The Wrong Lance

by Sharon Lee

  "A diversionary tactic, sir. You will concentrate on picking up Captain Waitley. These others will provide cover, and create confusion."

  "More confusion," he said; "delightful."

  "Yes, sir."

  He loosed another roar. Two dozen and more answered him, and they sped on, the port itself vibrating with their challenge.

  * * *

  Captain Lisle looked at the star hammer; she looked, very carefully, Chernak thought, at Stost, her gaze flicking between his eyes and his grin several times.

  Finally, as if she had found him an irrefutable argument, she turned back to Chernak.

  "What do you want?"

  "I believe you should lay out your weapons," Chernak said. "Tell me where they are before you reach to them, so that my comrade does not misunderstand."

  That was unjustly said; Stost had a very fine understanding of nuance and body language—better than her own. However, it was to their advantage to encourage Captain Lisle's uneasiness.

  "Knife," the captain said. "Right boot."

  She was methodical. Knives came out first—three of them—then a small arm, and a second—

  "That," Stost said, hefting the star hammer, "is our captain's own sidearm!"

  Chernak had also recognized it, and held up her hand. There was sweat on Captain Lisle's face.

  "You will not move," Chernak told her. "You will keep your arms at your sides, and your hands where I can see them."

  "Right," Captain Lisle said.

  "Stost, retrieve our captain's weapon," she directed.

  He did this, adroitly, and stepped back, tucking the gun away, and hefting the hammer.

  "The rest," Chernak said to Captain Lisle.

  She produced two more guns, then stood back, arms crossed over her breast.

  "What do you want?" she demanded, which was, Chernak thought, more like the woman Joyita had found in his searches.

  "First," Chernak said, "we wanted to ensure that this ship would not lift."

  "Well, you managed that just fine, from what my pilot tells me. Then what?"

  Chernak cocked her head, listening. Yes, there was a growling in the streets, growing rapidly closer.

  "Then," she told Captain Lisle, "we wanted to hold you for the port guards."

  "You don't want your captain back?"

  "No, we do want our captain back," said Chernak.

  The growling was closer now; she saw Captain Lisle notice the racket, and frown.

  "Call off the proctors and I'll hand over your captain," she said.

  This was the offer that the entire crew had supposed she would make, that they had determined that they could not take, if they wished to have their captain back—alive.

  "Will you call her up to us?" asked Chernak, and felt Stost shift at her back.

  "Sure; I'll send one of my crew down to bring her up. How's that? I'd appreciate a little something to cover my losses, since my client ain't gonna pay if he don't get what he wanted. But, I'm sure we can make a—"

  Chernak saw the woman's arms, crossed so casually over her chest, tighten, very slightly. She swept out a leg, the captain staggered—and Chernak had her on her knees, arms pinned at her side.

  "Gas canisters!" she snapped. "Stost, your hammer."

  "No!" yelled Captain Lisle, jerking ineffectually against Chernak's prisoning arms.

  "Fool," said Stost, and brought his knuckle sharply against her temple.

  They laid Captain Lisle's unconscious body on the gantry. Chernak bent to remove the canisters—

  And the duocycles arrived.

  * * *

  Crew was on the move, Theo discovered; and they were looking for her.

  She'd found a pole, and slid down to the maintenance level, dodging into a utility alley that felt thin even to her. It was a maze of open doors and exposed panels, which would work to hide her, if-and-when crew decided to pursue her, but—

  "What happened?" she asked Bechimo.

  "The Pathfinders have assured that this ship will not lift," he told her. "You are approaching a T-corridor. When it is safe to do so, go left."

  Theo paused at end of her skinny alley, straining her ears.

  Voices. She heard voices, approaching. Ducking back into the alley, she wedged herself into a tall closet, behind a portable air compressor.

  She heard the steps slow, and stop at the top of the alley. Heard the voices consult with one another. One came a few steps into the alley, stopped, then retreated.

  "Don't see no boots on deck," he said. "I'm bettin' she's headed straight for the emergency slide. No sense getting' tangled up in that mess in there."

  The footsteps faded.

  Theo slipped out of the closet, ran lightly to the T and took the left, making for, so Bechimo had assured her, the utility hatch.

  "What's happening up top?" she asked Bechimo.

  "Captain Lisle and the Pathfinders are seeking common ground," he told her. "Turn right at the approaching corner. You will be next to the ship's skin. Continue to follow the curve of the hallway. The hatch is not far from your current position."

  Theo took a deep breath, spotting a camera in a corner of the ceiling. Bechimo had told her that the cameras were "momentarily offline," but seeing it there still gave her a nasty thrill.

  While she was on this ship, she was still a hostage, and whatever might be happening between the captain and the pathfinders, up at the main hatch, all agreements would be off, if she was captured again.

  Theo ducked around the last corner—

  And came face-to-face with Lyn.

  "Got you!" the crew woman snarled, raising a merc-issue pellet pistol.

  Theo threw herself to the right and down, twisted and brought the stun gun up.

  Lyn might've been able to get one shot off—Theo wasn't sure.

  But she didn't get two.

  Theo came to her feet, feeling a stab of pain along her ribs.

  "Quickly," Bechimo urged, and she gathered herself into a trot after she collected the pellet gun.

  Follow the passage, curving, curving—and there, ahead, a small hatch hanging loosely open like all the others. A damp, chilly breeze rubbed past her cheek, smelling like grit and fuel and smoke and snow.

  Theo stretched her legs, aware of a roaring sound even as she came to the opening, and flung a hand out to the nearest grab bar. Crouching, she measured the jump from hatch to 'crete.

  She could do it, she judged, though she found herself wishing for her jacket. If she landed badly, all there was between her and the 'crete was a sweater. Still, she should be able to walk away, once she got . . .

  "Theo?"

  "Thinking," she said. "I think I can make the jump, but—"

  "Hold position," Bechimo said. "Your brother is coming for you."

  And, as if on cue, there came a deafening roar as a mob of duocycles swept into the lane below.

  "He is here," Bechimo said, sounding very pleased with himself.

  "Him and two dozen of his friends," she answered, "how am I supposed to—"

  She stopped, because the cycles were splitting up, swinging wide, half to the left of the ship and half to the right.

  One, however, came straight on, slowing, maybe, but not by any means traveling slow.

  "Jump!" cried Bechimo. "Theo, jump now!"

  * * *

  Val Con swerved close, slowing, saw the jacketless figure in the hatch flex her knees—and leap.

  The stabilizers groaned when she hit the saddle behind him, then her arms were around his waist and he kicked the accelerator.

  "Head down!" he shouted, and felt her curl close against his back, letting him take the worst of the wind and grit.

  They had lost all but two of their escort—a cycle flanking them on either side. Well, enough, he thought, if they could keep up.

  * * *

  The last time Theo had been on a duocycle had been at school, and only then because she needed the training to get her certs for Port-Side Machiner
y. Some of her classmates had seen the challenge in the little machines, and had engaged in races, acrobatics, and crazy mid-night tours of the dark grounds.

  Theo had not been one of those.

  But apparently Val Con had.

  She'd barely dropped into the saddle before he hit the accelerator, flying low, and she grabbed his waist to steady herself. Now, she settled herself more firmly into the saddle, and took hold of the passenger handgrips.

  Val Con shifted slightly before her, turning his head slightly.

  "Theo!" The wind thinned his voice; she leaned closer, to hear.

  "Right underarm pocket—small weapon!"

  Weapon—that was, she thought, exactly like him. Of course, he'd want to make sure she was armed.

  Carefully, she eased her hand up, found the pocket, and fingered out a small, surprisingly heavy, pouch. She got it firmly in hand, and slid it into her leg pocket. The duocycle was solid as a rock, which she thought was more Val Con's doing than hers. She sealed the pocket and put her arm back around his waist.

  "Got it!" she yelled, though she was pretty sure he couldn't hear her. "Thanks!"

  They were running quiet now—no roaring, only the low hum of the motor. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head. Another cycle was pacing them on the left—a second on the right, both drivers leather-clad, faces obscured by goggles. Backup, she supposed. Good idea.

  Val Con leaned, and she did; the cycle almost perpendicular to the 'crete, shooting into a side-way with no lessening of speed. They snapped upright, Val Con hunched over the handlebars, and Theo taking care to keep her arms inside the cycle's shadow. The walls were that close.

  Up ahead, she could see the end of the alley over Val Con's shoulder. There seemed to be a lot of people about.

  "Bechimo," she said in bond-space. "What's going on?"

  "Flash-crowd," he said tensely. "This a rarely used section, which is why Jeeves routed you through it."

  "So, somebody's still really interested in what we're doing," Theo said.

  "That is one theory," Bechimo answered. "There is no way around; it must be through. Jeeves allows me to know that your brother is very skilled with the duocycle."

  "Good," she said, and there wasn't any time to say more, because they burst into the street, Val Con swinging the cycle hard to the left, and it was roaring again, but the crowd was roaring almost as loud, and a couple of people jumped in front of them, which was a dare, Theo knew—

  And Val Con kicked the accelerator.

  "Sleet, man, are you crazy?" screamed one of them, as they leapt aside, and hit the 'crete, rolling.

  The duocycle roared again, echoes coming from behind, which was their escort, Theo thought. Val Con didn't let up, his course straight and unhesitant. More people jumped out of their way, they hit a clear space—

  And something came in low, rolling across the 'crete, too near to jump over. It hit the front wheel; the cycle skittered, slid; Val Con brought it back up by sheer willpower, so it seemed to Theo, and here came another one, at the back wheel.

  Theo took a breath, deliberately relaxing into the cycle's dance, trying to forget that she didn't have a jacket, only a sweater and canvas pants between her and the 'crete.

  I need meteor shields, she thought, even as something caught the edge of her eye—another damn' roller, coming in fast, about an inch above the 'crete—

  The cycle bucked, and for a moment, it felt like the machine was trying to swim.

  "Jump!" Val Con snapped, and she did, hitting the ground with arms over her head, rolling, and it didn't hurt as much as she'd expected, which was maybe adrenaline—

  There came a terrible grinding noise; the scream of abused stabilizers—and a roar from the crowd that was louder than anything Theo had ever heard in her life.

  She opened her eyes, got up on one knee, braced on her hands. The crowd was surging forward, apparently having forgotten that there had been two riders. There was a downed cycle a sort distance away, also ignored. The mob was focused elsewhere.

  Nobody was paying any attention to her.

  She got both feet under her, and bolted to the duocycle, keeping low until she had it by the handlebars; shoving it up onto its wheels, and straddling it—only then realizing that the safety program had shut it off when it went down, and she didn't have the code.

  "Wait," Bechimo said. And, "here."

  The inside of her head tickled; and she glanced down in time to see her fingers finish inputting something into the keypad. The duocycle purred to life; Theo kicked the accelerator, spinning in a hard turn, until she was facing the surging crowd.

  "Theo!" Bechimo cried.

  "Val Con's down!" she shouted back at him. "This crowd will kill him!"

  A duocycle came speeding in from the right of the crowd, roar at full volume; another right behind.

  Theo pulled up, one boot braced against the 'crete.

  Somebody in the crowd screamed; people scrambled; shoved, and shouted as the lead cycle pierced it like an arrow, scattering them, shouting and cursing. Theo saw somebody on the ground, arms around head, motionless. Her mouth dried—and then he was moving, spinning up into a crouch as the second cycle slowed, the operator holding down an arm.

  Val Con grabbed the offered support, and swung onto the pillion, as the cycle accelerated, flying to catch up with the leader.

  "He's safe, Theo;" Bechimo said in bond-space. "Go! Before the crowd regroups. North, to the gate! I will guide you."

  She needed no other urging. Kicking the starter, she leaned; the cycle slewed around, and she was running—flying—the crowd momentarily shouting behind her—and then lost in the roar of the wind in her ears.

  #

  "Theo, I apologize," Bechimo said. "I—you took harm from that fall; the shielding I could deploy along such a distance . . ."

  Theo, crouched low over the handlebars, most of her concentration on traffic, managed, "What?"

  "You called for shielding, but—"

  She blinked, realized that she wasn't crete-burned, though her ribs were hurting her again.

  "You shielded me?" she asked. "How?"

  "The captain and the ship are bonded," he began, and she interrupted him as she accelerated around a taxi.

  "Right. But I didn't realize you could do anything like that." She leaned, swooped past a slow-moving lorry, and straightened.

  "I ought to have done more," Bechimo said. "We are bonded."

  "It was too far, and I didn't give you any warning," she said. "We need to practice, that's all. I took a lot less harm than I would have, if you hadn't gotten me some shielding."

  "Turn right at the corner upcoming," Bechimo said, and Theo leaned hard, scaring a couple crossing the street into a mad leap for the sidewalk. She wished she knew what Val Con had done to make the machine roar a warning.

  "What," she asked, "did I input into this cycle's keypad?"

  "The emergency start-up code. Joyita passed it to me; I passed it to you."

  "Oh. Well—good work. Where am I going?"

  "Jeeves points out that with the unrest in the city, one woman alone on a duocycle would be better served by taking cover soonest, rather than attempting to come out the Port Road to—to her ship. You are therefore being routed to Lady Kareen's house, which is well-defended. You will be safe there until the situation on the streets has been resolved."

  "Good thinking," Theo said. "How far?"

  "Three blocks, straight on. You will enter by the kitchen door. Staff is expecting you. Lady Kareen and your mother will be apprised of your arrival, once you are safe inside."

  "OK then; guide me in."

  * * *

  "Miri," Jeeves said. "Emissary Twelve has broken contact with the Tree. She appears somewhat disoriented. Pilot yos'Phelium is approaching her with caution; Pilot tey'Doshi is standing back-up."

  "Right."

  A nice walk in the garden would do her good, she thought wryly, pushing back from the de
sk.

  "Let Pilot tey'Doshi know that I'm on my way, in case Emissary Twelve starts in on the same note she left off on."

  "Yes, Miri."

  She left the office and headed for the nearest garden-side door, stopping to take a sweater off the hook and pull it on before going outside. The Tree kept the garden warm for the Surebleak season, but nothing like Liad-warm.

  "Everything peaceful?" she asked Jeeves as she swung onto the path.

  "Emissary Twelve remains subdued. Pilot yos'Phelium has inquired if she is in distress."

  That, Miri thought, didn't sound—exactly comforting. She'd rather not return the Elders' errand-Turtle to them with an impairment. On the other hand, who knew what the Tree—

  #

  A loud roar shattered her thoughts. The path, the garden, and the house vanished into a dizzying sweep of 'crete passing 'way too close to the end of her nose—and receding, her view now of a port street and, straight ahead, pedestrians jumping out of the way.

  She was, she realized inside Val Con's head, looking out of his eyes. There was the sense of someone at her back, which she hoped was Theo, and a general feeling of flying.

  Val Con leaned, sharp; the duocycle shot into an alley and straightened, hurtling down the very center of the way, the walls on either side bare inches from the end of the handlebars.

  Ahead, Miri could see the end of the alley, and too many people milling around beyond it.

  "Jeeves?" Val Con asked.

  "Flash-crowd," Jeeves said. "I advise you not to slow down."

  Val Con crouched low over the bars, kicked the accelerator, thumbed a lever hard, and suddenly they were roaring.

  Roaring, they leapt, briefly airborne, out of the alley's mouth, straight into the crowd.

  People shouted; people scattered; a couple sleet-for-brains jumped in front of them, but Val Con kept the 'cycle steady, and they leapt away at the last minute.

  Something came rolling out of the crowd—a long cylinder maybe made of wood. It hit the front wheel, the 'cycle wobbled—and came upright, steady, speed undiminished.

  Miri took a breath—and here was another roller, angling for the back wheel—

  "Jump!" Val Con yelled, and Miri saw Theo hit and roll out of the side of her eye, and then there wasn't time for anything else, because the 'cycle bucked, screamed—Val Con was leaping into a somersault the instant before it went down, sliding across the 'crete, still screaming.