Weapons appeared in the hands of the Great Cats, and they opened fire on the vehicles, forcing the guards to keep their heads down. The primary focus of the guards was the cats, but Stven was hit again just as he reached the ramp, the shot ricocheting from the scales on the top of his head to detonate against the ramp. He went down, out cold.
Moving an unconscious dragon was not an easy thing to do. Gordi’i and Kali’i each raced to his side, but they could not budge him. The cats were returning to the ship, each covering the other as they retreated, when two stingers headed their way from the terminal building. Resembling small tanks, the handheld weapons of the cats would be useless against the stingers.
The top turret on the ship opened up, fired twice, and both stingers exploded. The guns traversed to the damaged cars, and the police hiding behind them gave up the fight, running for the protection of the building. The cats joined Gordi’i and Kali’i and managed to haul Stvens’ body onto the ramp. The moment the ramp closed, the ship lifted.
M’Sada and Tarn were in the net, and they were soon joined by Krys. She took the bottom battery of two guns, while Tarn stayed with the top battery. The moment they were away from the port, M’Sada angled the ship toward space.
“Two Empire fighters just lifted from the military port,” Tarn said, almost casually.
“They’ll have a slight speed advantage,” M’Sada answered, as they left the planet behind.
The two fighters gradually closed the gap. “They’re holding position, and they’re holding fire, but they’re in range,” Tarn said. “Our aft shields are full up. Permission to fire?”
M’Sada, busy with flying the ship, thought hard. The trailing fighters were within range, but they weren’t firing. Why not? His upper hands began a rapid preening of his two long antennae as he considered. A couple of answers came to him immediately: either there were other ships ahead that would do the job, or these two wanted to get farther from the planet before firing.
A chill suddenly ran through his body, and the preening stopped. There definitely were ships ahead of him, but they were a long way out. There was only one reason he could think of that would cause the ships behind him to delay firing. They would be using a weapon they did not want the people on the planet to know about, and there was only one weapon he knew of that fit that description: the Chessori mind weapon.
“Cats to the bridge,” he ordered over the communicator. “Crew, standby to disconnect from the net.”
The moment the cats arrived, M’Sada briefed them, then handed the net over to them. Borg was captain, and Kross and Trist each manned a gun battery. The changeover wasn’t a moment too soon. One moment M’Sada was staring at the screens on the bridge, and the next he was rolling across the floor in agony. So, too, were Tarn and Krys.
Borg was cagey. He left the ship on its original trajectory, making it act as if no one was at the controls. The two fighters approached without even putting up their shields, and Kross and Trist opened fire simultaneously, destroying both ships. The mind weapon stopped, and M’Sada and Tarn slowly came to their senses. Krys did not.
M’Sada staggered back into the net, replacing the cats with himself, Kali’i, and Gordi’i. Tarn took one look at Krys and immediately went to her. She was unconscious, her breathing irregular. “She’s in trouble,” he shouted to M’Sada. “I’m off to sick bay.”
“She comes first, Tarn. We’ll mind the ship.”
Tarn picked up Krys’ slim body as if it was a feather and hurried to sick bay. He placed her in an analyzer, then pulled the cover closed. It took a while, and he didn’t understand all the details of the findings, but he understood enough to know that she had some bleeding in her brain. The readings were amber on the screen, indicating only mild concern. Chemicals were administered automatically, and there was nothing further for him to do.
Kross and Trist showed up dragging an unconscious Stven between the two of them. There was just no way they could lift him to a bed or a table. Tarn grabbed a portable analyzer and was in the process of running it over the great body of the dragon when Stven groaned. He came to swiftly and lurched to his feet.
“Ouch!” he said, glaring at everyone. “That hurt.”
“Hey, you okay, Captain?” Tarn asked, concern etched on his face.
“Yea. Just a headache. He extended a wing, careful to avoid hitting anyone, and groaned at what he saw. A wing rib had been shattered. “I won’t be doing any flying for a while. What’s going on?”
“If you’re up to it, you’d better get up to the bridge. We’re in big trouble. Krys is hurt, but I think she’ll be okay.”
The dragon peered at the readout on the analyzer, and a puff escaped from each nostril. “What happened?”
“The Chessori are what happened. Their mind weapon seems to have affected her more than the rest of us. I’ll keep an eye on her. Call me if I’m needed.”
Stven left sickbay dragging a wing. He’d fix it later, if there was a later. He entered the net, but his thoughts were still a little muddled, so he just observed. A full squadron had just come around the planet and was headed their way, but it was a long way away. Two more squadrons, both far out in the system, were headed their way, as well, but they, too, were far off. M’Sada was busy computing the best escape trajectory. Solution after solution appeared, he selected one, then set the ship on its new course.
“It’s not the solution that gives us the most time,” Stven said softly.
“I know. We’re going to have to do it again, jump early. I’ve chosen a course that’s taking us as far below the plane of the ecliptic as I can get us. Are you okay with that? And don’t go getting all puffy on me.”
“I won’t. It’s a good choice. Looks like we have four or five days before we jump.”
“Depends on the range of the Chessori mind weapon, my friend.”
“Those are Empire ships.”
“So were the two fighters that Borg and Trist took out right after we left the planet. Chessori were flying them.”
A deep silence filled the net for a time. “Does that mean what I think it means?” Stven asked.
“Hold your breath, buddy. It can only mean one thing.”
“Surely there aren’t enough Chessori to fill out a squadron.”
“There doesn’t have to be. Who’s going to fight back?”
“But what about the other crewmembers? Surely they won’t put up with the pain and suffering?”
“Would you, if it meant you lived?”
Stven studied the squadrons in the display, his thoughts not on the Chessori but on the unlucky crewmembers who were with them. How had the Rebels convinced them to stay with their ships? Surely, they’d jump ship at the first port of opportunity. Then he wondered . . . were these ships allowed into port?
“This is big trouble, my friend. Seeton and Buskin can’t fight these guys.”
“Not without a lot of Great Cats, they can’t. And consider this: it wouldn’t take very many Chessori to man the guns of a squadron during a fight. They wouldn’t have to cook or clean or repair, they’d just have to have a pilot and some gunners. They wouldn’t be very effective, but they wouldn’t have to be if their targets were incapacitated. They could take them out at their leisure, just as you saw them do at Dorwall.”
Stven barely caught the puff before it left his nostril. He sucked it in and swallowed, then let his digestive system deal with it. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but it worked in a pinch. “So a few Great Cats might hold their own against them.”
“Exactly. We need to get the word out.”
“To whom?”
“To someone who can spread it for us. We can’t be everywhere.”
“Seeton or Buskin.”
“Or both. Who’s closest?”
Stven considered. “We don’t know where Buskin is, but he gave us coordinates for a ship that will know, and he won’t be far from there. If we go to Seeton, it’ll take an extra three weeks of in-system travel. Let�
�s find Buskin.”
* * * * *
Borg and his partners stayed near the bridge as the trailing squadron neared. Stven needed to get as far beneath the system as he could before jumping. He waited until the approaching ships were half a day away, then M’Sada jumped. He laboriously executed one more jump while the AI was down for a beacon change, then they headed toward the rendezvous with Buskin.
Krys was up in a few days, dealing with a headache and blurred vision, but nothing worse. Her healing would continue at its own pace now without stimulants or medicines. She resumed her meditations and a limited exercise regimen, with Tarn always in attendance to keep a close eye on her.
No one needed to state the obvious: something in Krys was more sensitive to the Chessori mind weapon than it was in the others. She suffered physical damage while they just suffered pain. Had it affected her Seer abilities? No one knew.
The rendezvous point was deep in interstellar space, so they were able to jump to it without the three week delay of transiting a planetary system. When they arrived, a full, heavy squadron filled their screens. When challenged, Stven gave the password. The proper password was received in response, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
“We need to see your boss,” Stven said. “Can you give me the coordinates?”
“Sorry, but it’s not our way. Who are you, and why are you here?”
“Our true identity is Rappor. Is that adequate identification?”
“It is. We’ll take you aboard and supply a pilot.”
Stven and M’Sada looked at each other in surprise. “I hate to give up control of the ship,” Stven said, “but from their perspective, it’s a good plan.”
They went aboard the cruiser and were met by a Commodore Gzant. A pilot was waiting with Gzant.
“Do you bring news?” the commodore asked.
“We do. Your welcoming procedures are going to have to change,” Stven said.
Stven, accompanied by Kross, followed the commodore to his office. “What’s up?” the commodore asked when they were seated.
“We have reason to believe the Chessori are aboard some Empire ships. Well . . . I guess I’d have to call them Rebel ships, now. Are you familiar with the Chessori mind weapon?”
“I’ve been briefed.”
“We don’t know how strong it is or what its range is, but if a single Chessori gets aboard your ship, you will have lost your command.”
“Hmm. I see what you mean. We’re going to have to inspect every ship. That’s a tall order.”
“You have no choice, sir, and you’ll have to stand well off while you do it.”
“Agreed. I’ll need Imperial Marines. Will you inform Admiral Buskin for me? I’d like to stay on station here if possible.”
“I will. Are you receiving many recruits?”
“I’ll leave that to him to explain. Fair enough?”
“It is, sir. We’ll be on our way.”
Rappor’s crew remained out of the net. Only the pilot provided by Gzant knew where they were going, and it wasn’t far. One short jump brought them to the rendezvous point. The pilot was considerate enough to activate the screens on the bridge, and the view they beheld was surprising. Some three hundred ships occupied a position deep in interstellar space.
Buskin met them when they came aboard his cruiser, and he led Krys, Tarn, Stven, M’Sada, and the three Great Cats to his office. “What news do you bring?” he asked without delay.
“It’s not good, sir. We were attacked by Empire ships that were flown by Chessori,” Stven informed him.
Buskin scratched his chin. “I just learned of that possibility myself.”
“You’re going to have to change procedures at the rendezvous point, sir.”
“I know. We’re briefing Imperial Marines as we speak. They’ll inspect each ship before we let them come here. Consider it done, my friends.” He turned to Krys. “Have your visits been successful?”
“Mostly. You can take Sangia Sector off your list. Admiral Stebbenz is dead, and the Rebels have taken over.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I, too, have news. I just received a visit from Governor Veswicki. The Queen is alive and well.”
“She’s there?” Krys asked, rising to her feet.
“No. Her whereabouts are a secret. Veswicki received a visit from Chandrajuski and two Knights. They’ve been with her.”
Low growls of satisfaction came from the Great Cats. Krys beamed as she turned to Tarn. No words were needed as similar thoughts passed between them. Another of her visions had come true.
“So what happens now?” she asked, turning back to Buskin.
“No changes at present. I’m to continue spreading the word and accepting recruits. I received no instructions concerning you.”
“It looks like you’ve been successful,” M’Sada interjected.
Buskin turned a grim expression on him. “The ships here represent failure, Lieutenant. Each one of them is from a sector or district headquarters that has fallen to the Rebels. My forces are, indeed, expanding, but the Queen’s are not.”
M’Sada’s upper hands began preening the whiskers on his face. “Understood, sir.”
“There’ll be more. I’ll soon begin setting up additional locations for them to gather and train. I have more senior admirals than I know what to do with.”
“Have my brothers come?” Borg asked.
“Some. Not enough, now that we know we might have to fight military ships. Chessori traders are one thing, but military ships seriously add to the difficulties.”
“We’ve set a new process in place aboard Rappor, sir. Our net is given to the three Great Cats when we’re threatened by the Chessori.”
“We’re working on a similar arrangement. It’s the only way I can think of to deal with Chessori ships. Now that Rebel ships are manned by Chessori, I’m going to need a lot of your brothers,” he said to Borg. “We’ve only received two hundred so far.”
“How many more do you need?”
“Thousands if we’re to be effective.”
“Perhaps a personal visit to Brodor by Krys would be appropriate.”
Buskin looked to Krys. “We need you out there spreading the word, but he’s right. We desperately need more cats.”
“I’ll go. It won’t take long.”
“Why don’t we both go,” Buskin said. “Rappor can stay aboard, and you can enjoy a little break from routine. A visit by me is overdue anyway. I need to arrange a better meeting process with the Great Cats. Right now, the messengers from Brodor send all their recruits back to Brodor and we pick them up there. We need to expand the program to reduce travel times.”
“Senator Truax has a similar problem,” Krys stated. “He’s decided to network his contacts. Have you considered stopping recruitment for a little while? The Great Cats, rather than going to Brodor, could fan out and spread the word. It wouldn’t take as long to reach more cats that way.”
Buskin nodded his head. “And we could establish more rendezvous points. Why have them travel all the way back to Brodor? There aren’t a lot of ships going that way, and the delays are unacceptable. Give me a few minutes to brief a temporary commander, and we’ll get underway. The rest of my fleet will stay here.”
“Would it be possible for me to meet with my brothers?” Borg asked. “I have personally experienced the Chessori mind weapon, and they should know what to expect.”
“By all means. I’ll prepare a shuttle. They’re all training aboard Brigand.”
Borg got up and left without delay. Buskin ordered an aide to get the rest of them settled into temporary quarters, and he gave instructions for his techs to give Rappor a thorough inspection.
Tarn led Krys away from the group. “I’ll get you settled while you’re in sick bay,” he informed her. “You’re going to have a thorough check-up by a real doctor.”
She didn’t argue. She, too, was concerned about any lasting effects from the Chessori mind weapon. A female doctor h
eard their story, then she shooed Tarn out. Krys spent the rest of the afternoon in sick bay. The doctor determined that minor healing was still taking place, but she could detect no lasting problems.
“You might not be so fortunate next time,” she cautioned Krys. “Another attack, or a stronger, longer lasting attack, might kill you.” She thought for a time. “I wonder if there’s any way to shield you?”
“There’s none that I know of. We don’t have a lot of experience with the weapon. All we know is that its range is not unlimited.”
“Hmm. I wonder if a fluid would weaken it?”
“Ma’am?”
“I think we’ll see about installing a tank on your ship, one that includes breathing apparatus. If you were completely submerged during an attack, its effects might be weakened. At the very least, the tank would assist with immediate healing. They’re quite remarkable for serious injuries.”
“You want me to hide out while my crew is in danger?” Krys asked in disbelief.
“No, I want you to survive. You’re no help during an attack, and your crew might need your help afterwards. Have any of them noted any physical difficulties after an attack?”
“None that I’ve seen.”
“Then one tank will be sufficient. I’ll arrange for some training. It could be helpful under other circumstances as well, if anyone gets injured in some other manner.”
“Does it work for non-humans?”
“For some. Are others injured?”
“My captain is a Rress. His wing took a blaster shot. He’s acting like it’s not a big thing, but I’d feel better if you looked at it, Ma’am.”
Admiral Buskin approved the installation of the tank, and technicians swarmed over Rappor. The largest tank that would fit into the room was installed. It would even hold Stven in a pinch, but more important, it would provide the most shielding possible to Krys, assuming the medical fluids would provide any shielding at all.
Krys, Tarn, Stven, and M’Sada met with Buskin a few days later to compare notes and make necessary adjustments to their plans. He had sent out large numbers of couriers, and while many had been successful, recent visits by some had gone much the same way Krys’ last visit to Sangia Sector had gone. The Rebels were moving quickly, and Buskin believed most senior sector commanders that could be reached had been reached.
Knights of the Chosen (Spirit of Empire, Book Two) Page 14
