The Artifact

by W. Michael Gear

  “You can go back to your quarters, Fan.” Sol gestured toward the hatch.

  “No,” Jordan said stubbornly. “I will stay right here. I fear assassination!”

  Bryana tensed, keeping her eyes on the Mainiac battleship’s position as Art sent course information.

  “We couldn’t be that lucky, Fan,” Sol muttered wearily. “Return now ... or Cal will drag you kicking and screaming.”

  Jordan moved fast enough to evade Fujiki’s grasping fingers and grabbed Constance, flicking a vibraknife at her throat. “I’ll stay—and Constance will stay with me. One little move, Fujiki, and I slit her up the middle. And you, Constance, I know your tricks. But I’ll gut you before you can kick or twist away.”

  Jordan laughed. “Wonder where I got the knife? Oh, they did a good job searching the place, Carrasco. You simpletons are so easy to fool. A vibraknife can slip in anywhere—especially into a new made weld from your gracious enlargement of my quarters.”

  Bryana shook her head slowly, the raw burning of frustration deep inside. This couldn’t be happening on the bridge. Worse, they’d have to space Jordan now.

  Sol remained casual. “Fan, don’t you think you’d better quit while you’re ahead? Every time you’ve tried to buck us, you end up looking like an idiot. I’d spare you this time, too. You’re almost home free—why screw it up?”

  Jordan’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, you can’t stop me this time, Carrasco. I want you, Fujiki, and Arturian out of here now!” He smiled wickedly. “Bryana stays to run the ship and provide amusement for Constance and me. Besides, I owe her. No one does what she did to me and gets away with it. Out now, Captain.”

  Bryana swallowed hard, composure crumbling as Sol got to his feet. “Come on, Art, I guess I know when we’re licked. Back off, Cal.” The big weapons tech shrugged, features blank as he backed out the hatch. Art got nervously to his feet.

  “You can’t do this!” Bryana whispered.

  “He’s got the knife,” Sol replied reasonably. “It won’t be long. Just do your duty, First Officer.”

  “Captain?” Art cried, shaken.

  “First Officer, let’s go.” Sol ordered firmly. “They’re Fan’s women for a while at least—let him enjoy them.”

  Art moved numbly, head shaking as Carrasco’s voice called out, “Three-sixty, Boaz!” . . . And the bridge disappeared.

  Only Bryana’s presence in the firm grip of the command chair kept her in touch with some semblance of reality. Despite the shock, she saw Carrasco walk easily across the stars and pluck the vibraknife out of Jordan’s catatonic fingers.

  Carrasco picked him bodily up and carried the paralyzed Earl of Baspa to the hatch. A doorway to reality slid back, yellow light streaming through to bathe space, and Carrasco pushed his captive into Fujiki’s waiting arms. Bryana couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Jordan was crying.

  “Thank you, Boaz, I think the situation is under control.” The bridge reappeared.

  Art had frozen, rooted to the spot. His voice trembled, husky. “If I hadn’t seen you playing with this before, Captain, I’d have gone stark raving mad.” Slowly he felt his way back to his command chair.

  Constance shivered slightly, reaching to touch the now solid panels. “I don’t know what was worse, Jordan—or That! What happened? I think I could get used to it and come to love it! What a feeling of freedom and wonder. It’s like EVA . . . only without a suit!”

  Sol settled himself in the command chair. “The hull of this ship is not only graphite, it’s also composed of microfiberoptics which are woven netlike over the hull. The purpose is for camouflage which works for infiltrating pirate strongholds as well as for study purposes when the observer wishes to remain invisible.

  “The bridge employs the same thing. I read Petran’s report on the project. He thinks it can add to a captain’s ability to conduct maneuvers, provide a better feel for the ship’s location in space.”

  Would to God, Bryana wished, we were completely invisible all the time. She looked at the image of the closing New Maine battleship, a streak of light shooting out as reaction mass. No matter how well Boaz could hide herself, whenever she moved, she left a signal. The whole of space would know as they decelerated for Star’s Rest.

  * * *

  Sabot Sellers replayed the communication Hunter’s delicate “ears” had detected. So Boaz had arrived. Not only that, the imbecilic Mainiacs had sent a fleet of their own—and that foolish fop, Jordan, had acted like a man insane. Very well, at least he had advance warning. Judging from the location of Boaz’s transmissions, Carrasco would arrive in about four days. How had they come in so silently? Where had his ships missed them?

  “Comm officer.”

  “Sir?”

  “Scramble the fleet. The time has come for Arpeggio to pay port call to Star’s Rest. Send directional. Have Thylassa’s vessels rendezvous.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man bent to his duty.

  So the time has come. Very well, Carrasco, let’s see who wins. You and your Boaz, or the combined might of Arpeggio. The device will be mine . . . and with it, humanity. Unassailable, beautiful Constance, you shall come to me. It’s been a long time, and I haven’t forgotten. No woman runs out on me . . . ever!

  * * *

  A member of the escort party, Constance experienced a moment of relief—savoring it—as Fan Jordan stepped lightly across the shuttle deck, antigrav after antigrav carrying his endless and mostly useless impedimenta. Two steely-eyed marines jumped lightly from the New Maine shuttle—blasters at hand.

  “They look like they don’t trust us,” Sol chided. “Now, why do you suppose that is?”

  “I’m just glad he’s gone.” She shot a quick glance his way, noting the wry humor. “I never thanked you for what you did. I guess we’ve both been too busy.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “No thanks are necessary. It worked out for the best.”

  Jordan’s things lifted on the antigrav, shoveled into the shuttle, one after another. Fan rode an antigrav up and stepped into the hatch, saluting his subordinates. He stopped, turned, and Sol met that burning stare which seemed to say, “Till next time.”

  The last of the baggage aboard, the shuttle lifted under Misha Oaitano’s careful manipulation and slid into the lock. The big doors closed and Sol turned to his monitor. He could see the shuttle as it cleared the outer hull and dropped away toward the shields.

  “Now we see what’ll happen,” Constance said uneasily. Damn Jordan, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to order Desmond into immediate retaliation, would he?

  “I don’t think they’ll fight,” Sol assured her. “Evans isn’t an idiot. He’s made his assessments of this ship and her capabilities. He knows we’re on alert and he can’t take us with Desmond. And Jordan—no matter how crazy and neurotic—can’t precipitate a war without his king’s permission.”

  “You hope.”

  He nodded soberly. “I hope. I’m not sure if he’s insane or so insufferably spoiled that he’s out of touch with reality.”

  The shuttle crossed to Desmond to be gobbled by an opening hatch. “This is it,” Constance muttered, unconsciously moving closer to Sol. A subtle reassurance came from the hip and shoulder that lightly bumped hers.

  “Status?” Sol asked, slipping an arm around her shoulder. Connie couldn’t find the will to pull away.

  “Weapons ready and targeted, Captain,” Bryana answered from the bridge. “All power is diverted to shields and the fire deck.”

  A streak of light shot from Desmond’s reactor as she accelerated off on a different vector. With their reduced V she moved away quickly.

  “He’s not going to fight!”

  “Not yet anyway,” Constance cautioned. “I tell you, Sol, Jordan’s crazy. He makes his own reality and doesn’t care about others. He’s too hyped on this obsession of royal blood. He’ll get someone killed in the end.”

  “Maybe himself,” Sol added. “Come on, how about I treat you to
some of that fine Star Mist your father gave me.”

  She studied him thoughtfully, tracing the lines of his face, a curious longing stirring as he stepped away. Carrasco turned and regarded her quizzically. The decision came easily. “Sounds delightful.”

  And what? Damn it, Connie, quit fooling around! With everything at stake, you can’t afford any entanglements. This is dangerous enough without snarling it more. And what if he fails you ? What if he turns out to be just another man ?

  Only she couldn’t convince herself to make an excuse, bow out of the invitation on some pretext. And I saw him that day in the blister, broken, shattered. Damn it! I can’t afford this.

  “Well, it looks like we made it after all,” Sol said easily as they walked back to his quarters. “No one jumped us; we lost the two bogeys; the Mainiacs found us and took Jordan off our hands. If we can only find the assassin, everything will be nicely wrapped up.”

  She looked up at him, knowing the lie of his secure gaze. Sol, you don’t have any idea about what we’ll unleash. I hope you can still have that smug security a week from now.

  “I hope so. We’ve still got a long way to go to wrap this up, Sol—if it’s ever finished.” She smiled nervously.

  “So grim? Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. Must be quite a find. What is it, the longhand signature of God? Just promise me the Mormons aren’t right!”

  She chuckled despite herself. “No, they aren’t.” She stepped into his cabin and he poured, handing her the glass. Sol stood close, studying her intently over the rim of his glass. His expression softened, and it wanned her.

  “You must have every man in your father’s fleet in love with you.”

  “No,” she whispered, fighting the longing within her. His presence eased the fear, lulling her. The memory of his arms around her made her ache with a honey sweetness inside. “Most men can’t stand to compete with my status, my father, or me. They find out I won’t bend. I won’t become their woman. It’s a lonely life.”

  “I ... well, you’ve come to mean a lot to me. Loneliness is curable. You could change that part of your life.”

  She was irritated at the pounding of her heart, the sudden thrill inside. “Could I? Could you change yours? Seriously, I’ve been watching you. The old Solomon Carrasco is back. Somewhere, you’ve managed to bury Gage. You’re back to being yourself . . . and you love it. Would you leave Boaz to settle on Star’s Rest with me? No, I think it’s in your blood to space. You’re asking me to meet your terms.”

  He drew a breath and shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “Suppose, nothing.” She grinned up at him. “If you retired again, you’d be dreaming space, remembering the stars, and kicking yourself for ever turning a ship like this over to anyone—even Petran Dart.”

  “And you? You don’t like all the political intrigue, do you? Oh, you’re good at it, Constance, but you don’t really like it.” He lifted her chin so she couldn’t avoid his eyes. At his touch, she felt her soul tremble.

  “No,” she whispered, “I don’t.” She gave him a warm smile. The ache inside built, overwhelming her caution. The feel of his arm around her was like a comforting, cozy mantle.

  How did she answer him? “Boaz, if you would display the galaxy on the Captain’s screen, I would appreciate it.“ Instantly, the star field grew on the white background. ”There, Sol. That’s where I want to be. I’m not a politician.“

  “That’s what always drew me,” he agreed. The longing in his eyes touched her, melting the last of her resistance. Against her, his flesh felt firm, warm, awakening a forgotten need. Feeling her pulse race, she took a deep breath, knowing she followed an irreversible course. The warmth spread from her very core. The wistfulness of his expression was vulnerable and reassuring.

  “Suppose you came with me, Sol? Suppose we spaced in Bad Boy? No Craft, no obligations to anyone?” How sweet that dream. How totally impossible.

  A slight tightening of his expression pulled at his lips as he looked around, cataloging the monitors with their glowing stats. His hesitation, the reluctance in his expression worried her.

  “Another woman?” she prompted, not knowing what to say next.

  His laughter bubbled light and free as he met her questioning look. “I guess you’re right. Her name is Boat. ”

  “Thank you, Captain,” the ship broke in. “If you will excuse my interruption, Constance, given my respect and regard for the Captain, I’ll not compete with the rest of his head or heart and leave you both in privacy.” The speaker went dead.

  Sol jerked rigid, flushing as Constance stared. He cried, “She’s not supposed to do that! Little witch!”

  Constance felt a brief flicker of true humor. Their eyes met and then he bent down to find her lips. She melted against him, a muted voice protesting from the back of her mind.

  When he pulled away, she could see that his feelings mirrored her own.

  Short of breath, he whispered, “I think you’re the most magnificent woman . . . anywhere.”

  She closed her eyes, her hold on him tightening. “I know better than to let this happen.” She swallowed hard and saw the question in his eyes. “But I ... Oh, damn, Sol, I don’t know what to do.” She traced fingers along his breast and shoulders, reveling in the sensations of his hard chest.

  “Then maybe we’d better wait, take a little more—”

  “No.” She smiled up at him. “I think I passed the point of no return a little while ago.” Gently, she drew his head down, lips tingling as they met his, hungry, yearning, as if her whole soul demanded him and his strength.

  * * *

  She woke in darkness, the air cool on her skin. Blinking, she relived the moments, the first intimate coupling, the rise to orgasm, and the secure weight of his body on hers after he spent himself. Afterward he’d held her, let her talk earnestly about herself and where she was going. And again they’d joined, gently, tenderly, moving together until that rapturous moment when her body throbbed to his pulsing release. Every nerve in her had exploded in waves of pleasure.

  And he’d held her again, stroking her hair, a timidity in his touch, a reverence in his manner. She’d seen his soul then, known the truth of her father’s words.

  She reached over, tracing the lines of his face, fingers light upon his lips. She wound herself around him, hugging him tightly to her breast as he murmured in his sleep.

  How different, how splendid, after Arpeggio, after the shredding of her virginity. No, Connie, don’t even think it. He was a violent animal—and you were young and naive. See? It can be gentle, without pain, without bruises and bites. Forget. . . forget those days—and the way he used you as receptacle for seed and plots: a handy tool of pleasure and politics. Yes, Connie, just forget it ever happened.

  Beside her, she could feel the warmth of Sol’s body, the satin of his skin against hers. Caring and gentle, he’d loved her from the depths of his soul. The wondrous memories spun around her, feeding the radiant joy hovering over her heart.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered softly. “What have I done?”

  * * *

  Sol stared at the cloud-wrapped ball of planet they were approaching. How Earthlike and delightful. The deep cerulean blue of ocean contrasted with duns and greens where geometrically shaped continents lay evenly spaced around the equator. Against the star-shot black of the heavens, two moons in close orbit glowed like half crescents, the terminators stark and absolute in the light of the primary.

  Star’s Rest, a jewel of a planet. And here it would all come to a climax. The place hardly looked like the culmination of mystery. Rather, it beckoned like an oasis in the vastness of space.

  Here, Connie had invested her future. A haunting image of her eyes drifted through his mind, tickling a surge of excitement within. Images of their lovemaking stirred a lazy warmth, kindling a curious peace in his haunted soul. He closed his eyes to savor a collage of memories of her, retracing the curves of her body, the light smile of satisfaction on her li
ps as she held him, eyes blissfully closed. For those brief moments, the ever present reserve had lifted, leaving her free, contented. For that moment, he’d seen her radiant, glowing with life and pleasure.

  And she touched me every bit as deeply. He shook his head and sighed, staring empty-eyed at the planet below. “So where are we going, Connie? What lies ahead of us?”

  On the screen, Desmond remained a pinpoint, standing off to adopt a high GEO orbit. Long-range detectors had located other dots approaching Jordan’s battleship. The fleet Jordan had bragged about? A fast frigate from the Terran Protection League also orbited Star’s Best, supposedly there on a survey mission. Mass detectors indicated other ships dropping in, still two weeks away at the earliest. From the numbers, the entire Confederacy had ships spaced for Star’s Rest.

  “And we’re in the middle of it.”

  Fleeing his disturbing thoughts, he reached up to stroke Connie’s face in his mind, remembering the reserve that had come over her face like a veil as they’d parted that morning, the hesitant unease preoccupying her.

  “Sol, about last night. I don’t want what happened to make you think—”

  “Shh.” He’d placed a finger to his lips. “Let’s see how things work out. Like you told me that day. We need time, the resolution of this problem. When it’s all over, then we’ll make the time to determine where we stand, where we go next, if anywhere.”

  “Sol, I ...” And she smiled at him longingly. “Thank you.”

  And he’d winked as she hesitated at the hatch. “I understand.”

  She’d nodded briefly, before ducking out.

  She’d seemed so vulnerable then, her burden heavy on her shoulders.

  To the monitors, Sol asked, “Is this thing so terrible?” The bits of light on the screens marking incoming ships mocked him.

  * * *

  Nikita leaned back in his gravchair, pulling softly at his beard. On the monitor before him, lines of text slipped up from the bottom as he read, the unit’s sensor following his eye movements, automatically advancing the text as he read.