Angelmass

by Timothy Zahn

  But the older Commodore Lleshi could see clearly the road the universe was taking. The Adjutors had been winning steadily for the past thirty years, gathering more and more power and influence to themselves. They had slowly and methodically trained everyone from the lowliest Pax citizen to the highest members of the Supreme Council itself to think solely in terms of costs and profits and losses.

  And Lleshi was tired of fighting them.

  Perhaps Telthorst would prove to be a competent commander. Probably not. But either way, at this point it wasn’t worth a battle that would tear his crew apart in a power struggle. Certainly not in the middle of action against a hostile force.

  Because no matter how incompetent Telthorst turned out to be, even he couldn’t do anything to seriously threaten the Komitadji, not even with all the help the Empyreal Defense Force could muster. Perhaps if he embarrassed himself badly enough, it would at least slow the Adjutors down in their rush to total power.

  So let the Adjutor have his moment of glory. In the meantime, the real commander of the Komitadji had an assault to plan. Signing off on the fuel reports, he keyed for the latest reports from Sensor and Tactical and began to read.

  Chandris’s familiarity with huntership procedure and personnel had gotten them a tow car without any questions being asked. It had taken a little more finesse to get them a spot at the launch strip, where an amazing lineup of ships was waiting, but she’d managed to pull that one off, too.

  But it was quickly apparent that no amount of charm was going to get them past the Angelmass catapult.

  “You must be kidding, Gazelle,” the operator said, his voice firm. “Don’t you read your own agency’s reports? All travel to Angelmass Central has been shut down. Period; end of comment; close file.”

  “Then I suggest you reopen that file,” Chandris said acidly. “This is a rescue mission, set up and blue-three-coded by High Senator Forsythe himself.”

  “A what?” the operator demanded. He still sounded firm, but Kosta could hear a trickle of doubt now in his voice.

  “What, your ears need cleaning?” Chandris said. “A rescue mission. Someone finally counted heads on the evac shuttle and realized they left someone on Central. We’re going out to get her.”

  “Oh, hell,” the operator muttered. “Who is it?”

  “Comm supervisor named Jiselle,” Chandris said. “You know her?”

  “Met her once,” the operator muttered. “Not worth rescuing, if you ask me.”

  “High Senator Forsythe apparently doesn’t share your opinion,” Chandris said. “Now, are you going to ’pult us, or do we have to drag him out of his meeting and have him personally explain to you what exactly a blue-three means?”

  “Okay, okay, come on in,” the operator said. “I’m calibrating now.”

  “Thank you. Out.”

  Chandris snapped off the comm and got the Gazelle moving. “Jiselle?” Kosta asked.

  “The comm supervisor I talked to after we were attacked and I had to bring Hanan back in a hurry,” Chandris explained.

  “And the blue-three?”

  “I copied the authorization codes from Forsythe’s cyl before I gave it back,” she said. “I figured they might come in handy someday. So, what do you think? Did he fall for it, or is he whistling up the watchdogs?”

  Kosta shook his head. “You’re the expert on human reactions,” he reminded her. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, peering at the displays. “He sounded convinced; but you can never tell with that sort. He might stay rolled over, or he might just as easily decide to check it out.”

  Kosta grimaced. “And if he calls Forsythe’s office to check on that blue-three, we’re dead.”

  “Only if he gets through to Forsythe himself before we ’pult,” Chandris said. “If we can get aboard Central before the cord goes pop, we should be able to shut down the net and keep anyone from coming after us.”

  “So the plan is to get through as fast as we can?”

  “Right, only without looking too obvious about it,” Chandris agreed. “Of course, with a rescue mission we’re supposed to be in a hurry anyway. I’d say we’ve got a pretty fair chance of making it”

  “Okay,” Kosta said. “I just wish the odds were better than just ‘pretty fair.'”

  “You want certainties, go into theology,” Chandris said, studying her monitors, “I just hope none of these warships takes it into his head to take a look at us.”

  Kosta blinked. “Warships?”

  “Sure look like that to me,” Chandris said. “But hey, you’re the expert on military hardware.”

  Kosta leaned closer to his displays, his fingers fumbling for the magnification control. Preoccupied with the Angelmass problem, he hadn’t even focused on the other ships flying around them. But now that he actually took a good look at them …

  “You’re right,” he said, the back of his neck tingling. Last night, Forsythe had talked about a suspected Pax invasion of Lorelei. Could Commodore Lleshi’s task force have made it to Seraph already? “I don’t like this.”

  “Just stay cool,” Chandris advised. “They’re EmDef ships; we’re an EmDef rescue mission. Just one big happy family. But if they hail us, let me do the talking.”

  “Right,” Kosta murmured, his eyes flicking across the various displays as he adjusted the views. If there was a Pax task force on its way, and if it was close enough to be in deceleration mode, there ought to be a set of visible drive glows out there somewhere.

  He was still searching, wondering if the glow was being hidden by one of the ships blocking his view, when Chandris spoke again. “Okay, get ready,” she said. “Here we go.” There was the usual almost-felt jerk as the catapult threw them across Seraph system—

  And abruptly a blaze of light exploded from the displays.

  “What in—?” Kosta yelped.

  “It’s Angelmass,” Chandris snapped. She did something to her board, and the light faded from painful to merely intense, men vanished completely into comfortable darkness as a small black spot positioned itself over the center of the blaze. “Sorry—the sunscreens hadn’t been recalibrated.”

  “They shouldn’t have had to be,” Kosta said, his eyes flicking over the numbers. “At least, not this much. Oh, hell.”

  “What?” Chandris demanded.

  ‘Take a look at the proximity numbers,” Kosta said. “Angelmass is … friz. No more than a couple thousand kilometers out”

  Chandris hissed between her teeth. “That close?”

  “That close,” Kosta told her grimly. “It’s not only on the move, it’s picking up speed.”

  “Then we’d better get this kickshow on its feet,” Chandris said. From behind Kosta came the roar of the engines, and he felt himself being pressed back into his seat. “We’ll go around and dock at the catapult end—that’s where you’ll be doing your work.”

  “Right,” Kosta muttered. “Let’s just hope they left the door unlocked.”

  “The ships are nearly in position, High Senator,” General Roshmanov reported, crossing to where Forsythe and Pirbazari were sitting and pulling over a chair for himself. “Another twenty minutes, max.”

  “How soon until the Komitadji is in combat range?” Pirbazari asked.

  Roshmanov shrugged uncomfortably as he sat down. “That depends on how destructive they want to be,” he said. “We know the Pax has long-range subnuclear missiles that can probably take out a million square kilometers at a shot. A dozen of those properly placed, and there would be precious little left of Seraph for them to conquer.”

  Forsythe felt his stomach tighten. “Fortunately, that’s not their style.”

  “Not their preferred style, anyway,” Roshmanov agreed. “Though I suppose that if we make enough trouble they might switch to that out of pure spite.”

  “The Pax runs on profit, not spite,” Pirbazari said. “Besides, I don’t think we have to worry about being that much trouble.”

&
nbsp; “No,” Roshmanov conceded heavily. “I’m afraid we don’t.”

  For a long minute none of them said anything. Forsythe gazed at the tactical display, listening to the low background murmurs filling the EmDef command room, occasionally able to pull snatches of specific conversations from the general hum.

  His phone, when it rang, made him jump. Pulling it out, he tapped it on. “Forsythe.”

  “High Senator, this is Lieutenant Hakara at Central Switchboard,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but Seraph Catapult Control has apparently been calling all around Shikari City trying to locate you.”

  “Me, personally?” Forsythe asked, frowning. He was hardly in the official chain of command here. “What about?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Hakara said. “I can connect you if you’d like.”

  “Yes, go ahead.”

  There was a click, a long pause, and another half dozen clicks at various pitches. “High Senator Forsythe?” a man’s voice said tentatively.

  “Speaking,” Forsythe said. “Who is this?”

  “Raymont, sir. Traffic controller on the Seraph Angelmass Catapult. It’s—well, it’s a little late now, sir; they’ve already gone through. I was wondering if you wanted us to send a backup shuttle along with them. Or behind them, now.”

  “If this is supposed to be making sense, it’s not,” Forsythe growled. He didn’t have time for games. “Who and what are you talking about?”

  “Why, the rescue mission, sir,” Raymont said. “The blue-three code. The woman on the Gazelle said—”

  “The Gazelle ?” Forsythe cut him off.

  “Yes, sir,” Raymont said. From the sound of his voice, it sounded like he was suddenly having trouble breathing. “She said someone had been accidentally left aboard Central, and that you’d personally authorized a rescue mission even though the catapult was officially shut down, because a blue-three supersedes other orders …” He trailed off.

  “I see,” Forsythe said, his voice sounding calmer than he would have expected it to. Preoccupied with the incoming threat, he’d completely forgotten about Kosta and his theories about Angelmass. “When did they go through?”

  “About two minutes ago, sir,” Raymont said, sounding thoroughly miserable now. “Shall I send a shuttle after them? We could have something prepped in fifteen minutes.”

  Forsythe looked up at the tactical. “No, don’t bother,” he said.

  “Or one of the EmDef ships could get there even sooner,” Raymont offered. “We could recalibrate while it gets here—”

  “I said don’t bother,” Forsythe repeated firmly. “Close down the catapult again, but leave your net operating. Sooner or later, they’ll be wanting to come back.”

  “Yes, sir,” Raymont said. “I’m … yes, sir.”

  Forsythe closed the phone, noting peripherally that General Roshmanov had disappeared sometime during the call. “Kosta?” Pirbazari asked quietly.

  “And Lalasha, and the Gazelle,” Forsythe confirmed, putting the phone away. ‘They’ve gone to Angelmass.”

  “I see,” Pirbazari said, his voice gone suddenly hard and cool. “I guess I should have sent someone to the huntership yards after all.”

  Forsythe frowned at him. The other’s expression matched his voice. “You have something to say, Zar?”

  “We could have stopped him,” Pirbazari said, his voice just loud enough for Forsythe to hear over the background noise. “Instead, you let him go. A confessed Pax spy; and you deliberately let him go. Way the hell out to Angelmass, where he’ll be conveniently out of the way when the Komitadji gets here.”

  “What exactly are you accusing me of?” Forsythe asked quietly.

  “I’m just wondering if you made some sort of deal with him,” Pirbazari said. “If you did, shouldn’t the rest of us be brought in on it?”

  For a long minute Forsythe gazed at him, a part of him marveling at how rapidly it was all unraveling. A single decision not to wear an angel … and now it had come down to suspicion of treason. “I made no deals,” he said at last. “But perhaps I should have.”

  Pirbazari’s eyes twitched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The Komitadji is an impressive weapon,” Forsythe said. “Very powerful, very dangerous. But as everyone is so fond of pointing out, the Pax wants conquest, not destruction.”

  He nodded fractionally toward the sky. “Angelmass is a different matter. It’s already attacked several hunterships, and it looks like it’s gunning for Central next.”

  Pirbazari snorted. “If you buy Kosta’s theory.”

  “Dr. Frashni confirmed what Kosta said about his experiment,” Forsythe reminded him.

  “It’s a long road from a nine-angel logic circuit to a mad killer black hole,” Pirbazari argued.

  “Agreed,” Forsythe said. “And the first step down that road is to gather more data. Which is precisely what Kosta’s doing.”

  “So he says,” Pirbazari countered. “Maybe he just wanted to get himself out of the way of a fight.”

  “No,” Forsythe said firmly. “Think about it. Every huntership in the yard has been grounded, which means he could have taken his pick of them. Why take the Gazelle, which would logically be the first place we would start looking for him?”

  “Maybe because he knew we wouldn’t be looking for him,” Pirbazari said bluntly.

  “He took the Gazelle because it had his test equipment aboard,” Forsythe said. “He’s there to find out what’s going on.”

  Pirbazari’s eyes were still hard, but Forsythe could see the suspicion fading a little. “And not because you offered him a deal to let him sit out the battle?”

  Forsythe gave a snort. “If you think the vicinity around Central is safer right now than facing down the Komitadji, you’re welcome to go sit out the battle with him.”

  Pirbazari’s mouth tightened. “That was uncalled for, High Senator.”

  “So was yours, Zar,” Forsythe said. “Are we clear now?”

  Pirbazari seemed to measure him with his eyes. “For the moment.”

  “Good,” Forsythe said. “Then let’s see if the rest of the ships are in place yet.”

  Chandris had never been aboard Angelmass Central before, but she had studied the floorplans and procedures once during a quiet hour between angel hunts. Getting the Gazelle into the axis docking bay without inside personnel to assist was a challenge, but she managed it without too many false starts. The interface between the non-rotating bay and the rotating part of the cylinder was also a bit tricky, but again they got through without anything more serious than a bruised shin on Kosta’s part.

  “Quite a place,” Kosta called down to her over the chatter of gamma sparks as they headed down a narrow access ladder toward the operations area. “Must have been fun duty being assigned here.”

  “I don’t think it was usually this noisy,” Chandris called back up, feeling her heart thudding in her ears. The gamma sparking wasn’t nearly to the noise level that it had been during the radiation surges, but it was definitely heading in that direction.

  “I just hope it doesn’t get any worse,” he called back. “These electronics can’t take this kind of beating forever.”

  The station’s designers had apparently had similar thoughts. The main catapult control complex, when they reached it, was considerably quieter than the approach had been. “They must have laid on extra shielding here,” Kosta said as he turned in a slow circle, studying the softly glowing lights and displays. “Looks like they left everything on. Good.”

  “Including the net,” Chandris said, looking around and then starting up the ladder again. “I’m going to go across to the other end and shut it down.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kosta said, grabbing her ankle. “There must be a way of doing that from in here.”

  “I’m sure there is,” Chandris agreed. “But it’ll take time to find it. You want Forsythe and EmDef charging in on us while we’re looking through m
anuals?”

  Kosta let go of her ankle. “Go,” he said.

  She got back up to the cylinder’s centerline corridor and made her way along it through the crew quarters and supply areas toward the other half of the station. Both sets of blast doors leading to the midway connection tunnel were sealed, but they opened quickly enough at her punched-in command. The midway tunnel itself was rather eerie: a relatively short corridor lined all around with red-rimmed hatchways leading to the double ring of escape pods she’d seen on her first trip to Angelmass.

  She got the blast doors at the far end opened and passed through a mirror-image layout of supply rooms and crew quarters until she arrived at the proper access ladder and climbed down to the net control complex. A quick glance at the monitors to confirm that Forsythe and EmDef weren’t yet coming through the net, and she began to go down the boards, systematically throwing every switch.

  Two minutes later, the boards and monitors were totally dark. So was that entire half of the station. Groping her way along in the dim glow of the emergency lighting system, she headed back.

  She reached the catapult control complex to find Kosta seated at one of the stations, gazing at a display and flipping back and forth between what looked to be at least three different instruction manuals. “Net’s down,” she reported. “How’s it going here?”

  “Slow,” he said, not looking up. “In order to recalibrate for Angelmass, it seems I need a crash course in catapult theory.”

  “Great,” Chandris said. “How long?”

  “Call it an hour. Maybe a little less.”

  “And then we still have the actual reprogramming to do?”

  Kosta nodded. “I’d guess another thirty to sixty minutes on top of that for the programming and the fine-tuning of the charge on the catapult’s capacitors.”

  “So we’d better count on this taking a full two hours.”

  “Right.” Kosta looked significantly across the room. “I just hope we’ve got that long.”

  Chandris followed his gaze, to a monitor showing the blazing speck that was Angelmass bearing inexorably down on them. Staring at the display, she could have sworn she could see the black hole visibly gaining on them. An optical illusion, of course. “What can I do?”