“Will they be in time?”
“I hope so. Our spies say the Voloth weren’t able to pre-stage an invasion force during the negotiations, because they’ve had to bring ships in from the other side of their territory. The group I wiped out was the only one on this side. Whatever they send will be coming from their central system, so if they sent it the moment that treaty was signed—and we’re all sure they did—it’s also seven days away. It’ll be close. We’re still planning the battle as if we were entirely on our own, just in case. But I hope to all the highest powers that we won’t have to fight it.”
Lhyn launched herself across the space and threw her arms around Ekatya’s neck. “Thank you. Oh, thank you, this is so fantastic!”
Ekatya closed her eyes and offered up her own gratitude, to Fahla or the universe or whatever she needed to for this moment. Then she felt Lhyn crying and tightened her arms. “If we’re not facing the end, does that mean you won’t take me to bed after all?” she asked.
Lhyn chuckled in spite of her tears. “No, you idiot, I won’t.” She pulled back and sat next to Ekatya on the couch. “You don’t get sexy times just because you might have saved a planet.”
“Great galaxies, you set a high bar. What do I have to do, then?”
“Just…love me. Give me some time.”
“I’ll give you all the time I have.” Ekatya paused. “Is six days enough?”
Lhyn’s laugh was the loveliest sound she’d heard all day. They might not mend this tonight, but they would mend it. That promise was all she needed.
Chapter 52
Lifting the Caphenon
“The countdown has been activated. The lifting of the Caphenon will commence in twenty pipticks…fifteen…ten…five…and there it goes. Slowly, carefully…what a beautiful sight.”
Tal put her reader card on the desk and focused on the vidcom. Like every other person on the planet, she’d had the live coverage of the Caphenon’s move onscreen since this morning, a constant background to the various meetings and panicked questions that never seemed to end. At the moment, however, she was gloriously alone and enjoying the opportunity to watch with no distractions.
It had taken the builders a full day to assess the project and get the heavy equipment out to the site. Overnight they’d assembled the gigantic construction levers, braces, and sky grips. When Tal had turned on her vidcom first thing this morning, she’d been impressed with the transformation of the scene. The Caphenon was in the center of a forest of equipment that towered over it, cables and braces going every which way and seeming to trap the ship in a web. All morning she’d waited for the lifting to begin.
The narrator spoke again, his voice hushed in deference to the import of the moment as he directed the viewers’ attention to the nose of the ship. Sure enough, Tal could see it rising, ever so slowly. A few clods and fine streams of dirt fell from the hull as it lifted off the ground, and then there was space beneath it.
A photo of Candini’s fighter appeared in the top corner of the image, its sleek silver hullskin shining under the hangar lights.
“This Gaian fighter, now housed at Port Calerna, has only minimal damage from the nanoscrubbers,” the narrator said. “Looking at it, we can easily imagine how the Caphenon once appeared.”
“It was magnificent,” Tal murmured, remembering her first flight over the ship. Funny how her perceptions had changed. Then she had viewed it as alien and dangerous; now she saw it as the savior of her city and the future of her people.
She didn’t view the Gaians in the same way, either. Once it had been a constant jarring experience to look at their smooth faces; now they just seemed rather exotic. And Captain Serrado… Tal smiled, remembering her bringing a chaotic war council to order with one barked command. Her eyes had been flashing and she’d stood there in perfect control of the most powerful people on the planet. Even Shantu had admired her, and that was quite an accomplishment.
As if called by her thought, Captain Serrado’s emotional signature appeared at the edges of Tal’s senses. She closed her eyes, concentrating, then shook her head. No, they hadn’t fully reconciled yet. Apparently, when Lhyn had told the captain she needed time, she’d meant it. Tal couldn’t understand it, but Serrado seemed to. She was far calmer now, suffused with a confidence in Lhyn that had been entirely absent the morning of their Sharing.
Tal waited, feeling the signature grow stronger and stronger. When it reached a peak, she called out, “Come in, Captain.”
Her office door opened. “I’m never going to get used to that. Couldn’t you let me knock just once, so I could at least imagine that you don’t know exactly where I am?”
“Certainly. Go back outside.”
“Not quite what I meant,” Serrado said as her eyes went to the screen. “Oh, they started! I thought they wouldn’t be lifting it for another hantick.”
“They finalized the prep a little early. Have a seat; we’ll watch together. Would you like a cup of shannel?”
“I’d love one.”
Tal filled two cups from her dispenser and carried them to the small conference table, earning a grateful smile.
Serrado wasted no time sipping her drink. “Even if you didn’t have the best leverage imaginable with your nanoscrubbers, you might be able to wring substantial concessions out of the Protectorate by offering this in a trade treaty. I still can’t believe it’s good for me.”
“It’s good for you in moderation. I’m not sure your consumption could be called that. I’ve heard tales from Commander Kameha; he said he was surprised you tried to leave Alsea in the first place when that would have meant no more shannel.”
“Kameha has a big mouth.” Serrado watched the vidcom for a few moments. “The Gavinaught is gone.”
“And you don’t know whether to be glad or sorry.”
The captain appeared focused on the broadcast, but her emotions told a different story. “Sometimes, talking to you is like talking to a therapist. You’re right, of course. My crew is finally safe, after floating around in defenseless little pods that are no picnic to live in for one day, let alone the ten days they were stuck. The ones on the shuttles fared a little better, but they were just as defenseless. I’m so relieved they’re back on a decent ship, with room to move and real food while they head back to Protectorate space.” She turned to face Tal. “But…that’s it. That was my crew. They’re gone. I said good-bye to a lot of people this morning. And now I’m not a captain anymore.”
Tal pointed at the screen. “Yes, you are. That’s your ship they’re lifting. You’re going to command a crew on it. A mixed crew to be sure, but it will be your crew.”
“And after that?”
“I don’t know. Only Fahla knows what will happen. But you’re a born commander. One way or another, you’re going to end up in a command chair. Hopefully serving Alsea, but if that’s not what you want, I’ll make certain your Fleet gives you the reward you deserve.”
“How exactly are you going to do that?”
Tal lifted her cup of shannel. “Leverage.”
Serrado smiled and held up her own cup. “It’s what makes the universe expand.”
They tapped their cups together and resumed watching the broadcast, which was now showing an overhead view.
“I’ve been meaning to ask about the writing on your hull,” Tal said. “I assume the larger word is Caphenon.”
“Yes. The other part is the ship’s identity code: SPF-PC03. It means Ship of the Protectorate Fleet, Pulsar Class, third off the line.”
“This is only the third ship ever built of this class?”
In her peripheral vision she saw the captain nod. “It was one of Fleet’s newest and finest. So you can see why they were so happy to hear I’d ditched it.”
“As a politician who deals with budgets and appropriations, yes, I can. But as an Alsean who benefited from your decision, I am in fact very happy that you ‘ditched’ it.”
Serrado didn’t turn her head, bu
t a small smile appeared. “Somehow, Common slang doesn’t sound quite right coming from you.”
The broadcast switched back to a head-on view. The nose of the Caphenon was already a body length off the ground.
“What happened to the escape pods?” Tal asked.
“All linked together and marked with a signal buoy. At some point, Fleet will send a cargo ship out here to pick them all up. Probably at the same time they send out the cleaner crew.”
“I imagine the captain of Lhyn’s ship was relieved to reduce his passenger list.”
“Thrilled, actually. Tempers fray when people are jammed together that closely. His security staff was run ragged, and he was getting calls at all hanticks of the day and night. Now he can relax and focus on being our early warning system. Which I hope to all the powers we won’t need.” She glanced over. “How did you get the High Council to agree to our plan?”
“I didn’t. I bypassed them entirely. With the full support of Shantu, which is a first. But we don’t have time for a debate on this, not in the High Council and especially not in the full Council. I used my emergency powers, and it’s made me pretty unpopular in the State House at the moment. If they want to call for a vote of no confidence, they’re welcome to do so once we’ve survived. But with Shantu backing me up, and most of the warrior caste behind us, it’ll be difficult to pass that vote.”
“The warrior caste has that much power?”
“When it comes to a vote of no confidence, all of the castes have the same voting power. But it’s going to be the warriors fighting and dying in the next few days. After that, it’s hard to imagine the other castes voting against what the warriors ask for. At least for a little while.”
“It’s going to be the scholars dying, too.”
“I know.” Tal sighed. “There’s no way around it. There aren’t nearly enough high empaths in the warrior caste to cover every area. I’m not sure there are enough high empaths, period. Covert projection is a specialist skill; it takes training to push emotions into another mind without physical touch acting as a conduit. I’d guess one out of ten have the ability to do what we’re asking. Once we rule out those who are too young or too old, we’ve knocked the number down by half. The conscientious objectors will reduce that by at least half again, possibly even three-quarters. I think there will be more objectors in the scholar caste than not. Then there will be the ones who are too terrified to volunteer, or are the sole family support—by the time we collect the volunteers tomorrow, I doubt we’ll have more than thirty thousand. There are four Voloth in every ground pounder and we’ll need one empath per Voloth, so we’ll end up with somewhere between seven and eight thousand units. Scatter that over the land mass of two continents, and factor in how many of them are going to get blown to atoms before they even manage to make a connection, because they’ve never done anything like this before…”
She trailed off, and they watched the steadily climbing Caphenon in silence.
“What happens with that no-confidence vote if our reinforcements arrive in time and there’s no battle after all?” Serrado asked.
“Then I fight a political battle instead of a physical one. And if Fahla gave me the opportunity to choose, there wouldn’t be a question.”
“True words.”
“You’ve been on Alsea too long. You’re picking up our phrases.”
“I find myself saying ‘shek’ too, even when I’m speaking Common. It’s kind of…satisfying.” She waggled her eyebrows at Tal, who couldn’t stop a snort of laughter.
“When you say ‘shekking Mother’ we’ll know you’re fully assimilated.”
“You might be waiting a while for that one. But speaking of Fahla—that was brilliant, having Lead Templar Satran next to you for your announcement yesterday, when you called for volunteers. She made a very convincing case that Fahla would approve of the plan.”
“I knew she would. She made the same case to me when I went to her for advice. And it was impossible for us to move ahead without the support of at least one powerful religious scholar. I imagine Lanaril will have her own battles to fight, though. Not all of the templars will support her position.”
“Let’s just hope they have the luxury of arguing about it.” Serrado sipped her shannel and asked, “Where will you be if the Voloth get here first? The strategy room?”
“In a transport with Gehrain, cleaning up anything you leave around Blacksun.”
“What?” She set her cup down abruptly. “Are you insane? You’re the Lancer! You can’t risk yourself; what happens to Alsea if you get killed?”
“Alsea would elect a new Lancer, just as it would if I didn’t go into battle. I’m the leader of the warrior caste, Captain. That means I fight in front. If I ran from my oath of service, they’d push me out of this office so quickly I wouldn’t have time to pack.”
Serrado stared for a moment before picking up her cup again. “This is what you were talking about when I was in the healing center. About your oath being to Alsea.”
“Exactly.”
“Then I hope you meant to say ‘in a transport with Gehrain and ten other high empath Guards.’”
“My Guards are needed elsewhere. And Gehrain and I both have experience at covert projection in combat. Not the fatal version, obviously, but we know what we’re doing and we know how to pick out the most important minds in a ground pounder. It’s not the pilot or the engineer we need to worry about, it’s the two weapons specialists.”
The cup clattered back to its saucer. “You’re going out with one Guard? You had twenty when you met us!”
“Thirty, actually; you just didn’t see the others. I didn’t know what the threat was then, and we had no time to deploy more of our warriors. Now I know exactly what the threat is, and just how useless our weapons are against it. Can you tell me that it would be any safer if I took along my entire unit?”
“No, but couldn’t you at least take two more?”
“There aren’t enough. Every one of my Guards is worth ten high empaths who have the ability, but not the training. Our resources are spread too thin as it is.”
“Don’t get yourself in trouble, Lancer Tal. It’s hard for me to make friends like you. I’d like you to stick around for a while, if you don’t mind.”
Her concern and affection washed over Tal, a warmth she once thought she’d thrown away. “I’m planning on it,” she said, and when Serrado held out her hand, she gladly took it.
Chapter 53
Captain on the bridge
Ekatya stepped out of the sky grip’s lift and strode along the length of its horizontal arm. The first time she’d done this, walking on a narrow metal floor with only the open cross braces of the grip’s arm between her and an eighty-five-meter drop to the ground, she’d been a little nervous. It certainly wasn’t her usual method of reaching the bridge. But it was faster than climbing through brace shafts and easier than being lowered from a transport. That was four days ago; now she enjoyed the walk. There was something exhilarating about approaching her ship from the outside, walking to the bridge from a great height, and seeing the skirt of her ship spread out below.
But it was also a little sad. Every time she entered her ship this way, she saw the damage. Not just from the nanoscrubbers, which was bad enough, but from what they’d had to do to free up the missile launch tubes, rail gun frames, and laser cannons. The openings of the launch tubes were flush with the hull, covered by a thin door and the hullskin, and the rail gun frames and laser cannons were normally tucked inside the hull as well. Only half of the launch tubes would open, due to the damaged hullskin, and the rail gun frames and laser cannons were hopeless. They’d had to send Alseans in with welding torches to cut away sections of the Caphenon’s hull, manually freeing the weaponry, and the end result was hard to look at.
The other side of that was knowing that the Voloth fighters would have the same problem. Their weaponry was also carried internally, allowing for atmospheric descent, and wa
s only activated when needed. By the time the Voloth tried to bring their weapons outside and online, they’d find them locked in by nanoscrubber damage. And they wouldn’t have friendly, efficient Alsean builders hanging off safety lines, cutting their hulls open for them.
She reached the end of the arm, securely fastened to the airlock, and stepped through. It was always a little startling going from the open air and height of the sky grip to the close, dark airlock access shaft. From here it was a crawl. The access shaft was an emergency exit and hadn’t been designed for repetitive use. But the Alseans had cleaned it and put down some sort of spongy material, making it more comfortable to crawl through. Still, there was nothing dignified about pulling oneself out of an access hatch. One of these days, she was just going to do a forward somersault out of it.
She’d barely straightened up and brushed off her uniform when Commander Baldassar said, “Captain on the bridge!”
It had become a private joke between them. These days the bridge was nearly empty, with only the weapons boards being staffed by Alsean warriors. Her own team was down in the port-side weapons rooms, running their new Alsean shipmates through more drills. Every operable weapons room on that side of the ship was now staffed, as well as the few working rooms on the starboard side. Roris had been very impressed with the speed at which the Alseans had picked up the basics. Ekatya never told her that they’d already known half of it before they started.
She and Baldassar had managed to recover a working relationship, and while it wasn’t the same, it was more than she’d expected. When the Protectorate learned about the nanoscrubbers and decided that Alsea was at the very top of the list of planets to be protected, Baldassar had come to her and apologized, mortified that his instincts had been so wrong. He’d been looking for a sign from the Seeders and thought her concealment of her relationship with Lhyn was it. A decision built on deception had to be the wrong one. His real error, he said, had been in not waiting long enough to learn about the deception of their own government.
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