. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep on.
Then the light ahead vanished.
Owen halted. “Where—?”
Before he could finish the question, a shadow appeared in the greyness before them, an opening in the non-substance of this non-place. She hesitated, but Owen didn’t. Without breaking stride he entered the dark place and vanished, and rather than lose him she followed.
By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3 Page 36
