Edward M. Lerner

by A New Order of Things

  Great forces surrounded Mashkith again. The enemy fleet would be upon them by the end of the watch. The enemy combatants aboard Victorious were quiescent, but might be spurred to action at any time—and soon, if not already, the fleet would reestablish radio contact despite the clan’s best efforts to prevent it. The pressures had led his tactical officer, and perhaps others among the crew, to the brink of mutiny.

  The eye of the storm: great danger from every side.

  Had he sufficiently considered the danger from his erstwhile lieutenant?

  Glory and revenge. What had Lothwer advocated? The exact words were recorded in Mashkith’s implant. “Battle to the death, not surrender in shame. Glory and revenge. Greatness of Arblen Ems for all time in the memory of Hunters and humans and herd.”

  Great danger. Great forces. Lothwer. Suspicion others in the crew might also be on the brink of mutiny. A horrible possibility took shape in his subconscious mind—a possibility that became all too real when he discovered a bound and gagged guard inside Lothwer’s cabin. Lothwer himself was absent.

  Mashkith raced across the ship, hoping desperately to be mistaken.

  When all is lost, Lothwer thought, a grand gesture remains.

  Did the Foremost think to hold him prisoner? Did Mashkith think to immobilize him through the mock respect of posting only a token guard? Perhaps. If either was true, that was but one more manifestation of weakness.

  Those who had served under Lothwer aboard Valorous knew his worth. A netted request to a few loyal subordinates set him free. As, in its own way, Valorous would set them all free.

  Glory and revenge.

  If Mashkith was correct, deadly force would be required to eliminate this peril. He could more quickly reach Lothwer—again, if he was correct—than he could overcome the inevitable questions and doubts of crewpersons asked to attack on sight one of their own. And any random crewman or—woman whose help he sought might turn out to be an ally of Lothwer.

  Mashkith sped through the long corridors, ignoring the surprised expressions on those he jostled in his haste. His worst collision coincided with another of the occasional wobbles that continued to disable the fusion drive. Panting, he entered Renown, still docked where it had returned from the rescue of Valorous. The herd lifeboat remained in the belly of Renown. And in the belly of that lifeboat remained enough antimatter to spawn a cataclysm.

  Corridor surveillance showed Lothwer, carrying a bulky satchel, approaching the airlock whose flexible docking tube Mashkith had just crossed.

  Mashkith triggered a release, and the docking tube drifted free of Renown. “No closer.”

  “Only a moment’s delay,” netted back Lothwer, his avatar insolent in tone and pose. His pack floated as he struggled to get into one of the emergency pressure suits stored by the docking bay.

  “A sufficient delay.” Mashkith slapped the emergency power-up. He buckled himself into the pilot seat as fuel pumps pressurized for the chemical maneuvering rockets.

  “No!” Lothwer stopped mid-change and slapped the airlock’s emergency override. Both hatches slid open. Lothwer jetted out with the escaping air, mouth agape, screaming to release the gases bubbling out of his lungs. He slammed into the hull of Renown, not far from its airlock, the bulging pack hanging by its strap from his hand.

  The pumps were barely pressurized. They might suffice to make the engines sputter; they would not quickly move a warship. Mashkith fired the forward attitude jets anyway. An edge of flame washed over Lothwer. Mind to mind, he screamed.

  The flames detonated the explosives in the satchel. Mashkith’s final thought, as he lost consciousness, was relief that the shrieking had stopped.

  New screeching roused Mashkith from his stupor. Vaguely, he decided, the noise resembled a vacuum alarm. The sound was too weak for a vacuum alarm, though, and it was fading fast….

  He straightened in his seat with a start, fighting to undo the buckles he had just struggled to fasten. He screamed, open-mouthed, as Lothwer had moments ago. Mashkith’s lungs ached, and beneath their nictitating membranes his eyeballs felt on the verge of rupture by the time he had an emergency patch in place. As cabin pressure returned, he sprayed about liberally with a fire extinguisher. Then he checked status.

  Renown’s nose had crumpled. Its co-pilot and astrogator consoles were reduced to sparking, smoking scrap. The pilot’s console was sufficiently operable to show a spectrum of alarms in near and far red. A glance through the main viewport revealed Renown slowly recoiling from the docking airlocks. Crunching noises overhead proved a slight vertical component of motion that had not been visually certain. Scraping persisted as the ship continued its backward slide.

  How long before the lifeboat’s antimatter containment system failed?

  The fifth internal sensor he tried imaged the interior of the scoop tank. The lifeboat Lothwer had dubbed Valorous had torn loose from its moorings and was in a slow spin. Its cockpit viewport pulsed with the painfully bright yellow lights used by the herd for its alarms.

  Art awoke instantly to the TEOTWAWKI alert from Mashkith. “Dr. Walsh, I cannot overemphasize the urgency of this communication. This translator derives from the one you call Pashwah. If that AI is not totally trusted by you, link in any you choose.”

  “Joe,” Art netted. “Done.”

  “An act of suicidal sabotage has occurred. One of my crew.” A smoke-filled cockpit pulsating luridly replaced Mashkith’s avatar. “In the hold of this warship, the only fully fueled Centaur lifeboat, the lifeboat your people pursued, is about to lose its antimatter containment. It likely holds more antimatter than what remained behind to destroy Himalia.”

  “What can we do?” Frantically, Art sent a TEOTWAWKI alert to Carlos.

  “We must get this lifeboat off Victorious, and far away.”

  “Why tell me?” A corner of his attention noted Carlos linking in. The flashing of the red lights was becoming stroboscopic. Hypnotic. But was it real or simulated?

  “I am telling you so your fleet does not make the mistake of attacking me as I launch. My first show of good faith: About forty UP ships will be here within an hour by your reckoning.”

  “Forty-two ships,” came Carlos’ aside. His special-ops team had made direct contact not quite two hours earlier over UPIA spacesuit radios. “What’s Mashkith up to?”

  Carlos had asked the right question. “Why should we trust you, Foremost?”

  “You have no reason—yet.” His avatar made a circular head motion. “But without your trust we will all die. You have sensors on all decks. Have your translator report what I am about to announce.”

  An intercom boomed all around, in the shrill, warbling voice of a Snake. “It’s Mashkith,” Joe said. “That’s confirmed by voiceprint. The same announcement is being made on all decks.”

  “What’s he saying?” Carlos asked.

  “The Foremost is surrendering—but to K’Choi Gwu ka.”

  Renown grazed a docked scoopship before drifting out of the landing bay. Through the pilot’s viewport, Victorious loomed like a small world. No, it is a small world, Mashkith thought, and my whole clan is on it. Only I can save them.

  But would the clan heed his words?

  “Arblen Ems: Our deeds epic, our accomplishments larger than life, larger than the vastness of interstellar space. Sadly, courage and devotion not guarantors of success. The shortcoming all my own.” Who but himself could he blame for his misplaced trust in Lothwer, for instilling in Lothwer great tactical skill without the dedication to the clan to guide it?

  They had come so close. Had Valorous not been detected after Himalia, or had Lothwer kept faith only a little longer, the clan would have escaped. Even now, but for Lothwer’s despair, they would all have lived with all the glory anyone could want. In the sense that thriving despite the hostility of others can be revenge, then revenge, too, would have been theirs.

  At the last, the only lesson Lothwer had learned was to have a back-up plan. He had brought explo
sives, not relied upon activating the lifeboat’s interstellar drive to trigger catastrophe.

  The humans are right not to trust me, Mashkith thought. They are right not to trust any Hunter—but unless he could inculcate trust now, all would die. “Clan mates, your bravery and sacrifice commendable. The time now for wisdom. Resources of this vast solar system too much for the most valiant Hunters. Attack imminent of great human fleet. Requirement now of your bravery and wisdom: recognition of harsh realities.”

  It was the most critical speech of his life, yet only the merest fraction of his attention could be allotted to delivering it. A few attitude jets still worked, and sporadically a little of the flight automation. As Mashkith spoke, he struggled to reorient the ship. After each gentle nudge of his jets, the unmoored lifeboat within bumped yet again against some part of the hold. For the clan to survive, he must quickly move Renown far away. If one of the onrushing human ships merely reduced its deceleration, it would be quickly upon him. And were it to attack….

  “Clan survival imperative above all else. The consequence: this directive from me as Foremost of Arblen Ems. Immediate submission of all Hunters to the original Foremost of Victorious: K’Choi Gwu ka. Handover of all weapons to the ka and her crew.”

  As Renown’s battered nose finally swung around to point outward from the Sun, away from the pursuing fleet, he began gently to accelerate. The lifeboat, with a soft crunch, came to rest against the stern of the tank. Its cockpit was ablaze with yellow. How long did he have?

  “Suicidal despair already by some. Result: the attempted destruction of all. The Foremost’s final duty: removal of this deadly peril from Victorious.”

  He broke the connection to the ship’s intercom, but remained linked to corridor surveillance sensors. Throughout the starship, confusion reigned. Clanmates argued in groups small and large. Surrender without a fight was too foreign a concept to be easily accepted—and there was simply no time. “Dr. Walsh: ample reason yet for your trust?”

  “In the presence of antimatter, trust is a fleeting commodity.”

  Whatever that meant, it did not sound immediately threatening. “Withdrawal of this ship without interruption?”

  How distant the time seemed when this human was the biggest obstacle to the clan’s success. Now the clan’s very survival depended upon Arthur Walsh’s bold thinking. A near-constant need for course corrections occupied Mashkith as the humans consulted. Its battered hull vibrating madly, Renown slowly accelerated and pulled ahead of the starship.

  “The fleet will leave your warship alone,” Walsh answered, “for only as long as its course points away from them.” There was a long silence. “Foremost, I wish you luck.”

  I wish us all luck, thought Mashkith. “Acknowledgement.”

  CHAPTER 43

  The rapid descent of the central-core elevator in microgravity conditions had the effect of nudging its occupants upward. The core elevator was potentially compromised and remained off-limits—which meant that by using it, two insubordinate humans might reach the engine room before anyone could intervene. At one level, Eva wondered whether they were already being observed by ubiquitous UPIA sensors. At a second level, she worried that the trembling of her hands on a handrail was visible even through pressure-suit gloves. Yet another part of her wanted to laugh at the irrelevance of both doubts.

  If she started laughing, could she stop?

  “Deck ninety-two: books, toys, and women’s shoes.” A nervous cough preceded Art’s feeble jest. “Deck ninety-three: umbrellas and hats.”

  Mashkith’s plea for surrender was much remarked upon but little observed. The Snakes still controlled the stern and its all-important engine room. The UP rescue fleet had matched course and speed; at Eva’s impassioned pleading they were for now maintaining a goodly separation. Was it distant enough?

  “Deck ninety-six.” Either way, the end of the line. “Engine room and dungeon. Pashwah-qith, it’s show time. Now that we’re safely down here, link in the ka, the Foremost, and Carlos. For now, they can only listen.”

  Armed Snakes awaited as the elevator doors opened. She recognized none of them. “Take us to your senior officer.” She would have felt more comfortable using the mission’s translator, but to whom might Joe have confided? There was no time to answer questions.

  Watchful guards escorted them into a great chamber dominated by vast engines. Outwardly, the fusion reactor and drive differed little from human norms. Other great machines were entirely alien. Antimatter containment, annihilation chamber, interstellar drive—she had once begged to see this room, and now she dared not waste time on even a long look.

  “Who is the senior officer here?” Art demanded. “We have come in person, have put ourselves into your power, to emphasize the urgency and importance of our business.”

  A familiar figure pushed forward, although the hesitancy on Keffah’s face was new. It was a tiny bit of good news: They were dealing with an engineer, someone who could grasp the problem. “That is the question, isn’t it,” Pashwah-qith translated. “In the engine room, I am senior officer. If Mashkith has left us, and if Lothwer is dead, perhaps I lead for the clan. Or perhaps the herd rules now.” She shook off the moment of uncertainty. “None of that brought you. What is the urgent matter?”

  Eva took a deep breath. “We must eject the antimatter, immediately.” She pictured Carlos screaming in frustration as no one responded to him. How many trillions of Sols had that antimatter production cost? “It must not be aboard when the lifeboat explodes.”

  “Without antimatter, the clan is trapped. What matter then that you two are my hostages?” The text caption for emotional content read: anguish. “Perhaps Mashkith has gone mad and Lothwer was a hero. Perhaps this is all a trick.”

  A corner of Eva’s mind’s eye showed UP marines in full armor begin a frantic micro-gee scramble down stairwells—and then someone cut her access. Keffah’s eyes glazed, and she growled. Her sensors or soldiers must be reporting the same assault to her. She surely thought Eva’s appearance with Art was a ruse.

  Suspicion and hesitation by any side would kill them all. “Keffah, you and I worked together. We both know what even a little antimatter can do. Your people still hold the bridge instruments. What do they say about the Foremost’s ship?” Several guards had raised their guns. Eva tried to ignore both them and the knot in her gut. “Keffah, when that fully fueled lifeboat blows, Himalia will seem like a wet firecracker.”

  Blink-blink. “Still you do not understand. What destroyed Himalia was far more complex than one explosion.”

  So there had been an interaction with the interstellar drive, as Art had speculated. It didn’t matter. They had no time! Gunshots and explosions could already be heard in the distance. What help could come of an armed breakin? The engine room contained a running fusion reactor and massive antimatter containers. “That lifeboat must hold tonnes of antimatter. The EMP will be huge! It will destroy the BEC containers on Victorious.”

  “Nice try.” Keffah gestured to the guards. “Lock them in a storeroom somewhere. If you find time, bring them oxygen bottles occasionally.”

  The instrumentation aboard Renown was mostly dead and wholly unreliable The single factor operating in Mashkith’s favor was familiarity. This ship was of the same type as his last command. So very far away, he had obsessively studied, and still remembered, every feature, quirk, tradeoff, and design detail of Defiant. At least, since he had to diagnose and fly this dying ship by instinct, those instincts were sure and deft.

  His twin difficulties, in maintaining a course and achieving a decent speed, must stem from related causes. Maybe a tank seam had given way, spraying high-pressure hydrogen into space. Maybe the reaction-mass pump had burst, and its shrapnel had ruptured the hydrogen tank. Either way, he was about to lose the fusion drive.

  With what little attention he could spare, Mashkith followed the drama in the engine room. Perhaps Keffah was right to disbelieve the humans. Electromagnetic pulses
were a natural consequence of nuclear explosions—not that purposeful fusion bombs and antimatter accidents were exactly the same. Their clan, any clan, understood EMPs well and knew how to shield from them. With no confidence in the few remaining computers aboard Renown, Mashkith did not bother to guess the strength of the EMP from his imminent immolation.

  His final duty was to get this accidental bomb, and any EMP it created, as far as possible from the clan. What happened thereafter was in the claws and hands and tentacles of others.

  So what in an engine room can prisoners touch to propel themselves? Apparently nothing. A firm shove in the small of Art’s back started him moving. He hoped they remembered to keep their claws in. He hoped the storeroom in which they were about to be locked had lights.