The Moon of Sorrows

by P. K. Lentz

  She found her footing and adjusted her stance in the rocks to tower above the naked and prone alien, whose black eyes burned with rage.

  “The Commodore will make no bargains for me!” Yimri sneered.

  “Ivar has value to me personally. The same might be true of you to your Commodore. Or Sentinel might want its hero back. I’d prefer to just kill you, and say I didn’t, but I won’t stake Ivar’s life on a bluff. Not if there’s a chance it might change the outcome. When I ask for a trade, the offer will be genuine. For once. But it will also be brief. I don’t know exactly how long a Jir can last here. Especially an injured one.”

  Making a final adjustment to her grip, Arixa swung the war-pick with all her strength, or nearly, at Yimri’s injured leg. The spike sank deeply into tough flesh, and the satisfying crunch of alien bone traveled up the haft. Yimri shrieked, a sound that filled the cavern and would have been ear-splitting if not for the protection of voidsuit helmets.

  Arixa raised the pick and brought it down again on the same leg. The other was next. Wailing, Yimri writhed and rolled and tried to crawl away between the rocks, but Arixa stepped closer and used the weapon’s curved spike as a hook to forcibly flip her over before resuming.

  Her next rain of blows smashed and tore the Jir’s arms.

  Eventually, Arixa paused to asses the damage.

  Yimri lay broken and bleeding, wheezing hoarsely in the moon’s abrasive atmosphere. It was enough. The Jir would not reach the surface under her own power, and she would die if not rescued.

  “We’re done,” Arixa declared, turning her back on Yimri and handing the war-pick back to Tomiris. Together they made their winding way back to the surface and crossed an expanse of the moon’s strange, irregular stone mounds to the waiting Branch III. Once aboard, they secured themselves for immediate liftoff.

  Cinnea was at the controls, with Vaspa accompanying her on the bridge. Tomiris might have gone to join them, too, as Arixa would prefer, except that Cinnea had asked that only one Dawner at a time be assigned to watch over her.

  She had not so much asked it as demanded, and Arixa saw no cause to resist. She didn’t suspect Cinnea of plotting deception.

  Bowyn, however, she wanted as many eyes on as possible. For that reason, he was not locked away in a berth but rather harnessed into an acceleration couch in the common area. Restraints on his arms didn’t immobilize him, but gave him a limited range of motion which pointedly failed to include the harness release.

  Arixa took a seat right next to him.

  “Could you scratch my nose?” he asked during liftoff.

  “Try Tomiris.”

  Tomiris, seated on the other side, moved the spike of her war-pick toward Bowyn’s nose, but stopped short and laughed before stowing the weapon.

  “Ah, you Scythians are such fun,” Bowyn said. “How goes the plan to irritate the Pentarchy until they liquefy our faces, or similar?”

  “It’s going well. I should have asked if you’d like to disembark here with Yimri. Would you?”

  “You man without a suit, I presume. Either way, no. I’m looking forward to the face-liquefying. Bring it on. Anyway, since I have you right where I want you, I’d be a fool to leave now.”

  “Do you?”

  “Who’s to say?” Bowyn replied. “Lugh, I suppose. You wouldn’t have a spare sacrifice at hand, would you?”

  “Ran out. There’ll be more.”

  “Hmm.” Bowyn’s tone became suddenly graver. “So this will be a feature of your little rebellion, will it? Slaughtering Jir for your god?”

  Arixa had no intention of discussing either leadership or religion with Bowyn at the moment. Or ever. And so she gave no answer.

  Seconds later, she accepted a comm from Cinnea reporting that the Noruz had docked at Nemoora and begun disembarking Senekeen refugees.

  “Let me speak to Vax,” Arixa requested. “Vax,” she said when they were connected. “I doubt it will surprise you that I’ve commandeered the Red Branch. I’m going to rescue Ivar. Are you with us?”

  “Correct, that does not surprise me. Need I watch my back when Baako is near?”

  “No, but only because he can’t operate your ship. I would have sent one of my pilots, but...” She shared a glance with Tomiris. “I didn’t have the heart to separate them. I didn’t comm to chat, Vax. The plan is a hostage exchange and then a quick Shift out. Are you with me?”

  “It’s not a simple question, yet I gather you insist on a simple answer.”

  “Which is?”

  Hesitation, then: “Yes. But I must limit risk to my ship and crew. May I have input on how this exchange is to be carried out?”

  “They give me Ivar, and in return, I tell them where to find their chigit.”

  “If they agree, how do you intend to receive Ivar?”

  “You could get him for me.”

  “And be blown to atoms. It’s hard to conceive an arrangement with any other outcome.”

  “I thought you’d learned not to underestimate me. This Monument must have some small, unarmed craft they could send him over in. Or they could leave him somewhere in a voidsuit.”

  “In all cases, we still must bring him aboard somehow. You must consider the possibility that their sole intent in agreeing to any trade would be—”

  “To kill or capture me. I know. If that danger was enough stop me, I’d be on Earth looking at a scorch-mark where Roxinaki used to be. Whatever the details are of this trade, having a second ship near is appealing. Are you with me or not?”

  “I am with you, Arixa. With the earlier mentioned caveat.”

  “Right, no risk. That’s better than nothing. And it’s Captain Arixa. Out.”

  She terminated the link.

  “Pirate captain,” Bowyn said, earning himself a sharp elbow from Tomiris.

  Having exited the thick atmosphere of the Moon of Sorrows, the Red Branch III set course for concealment among the luminous gas giant’s rings. There would be no hiding inside the planet’s atmosphere this time, Arixa understood. The Sagaris could handle such a strain; the Branch III could not.

  Arixa unbuckled and started toward the bridge, stopping along the way to sit beside Leimya, whose hand she took and cheek she kissed.

  “Has Vaspa told you of Tabit-1?” Arixa asked her half-sister.

  “I look forward to seeing it.”

  “It’s beautiful, in its way. It makes a fine camp. On the voyage there, you can tell me of your trials. Every detail.”

  Leimya smirked proudly. “I put an arrow in their captain’s eye.”

  Arixa gave an expression of astonishment. “I guess you’re a warrior now. Or well on your way. Thank the Mother you lived.”

  “Thank Ivar. And many others.”

  Giving her warm hand a final squeeze, Arixa left Leimya only to nearly slam into Memnon.

  “Captain,” he said as she dodged him. “Thank you for allowing me on this—”

  “You know how to repay me. Next time a mutiny brews—”

  “I’ll tell you. Or kill them myself.”

  “Speaking of which,” Arixa called back without halting her walk to the bridge, “better stay out of Ivar’s sight when we get him back. Until I have a chance to explain!”

  She went through to the bridge, where she promptly told Vaspa, “I warmed a seat for you.”

  Not needing to be asked twice to rejoin Tomiris, he smiled and made for the exit.

  “Hold hands over Bowyn’s lap. He’ll love it,” Arixa advised him as he departed.

  She took his place at the station to Cinnea’s left. On the display before her hung the vast, gaseous red-orange sphere of Br’niss-5. In the far distance, its broad rings scythed through the black like gleaming blades. Nearer to the Branch III, their true nature was revealed in the form of tumbling, icy, mountain-sized rocks.

  Only half voluntarily, Arixa let a silent moment pass while she gazed in awestruck wonder at the vista.

  When her senses fully returned, she aske
d Cinnea, “Did Ivar doubt me?”

  “Why, is that a crime in your bunch?”

  “Band.”

  “I know.”

  “It depends on how loudly one voices the doubt,” Arixa said. “Ivar has been with me from the start. He can do and say as he likes.”

  “Ivar thought the danger to your sister might cloud your judgment.”

  “It does. But she’s safe now, and I’m about to hail another Pentarchy destroyer. I know why I’m going after Ivar. Why are you?”

  “Trying to change my mind?”

  “Not change, just know.”

  Cinnea took an eye off her controls to give a glare. “You killed Eoghan. I’m not going to talk about my feelings with you.”

  “Fair. But tell me one thing, Cinnea. Do you care if you live or die? Because when I look at you, I’m not always sure.”

  The Eraínn answered, after a pause, “I care. A lot. Bhitseach. Record your transmission.”

  “That’s Captain Bhitseach,” Arixa corrected. Then, after consulting with Vaxsuvarda for a short while, she commenced her recording.

  “This is Arixa of Scythia. My message is for Commodore Vengra. I am in possession of your so-called hero, Yimri. For now, she lives, but I’ve made sure that won’t long be the case. Prior to her capture, she let slip that you have a prisoner, Ivar. I am willing to conduct a simple exchange of the two, Ivar for Yimri. If you agree, transport Ivar to Nemoora on an unarmed craft and leave him there. When he’s safe, I’ll tell you where you can find Yimri dying. Send your reply swiftly. Arixa out.”

  “Transmitted via open S-wave,” Cinnea confirmed. “Now, we wait.”

  Twenty

  Given Vax’s presumed location of the Jir ship, the minimum time required for the receipt of the Commodore’s reply, if he made one, was around seven minutes. Rather than wait with Cinnea, Arixa traded her station on the bridge for the main cabin.

  There she found Tomiris and Vaspa chatting affectionately in Scythian across the averted face of captive Bowyn seated between them.

  “Tomiris,” Arixa said on entering, “would you please take the bridge?”

  Tomiris immediately unclipped to rise and make for the hatch.

  Vaspa hinted, “There’s room there for a third.”

  “We should avoid antagonizing our collaborator.” Since Arixa spoke in Scythian, Bowyn could have no cause for snide comment at Cinnea’s expense. “You two will share a return voyage soon enough.”

  Tomiris disappeared into the bridge.

  “Thank you!” Bowyn said. “At least with her gone, I can die in peace.”

  “I can arrange that,” Vaspa offered.

  “No one’s dying.” Arixa took a seat beside her half-sister. “If we get no reply...” This was not an outcome she wished to consider. “...then we’ll Shift out before they can hunt us down.”

  “It’s getting a reply that will kill us,” Bowyn said.

  Vaspa made a new offer, to Arixa: “I can gag him.”

  “No. I’m used to his blather by now. I hope when this is over and I return his ship, he understands that we’re still friends.”

  Bowyn scoffed. “Clever, Arixa. Instead of a gag, you’ve put me at a loss for words.”

  “Have you not learned yet that my plans work? This one will, too.”

  The Eraínn’s loss for words persisted—or he else just gave up, slouching in his restraints.

  Waiting in silence for word on which Ivar’s life depended, if he yet lived at all, Arixa sat tightly clasping her sister’s hand.

  “Arixa,” Cinnea commed at length. “We have a reply.”

  Arixa leaped to her feet. “Play it for all,”

  Throaty Jir speech in Nexus filled the cabin.

  “Greetings, Arixa, from Commodore Vengra, commanding the Sentinel destroyer Monument. Yimri informed you correctly. Ivar is with me. His stay has not been pleasant. If he could speak at the moment, I’m sure he would express his desire to leave. Or just scream. You may have him. If you wish to provide Yimri’s whereabouts in return, it will be welcomed. However, it is not required. A short time from now, set your instruments the task of detecting a quite small object on a collision course with Br’niss-5. Ivar will be inside it. You may claim him or leave him to his fate, as you see fit. Vengra out.”

  “Cinnea!” Arixa commed immediately.

  “Searching now.”

  Bowyn started, “Arixa—”

  “Shut up!”

  He continued undeterred, “The object will be empty, or it’ll contain—”

  “Shut up!” Arixa strode for the exit, en route to the bridge.

  “—a satronium warhead!”

  “What can we do?” Leimya asked.

  “Pray.”

  While Arixa raced to the bridge, Cinnea put through a comm from the Noruz.

  “Arixa, it’s a trap,” Vax said urgently. “The purpose is to draw you into the open. Whatever object may appear, there’s no cause to believe that Ivar will truly be inside it.”

  “I know. But it might be him, and that’s enough.”

  “Detection!” Cinnea reported on Arixa’s entry to the bridge. “Unknown object moving at constant velocity on entry vector for Br’niss-5. Mass is that of a typical escape pod.”

  “Can we get it?”

  “Maybe if...” Cinnea’s fingers worked holos. “No. The Branch III isn’t equipped.”

  “Vax!” Arixa said. “I don’t care if it’s a trap. I want that pod! Is the Noruz capable?”

  “We’ll draw their fire.”

  This suggestion came from Tomiris. Arixa quickly passed it on to Vax.

  “It isn’t...”

  “Do this, and I will meet your Administrators!” Arixa promised, not caring whether it was true. “Are you in position?”

  “I need to—”

  “Three minutes to impact,” Cinnea said.

  “Vax...”Arixa implored him. “Choose the good.”

  “You don’t make it easy to continue believing you are good, Arixa.”

  “Nothing is easy.”

  “Dying is.”

  “Choose!”

  A silence followed in which Arixa regretted not having found a way to put the Dawn in control of both ships.

  “Any sign of Jir?” she asked either of her pilots. Both answered in the negative.

  “Arixa...” Vax returned solemnly. “I’ve conferred with my crew. The Noruz stands with you. I advise against delay.”

  “Cinnea, give me control,” Tomiris demanded.

  “I have it.”

  “No time to argue,” Arixa said, buckling in. “Cinnea, unless you’ve been a decoy before, let Tomiris pilot.”

  “Has she been one?” Cinnea yelled. Her fingers worked controls frantically. “Fine. Auto-avoidance will do most of the work anyway. I fecking hope. All yours.”

  “Let them find us,” Arixa instructed Tomiris as she assumed control. “And then lead them back into the rings.”

  Arixa was tempted to take the helm herself, but Tomiris had trained far more. “Noruz,” she commed, “we’re breaking cover. Get him back.”

  “Course plotted. Standing by.”

  The Red Branch III darted out from the safety of the gas giant’s rings on what appeared to be a heading to intercept the incoming object.

  “Multiple detections,” Cinnea reported. “Howlers.”

  Instantly, the Branch III commenced abrupt evasive maneuvers which Arixa could see on the displays and feel in her bones. The Howlers, the same attack ships which Arixa called Panthers on the Sagaris, were just pinpricks of light barely discernible by eye against the bright, variegated surface of Br’niss-5. Thankfully, the ship’s systems discerned them and took action to avoid being struck by the weapons the fighters discharged in endless streams.

  Bowyn had lied back on Tabit-1 when he’d claimed Cernach had guns aimed at the Dawn. In truth, the Branch III was entirely unarmed.

  “Back into the rings!” Arixa said.

  “I
know!”

  With a whip-like course adjustment, the Branch III plunged back in among the tumbling, icy chunks. Some number of Howlers followed, firing beams that caused the Branch to veer randomly from instant to instant. Focused intensely on the controls, Tomiris guided the ship on a wild path among and between smooth, mountainous black rocks.

  “Vax?” Arixa commed.

  “Commencing intercept. Pray to your blood-soaked gods.”

  “Noruz has eighty-six seconds,” Cinnea said. “Nine Howlers on us. Either your gods are effective, or the Jir still hope to take you alive.”

  “Or I chose my pilot well.”

  “Quiet!” Tomiris hissed. Her concentration on the task at hand was total.

  The Branch III twisted and spiraled and backtracked in a path the aim of which was somewhere between losing their pursuers and keeping them occupied.

  “Jir destroyer in range,” Vax reported by comm. “Some Howlers hung back. We’re under attack.”

  “Can you still make it?”

  “I’ll tell you at the rendezvous point. Or not. Vax out.”

  No sooner did he stop talking than Arixa’s insides felt as though they wished to escape the confines of her skin. The Branch III rolled, the hull shuddered, and the bridge fell into blackness.

  An instant later the displays flared back to life showing a wall of black rock rapidly advancing. Alarms screamed in warning.

  The ship flipped and spun, barely avoiding collision. Satisfied that one danger was past, the alarms fell silent, even while the main danger, Jir pursuit, continued.

  “Fifty seconds.”

  Like some pilot who, in Arixa’s view at least, was not more accustomed to horses than spacecraft, Tomiris guided the Branch III through a labyrinth of shifting rock in which every black bend might hide an alien hunter.

  Which was to say, she kept the Dawn and its Eraínn almost-allies alive.

  “Twenty!” Cinnea counted down. “Clear the rings before Shift.”

  The ship veered anew, invisible forces shoving Arixa into her couch as the Branch III entered its final run in the Br’niss system.

  That run could only end in the subverse—or in a less blue type of otherworld from which no mortal ever returned.