The link terminated. On the screen Fasthand ordered the fiveskip up to tac-level four. The engines burred harshly, then cut out, hurling them into the Gehenna system—into the jaws of the Knot—at 3,100 kilometers per second. On the main screen the shields fluoresced under the impact of stellar dust; flares of light blossomed here and there as the teslas dissolved larger particles.
Tat shivered; that was something she could have lived the rest of her life without seeing. She turned back to her console. If she didn’t break Morrighon’s hold on the computer, Telos only knew what else she’d see before she died.
ABOARD THE GROZNIY
The alarm blasted through the high-stress racket of Margot Ng’s dreams, and she woke up gratefully. A sense of duty had forced her to grab a few hours’ sleep; though it had been a good idea, her body still ached.
She rose, ran hot water over herself to clear her head, then pulled on her uniform. With a peculiar sense of unreality she made sure all her tabs were fastened correctly and that no flaw marked the fit of the uniform. If Grozniy survived this mission, it would be carrying a Panarch.
High Politics. She shook her head, turning away from the mirror. One couldn’t get any higher. Despite one’s personal inclination, she reflected with grim humor as she went out in search of coffee.
By throwing herself behind the Aerenarch, she had made enemies of some of the most powerful Douloi in the Panarchy. She felt no vestige of regret, especially when she considered that cabal running what remained of the Panarchy.
She sighed, eyeing the breakfast she found she couldn’t eat. If you’re going to be involved in politics, do it right.
Leaning over to tab her com, she said: “Would you inquire if Gnostor Omilov is free for a few moments’ consultation?”
Her ensign would scrupulously word it just that way, she knew, avoiding all semblance of a command.
Her com lit. While she forced a few bites down, Krajno briefed her on their progress. All systems were functioning; less than an hour to emergence.
Omilov appeared a few minutes later. The man looked tired but alert. The remarkably restorative power of action, she thought wryly.
“We will soon be emerging into the Gehenna system,” she said after they exchanged greetings. “Would you like to join us on the bridge?”
His eyelids lifted, betraying surprise and, she thought, pleasure. His lips parted, but then his expression fused into a polite gratitude that indicated second thoughts.
Wondering what he’d been about to say, Ng tried to encourage him. “It’ll be a trifle crowded, of course,” she said. “As the Aerenarch will also be with us. My first thought had been to open a feed to your cabin, but on consideration I thought if our positions were reversed, I would want to be there.” She ended on a faintly apologetic note.
Omilov bowed. “And so I do,” he said. “I really am grateful; I had not dared to ask. But . . .”
“But?” she prompted.
He drew a deep breath, then said decisively, “I had intended to beg for that feed, and also for the company of, mmm-hah, certain persons to witness with me whatever will transpire.”
Ng laughed. “Not the Rifters.”
Omilov answered with a rueful smile. “Well, a couple of them. It was Manderian with whom I discussed this. He expressed a wish that the emerging unity represented by the Kelly, the Eya’a, and two of the Rifters be able to observe, if they wished, what happens when we reach Gehenna.”
Despite the summer setting of the tianqi, a chill crepitated down her back and arms. Behind Manderian stood the High Phanist, who held a power Ng didn’t like to contemplate, confirmed by the image of the Digrammaton seared into her palm after its impossible, instantaneous leap from her dying predecessor’s chest on Arthelion to Desrien. Obedient to that power’s command, impossibly conveyed as well, Mandros Nukiel, as pragmatic an officer as any she’d known, had bent his course from Rifthaven with the rescued Aerenarch toward Desrien before continuing to Ares.
Dealing with the Magisterium was worse than High Politics, she decided, so it was almost with relief that Ng nodded. She owed Omilov too much: this was a relatively easy payback.
“We’ll do it,” she said. “But they won’t have to squeeze into your cabin. I’ll close off one of the classrooms, so they can watch it on one of the big screens. In fact, I’ll give the order right now.”
Omilov bowed again, this time with unalloyed gratitude.
o0o
“Emergence,” Lieutenant Mzinga sang out. “Primary plus 37 light-minutes, 40 mark zero. FF data indicates we should be within a light-minute of a tacponder.”
Their emergence point was a compromise between the most likely course for the Samedi and a reasonable distance from a tacponder. Now to see if we got lucky, Ng thought. “SigInt. Pop the tacponder net; see if there’s an emergence pulse recorded.”
Young Sub-Lieutenant Wychyrski, dead serious while on duty, tapped at her console. “Pulsed.”
Except for the almost inaudible sigh of the tianqi, the bridge was silent while they waited for the returning pulse of information. Ng sensed the presence of Brandon vlith-Arkad behind her right shoulder, though he made no move, no sound.
She blinked tired eyes and forced her attention back on task. Less than two minutes later the SigInt console twittered as data from the tacponder flooded in.
“Emergence pulse recorded 16.4 hours ago at primary plus 35 light-minutes, 33 mark 90, signature matches Alpha-class destroyer. Followed three minutes later by another skip pulse. Subsequent pulses indicate vessel headed for system two-seventy degrees, which correlates with current position of Gehenna.”
“Haruban’s Hells,” Krajno rumbled. “They’re way ahead of us.”
“No further data available,” said Wychyrski. “The system’s far too dirty to pick up anything until we’re a lot closer.”
On the other side of her, Rom-Sanchez worked his console. “Since they can’t know we’re coming, I’d wager they’re making a Real-time Run to keep from stirring up the Knot. But with all that dust and ice an Alpha won’t do better than about point-oh-one, which puts them at the planet in about an hour. Our shields’ll handle about point-oh-three or so . . .”
“So we’ll arrive at Gehenna four hours or so after they land His Majesty,” said Krajno. “And then we’ve got to disable and board them to find out where.”
“. . . except that if we tune the teslas up that high, we’ll perturb the Knot into a dangerous level of instability.” Rom-Sanchez slewed around to face Ng. “It might be too unstable to allow us even short tactical skips once we get there—and we can’t face those skipmissiles with only geeplane maneuvering.”
Ng thought quickly. “Can we safely make a series of short skips instead to get there faster?” she asked.
Rom-Sanchez shook his head. “No. The Samedi’ll have its shields maxed out, so they’re already shaking things up. We’re stuck in real-time.” He grimaced. “And don’t forget that when they start firing skipmissiles, even if we don’t, the Knot’ll get even more unstable.”
Ng tapped her fingernail against her upper lip. There was something from her Academy days. Not the FF simulation. For some reason, she thought of Stygrid Armenhaut, killed at Arthelion. What had brought him to mind?
Then she had it. “Ball-and-chain!” she exclaimed. Armenhaut had tried to use that maneuver against her in a battle-sim at the Academy, using his tractors to hold an asteroid behind his radiants to protect the weak spot in his cruiser’s shields. She’d beaten him, anyway, earning his lasting enmity and her nickname, Broadside O’Reilly, at the same time.
“What?”
Ng ignored Krajno’s interjection. She tapped at her console, windowing up a god’s-eye projection of the Gehenna system and engaging eyes-on mode. A flare of light raced across the image and settled on the inmost gas giant, just outside the influence of the Knot. “Navigation, plot a course outside the Knot to the trojan point for Number Six that’s closest to Gehenna and engage when
computed. On emergence, find me an asteroid about four klicks in diameter and take us to tractor range.”
She turned back to Rom-Sanchez. “Commander, what’s the maximum safe velocity we can use high-tac to decelerate from when we reach Gehenna?”
His brows knit in perplexity, but he soon had the answer. “A single tac-level five maneuver from point-one cee will probably not perturb the Knot beyond safe levels,” he replied, “unless the Rifters are smart enough to shake it up while we’re on our way in—in which case we may not be able to stop and fight.” He looked up at the main viewscreen. “You’re going to use an asteroid for a shield?”
“Steady-state gravitational energy won’t perturb the Knot, right?” Ng countered.
Rom-Sanchez shook his head. “It’ll excite it a bit, but the lobes shouldn’t shift much.” He grinned, looking less like a hound-dog. “Going to be a hell of a show from the inner system—it’ll look like a supernova heading straight for them.”
The fiveskip burred into activity as she replied.
“Good. That’ll give them time to worry about what we’ll do to them when we catch up. There’s no way they can pull off the same stunt, so they can’t get away.”
She looked up at the screen. “When we’re finished, they’ll be only too happy to tell us where they landed him.”
o0o
Manderian touched the annunciator outside Vi’ya and Marim’s cabin. He felt the mental tug that indicated his presence being weighed, and then the door slid open. He walked into frigid air.
He was relieved to find only Vi’ya and the Eya’a.
The Eya’a semaphored rapidly, first identifying him then going on to everyone and their setting. It was either a game or a ritual; why else would they delight in using the signals to state the obvious? Or was it a way of establishing contact with the physical world?
One of their hangings lay spread over a table. Vi’ya sat near it, head bent, her mind shielded, but tiredness marked her eyes. The Eya’a pointed at one of the figures woven into it, semaphored something that he did not understand, and then pointed at a bulkhead and signed: We hear.
Then sharp displeasure compounded by distrust assailed him from Vi’ya, a powerful enough emotional reaction to make him steady himself against a wall. But then it was shielded, so swiftly it left him feeling oddly off balance.
He said to Vi’ya, “Is that their sign for the Aerenarch?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
The Eya’a chittered softly. Manderian comprehended that Vi’ya had been using them to listen, in some fashion, to Brandon vlith-Arkad, and that Vi’ya hated Manderian’s knowing that. But he had learned patience decades ago. He said only, “The captain set up a bridge feed for us in a classroom. The ship will be emerging into the Gehenna system shortly.”
“Then let’s go,” she said.
The Eya’a followed, semaphoring constantly, mostly things they knew, but then making reference to something unseen and unheard by Manderian that was deeply unsettling them. Vi’ya walked in silence, her countenance wary.
How much did she understand? He wondered if she would ever talk about what she’d learned.
They stepped off the transtube.
Ivard skidded around a corner. “Emergence,” he gasped. “We’re—”
They all felt the tremor through the ship that indicated the shift to real-time flight. Ivard turned to Vi’ya, who said, “It’s only for a moment, so they can pop a transponder.”
She was right; as they walked the rest of the way to the empty classroom, Manderian felt the visceral shiver that indicated reentry into skip. Ivard talked with enthusiasm about how impressed he was with the size of the bridge, and with the uniforms, and with Ng and her crew.
They passed banks of empty consoles to the comfortable chairs facing a huge screen. Ivard vaulted over the back of a couch and settled next to the Kelly trinity, who hooted softly, head-stalks writhing in a mesmerizing pattern.
A sensation midway between fascination and alarm seized Manderian, as the Eya’a responded, their twiggy fingers flickering in a pattern similar to that just used by the Kelly. The two groups were developing their own signal system.
Vi’ya sat. The Eya’a settled near her, staring up at the screen. Ivard leaned against the Intermittor of the Kelly, his fingers absently stroking her ribbons. Kelly head-stalks patted him softly as he, too, watched the screen, which showed the bridge, and just above the captain’s head, the main viewscreen.
A pang shot through Manderian as the Aerenarch, standing behind the captain, lifted his chin fractionally, and his eyes glanced up at the imager. Then away.
He knows we’re here. He knows Vi’ya is here.
ABOARD THE SAMEDI
The door to the rec room hissed open, and all conversation ceased. Lufus Kaniffer turned away from the dispenser and forgot the hot cup of caf in his hand when Morrighon walked into the room with a strange, light-footed shuffle, and seated himself at a central table.
Muttering transparent excuses, most of the crew exited with more haste than dignity, carefully avoiding eye contact with Anaris’s henchman.
Kaniffer tried to follow, but—“Lufus Kaniffer. Stay.” Morrighon’s voice was unstressed, full of the unspoken expectation of obedience.
Shock quivered down Kaniffer’s muscles. He knows nobody’s going to challenge him after what they did to Hestik and Soge.
“And you, An’Jayvan Neesach. Come here.”
As the woman paused, glowering fearfully at Morrighon, the remainder of the crew made their getaway, crowding past Oglethorp Bugtul, to whom Morrighon had also beckoned.
“You three have been chosen for a signal honor.” Morrighon pointed at Kaniffer. “You will pilot the shuttle that carries the Panarch and what remains of his Privy Council to their final exile on Gehenna.” He motioned at the other two. “These will be your crew, along with three Tarkan guards. You will use the shuttle in the starboard bay. We reach orbit in a little over four hours, at which time you will debark.”
He walked out.
The three Rifters looked at each other as the hatch hissed shut. Then Kaniffer snickered, the fear replaced by anticipation. This is the break I’ve been waiting for!
“What?” exclaimed Neesach, her shrieky voice scratching Kaniffer’s ears.
“That little twister just handed us our ticket off the Samedi and a ship of our own,” Kaniffer whispered, leaning toward them.
All three looked around for imagers, then Kaniffer shrugged. Fasthand could be watching all he wanted, but Morrighon gave the orders. Kaniffer sniggered, rubbing his hands together. “Can you imagine what we can get on Rifthaven for a vid of the Panarch getting torn apart by a bunch of Isolates?”
Neesach’s jaw dropped, then she grinned. “Ya think they’ll play with ’em a little?”
“Either before they kill ’em,” Bugtul said, licking his wet lips, “or after.”
Kaniffer grimaced. He’d seen the nacker-chips Bugtul collected; himself, he preferred his partners still breathing. Then he shrugged. “Just means more sunbursts for us either way.”
Bugtul frowned. “But those Gehennans—they a threat to us?”
“Nah-h-h,” Neesach scoffed. “That System FF data says there isn’t any metal down here, ’cept in that big crater—they can’t have any weapons worth worrying about. Prob’ly just spears and rocks. The shields’ll handle that.”
“Can you imagine the Panarch getting it with a stone spear?” Bugtul gloated.
No one answered as the three of them envisioned a future rich with possibilities.
But we’ve got to stay downside long enough for the Isolates to find the nicks, Kaniffer thought, and poked his finger at the little engineer. “Buggy, you remember that chip of yours with the nick bitches marooned on the asteroid?” As he spoke, Kaniffer touched his nose and ear in the universal symbol denoting the possible presence of a nark.
“Yeah?” The engineer’s voice was puzzled.
“’Memb
er how they got stuck?” The drivetech in the vid had sabotaged the engines so he could take his time with his victims.
“Yeah,” Bugtul replied after a pause.
“Hell of a thing, getting stuck like that. Didn’t affect the imagers, though.”
“Ye-e-e-a-a-a-h.” Bugtul dragged out the word as he comprehended. “Made a good story. I’ll have to check at Rifthaven next time, see if old Scrogger has anything new like that.”
“Ye-e-a-ah.” Kaniffer matched his tone and nudged Neesach. “That’s the kind of vid you don’t want to be interrupted while you’re watching.”
Her puzzlement altered to mirth.
“Nacky,” she said as Kaniffer stood up. “Real nacky. But I guess we’d better get to the shuttle and check out the systems. Needs some work if I remember right.”
Kaniffer rubbed his hands together as he followed the others out.
He could see those sunbursts now.
o0o
Emmet Fasthand paced the confines of his cabin, biting nervously at a tag of flesh his nails had worried from the corner of his thumb. He should catch some Zs; they were less than four hours from Gehenna, but he couldn’t sleep. He felt like he’d snorted a whole pod of Fleegian snow garlic: his nerves thrummed like an engine in overload.
When his path took him near the data console, he tapped at the keys, then wiped the command before completion. If I keep interrupting Tat, she’ll never break through. It galled him to be so dependent on the little Bori tech, but it was preferable to being at the mercy of the other Bori, Anaris’s secretary.
He fiddled again with the tianqi, but decided if he fed in any more tranquilizing scents he’d put himself in a coma. Then he checked the feed from the bridge, only to find the system trash thickening. The System FF simulation he’d got off the MinervaNet said it was due to asteroids perturbed into the Knot by the system’s gas giants, shattering them to gravel and dust. Just like it’ll do to the Samedi if we’re not careful. But so far, Moob’s scans indicated the Knot was apparently not responding to their presence.
A Prison Unsought Page 54
