A commtech burst into the room, slamming the door back. “Miss Sellers!” He stopped, a perplexed look on his face. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but the Brotherhood ship disappeared! It was there and then it was just gone. And we’re under attack. The Admiral’s fighting back, scrambling the ships. Archon’s fleet dove out of the sun and hit us hard. We didn’t even know they were up there, blocked images with the primary. When the fighting stopped, Boaz was gone—just like the ships from New Maine. Vanished. Some Brotherhood trick!”
Elvina took the man’s comm and placed a headset on her brow. She nodded, concentrating into the pickup.
Elvina Young smiled wistfully. “Very well, we’ll have to find the alien ship on our own. Leave no witnesses. Clear out! I’ll take the last shuttle. Return to Hunter!” She paused long enough to sever Young’s head and hurried out the door.
Kralacheck placed an explosive device on the floor and waved the last guard out. He darted to Carrasco, slit the EM restraints, and handed him a vibraknife. “I’ve given you all the time I can. Go out the back way and run! Don’t disarm the bomb. The explosion’s your cover for escape.”
Then he ran for the door as Sol cut the others loose. Nikita placed himself at the rear, seeing to the evacuation as Sol, frantic, pushed men and women toward the back, aware the bomb would level the building.
“Keep low when you’re outside!” Sol ordered. “Duck into the vegetation! Hide yourselves to keep from being sighted from the air. Above all, get as far away as possible and keep your heads down!” He could hear the last of the shuttles rising out front.
He stopped at Archon’s limp form. The last one left. “You, too, must come, my old friend.” Sol threw the body over his shoulder and struggled out the rear, staggering under the burden of Archon’s bulk.
His last thought was “too close” as a giant hand slapped him into the ground. Sol bounced, smashed again, and whirled through the air. He tried to pull himself up, aware that nothing seemed to work.
Malakova was bending down, pulling him up and Sol felt a grating in his back. “Bring Archon!” But no one answered. Then he was falling, falling. . . .
He vaguely remembered a world of green. He could see Nikita’s face and the Gulagi’s mouth working.
“I can’t hear you!” Sol cried back, feeling no pain below his waist though his chest burned and stabbed—a mass of agony. Dried blood covered his hands and he could feel gaps in his mouth where his teeth had been.
“We have found a shuttle!” Malakova was shouting, but Sol could just barely make out his words. “You must fly it, Solomon! Forney Andrews was captured! You are the only one who can fly! You are the only one who can find Boaz!”
Sol nodded, head foggy as the world shimmered around him in a haze of pain. He blinked, trying to clear his mind. “Bring Archon,” he gasped as hands lifted him from the ground. He was aware of the way his legs dangled and fear filled him as the world shifted from gray to black again.
He came to inside the shuttle, strapped into the acceleration seat. Nikita hunched beside him, looking worried. “If you pass out on the way up, you will kill us all. You must stay awake, Captain!”
“In my space pouch,” Sol whispered, fighting the shimmering haze. “Little red and white striped pills. Give me one. If I start to go out, give me another. Keep giving me one every time, understand, Nikita?”
The big Gulagi nodded, and Sol barely felt something in his mouth. He came out of it with surprising clarity. Judging by the monitors, they were in a small shed. Repair! The shuttle was in for repair! Would it even fly? He tried to swallow, couldn’t, fought his arm forward and hit the activation button.
They blew the building apart as they accelerated up and out. The g forces wrenched his body and he became dizzy. He could feel Malakova’s fingers in his mouth and the world straightened. No navigation in the comm! The screens stayed blank. He could see the mass detector. That pointed the anomaly of the moon out to him and he accelerated sideways.
“Carrasco to Boaz!” he gritted. “Carrasco to Boaz!”
Damn it! Where were they?
“They are answering, Captain!” Malakova roared, barely audible to Sol’s ears. He felt something gurgling inside him and looked down. The command chair was soaked with blood, streaks of it ran across the deck plates below.
“Nikita ... we go to ... the hole in the moon. You’ll have to ... fly this. I’m . . . dying . . . dying ...” A gray haze had filled the bridge, drawing itself close around him. He tried to keep his wits in the fading gray.
“Call Boaz. Have Bryana . . . tell you what to do. The controls are . . . like the . . . gaming booth . . . Fly like . . . playing cross over. Easy . . . Nikita. You can do it.” Things had gone black. “Can’t see anymore . . . Nikita,” his voice ground gravelly in his head. “Can’t see. Weak in ... my brain . . . Nikita . . .”
* * *
She watched, hollow-eyed as they carefully lifted the remains of Solomon Carrasco from the shuttle command chair. Coppery trails of blood ran this way and that. The odor of clotted blood, spilled body fluids, and hovering death had begun to thicken in the cramped quarters.
“Easy,” Wheeler cautioned, working in the cramped space while Bret Muriaki bent his big body around, stripping interfering panels away with a vibrashear.
“All right,” Bret exhaled. “That should give us room.”
A light on the med unit flickered. “He’s dead.” Wheeler glanced up, meeting Bret’s eyes. “We’ve got to be quick. It’ll be a miracle if Boaz can save him as it is.”
Like a dagger of ice, a frigid spear rose from deep within her. Oh, God, no. Not Sol, not this soon after hearing about Father!
She stumbled back, leaning against a stained shuttle seat, bracing herself physically as well as mentally, her locked arms like trusses on her soul.
“Look like universe has just ended,” Nikita’s soft voice enfolded her like velvet. A huge hand, compassionate, settled like a dove on her shoulder, slowly pulling her back. Resistance shot, she allowed him to hug her, to lead her numbly down the aisle to the hatch and into the shuttle lock.
“All right?” A finger lifted under her chin, forcing her to stare into Nikita’s concerned eyes.
From the root of her, she forced a slight smile to leaden lips. “So much death, Nikita. My heart . . . Damn it, if Sol . . .”
“Shhh. Wait and see. This Brotherhood ship is packed with secrets. Perhaps hospital is one, eh?”
“But this soon after Father ...” She dropped her head, an acid knot of tears burning behind her nose, ready to erupt. “He was the best, Nikita. Why? Why a kind loving man like ... He gave me everything . . . every opportunity.”
“Humanity is better, Connie. I was there, remember. He looked into Elvina’s eyes . . . and died freely, without pain. In process, perhaps he saved us all. Is there more fitting end for fine man than giving life to fellows? And besides, is now time for us to determine future course. Captain Carrasco, too, has bought us this opportunity. If he lives . . . or if he dies, we must now set aside grief, and take our best shot in their shadows, no?”
She stared dull-eyed at him. “You know,” her voice cracked, “I never have time for grief, Nikita. It’s always me who has to take the load. Why in hell do I think this time will be any different?”
“Responsibility.” Nikita winked at her, evidently deciding she had pulled herself back together. “Is ultimate truth that is best granted to those who don’t want it. Perhaps is lesson political rabble we carry should learn from you?”
Knowing she could not allow herself to grieve for her father yet, that she must first defeat his enemies, she nodded, watching Wheeler and Muriaki hustle the heavy med unit past, grim expressions of their faces.
“Come,” Nikita urged. “You love this Captain so much?”
She hesitated, feeling her tortured self wrenched anew. “Yes, Nikita. And I never knew why until just now. You see, he didn’t want the responsibility either. And he’s kind,
and gentle . . . and he pulled the wreck of his life together when he had to.” An image of Carrasco in the observation blister, asking why men and ships died, curled out of the mists of memory.
“And now, it’s time I did the same.”
* * *
Sol felt the wiggling, like a small worm impaled on a fishhook. It should have tickled, hurt, or ... A probe! It hadn’t been that long since the last one had crawled through his body. That meant he was alive. Where? Had Boaz leapt down from the sky to save him? Or could this be Hunter? Had Hunter dropped to snare them back into the Hound’s hands?
The ship’s speaker echoed in Sol’s ears. “He’s coming around.”
Sol cracked an eyelid and looked out to see the gleaming white of hospital. His voice croaked and his mouth rasped dryly. “Boaz ?”
“Here, Captain. Please do not try to move. Your spine is immobilized. If you become too active, I will put you down again.”
“But I need to get to the bridge! The Hound is out there. We have to get the Artifact! We have to . . .” Darkness folded in on him.
* * *
Constance settled herself in the chair, acutely aware of the nervous stares she drew from Art and Bryana. The tape containing Master Kraal’s special orders to Solomon Carrasco played on the main bridge monitor. Connie looked up to see Happy listening, muscles taut around his mouth. Cal Fujiki nervously tapped his fingers on the console before him.
“That’s it,” Constance assured them. “My father’s body is aboard. Captain Carrasco is alive. Barely. I just came from the hospital and Boaz claims it will take at least three weeks before he’s fit again. The Captain’s back is broken. Internal hemorrhaging and organ damage are severe. He’s suffering from concussion, a cracked skull, and numerous broken bones including those in his right arm and left leg.”
“And he flew that shuttle?” Art whispered to himself. “It’s physically impossible!”
“Cap always brings you back, kid.” Happy sighed wearily and looked up at Connie. “All right, Speaker. Boaz is yours if you have the Word and the Signs to—”
“I have the Word.”
“How do you have it?”
“I’ll letter it and halve it with you.”
“Letter it and begin.”
“Begin you.”
“The Word is yours, you must begin.”
Slowly, Connie repeated the ritual Kraal had taught her, spelling out the ritual Words of the Craft. Heart pounding, she looked up at the monitors, aware of the incredulous looks of the First Officers.
Happy grinned. “So Mote It Be. Sounds good, Speaker. What do you want us to do?”
Connie nodded. “Thank you, Engineer. First, we must keep track of the time. Boaz? Currently, what is the time at my father’s house on Star’s Rest?”
“Twenty-two point seventeen hours, Speaker,” Boaz responded sharply.
“Hey!” Art jerked upright. “She’s not supposed to talk to people without . . .” He shot a guilty look at Connie. “I’m a little new at this, Speaker, forgive me.”
“I, too, am bound by Galactic Master Kraal’s orders, First Officer,” Boaz answered.
Connie glanced at the ship’s chronometer, computing the difference. “At exactly sixteen forty-three hours ship’s time, we have to break out of here. According to transduction to Captain Mason of the Star’s Rest fleet, Sellers is busy searching the planet. It won’t take them long to realize they have to come to the moons. When that happens, they’ll find this one has been tunneled through.” She raised her eyes to Fujiki’s. “You sealed the ends?”
“Yes, Speaker. They’re plugged. Since your fleet reports, Sellers has begun sounding the surface down there. They’ll sound here, too. It won’t take much of a seismic investigation to find us.” Fujiki shrugged, looking terribly uncomfortable.
Connie nodded. “The reason I ask is that it is imperative that we break out at exactly sixteen forty-three hours. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the very moment we have to clear the hole. Any slop in the system—and we have to wait twelve planetary hours. That might kill us all—and it will give the secret of the Artifact away.
“Misha, I’ll expect you to be ready to grab the Artifact. I imagine it will be tough to hold. The hull is unlike anything you’ve ever grabbed onto. Winch it in if nothing else. Don’t waste a single second. When we blow the other side, take an instant vector. You should see a small black dot in a series of concentric circles on the far moon. Sellers will probably be tipped to our location by the breakout. Boaz?”
“Yes, Speaker?”
“I’m not familiar with this camouflage technique. Will it work against a planetary surface?” Connie leaned her chin on her knee, trying to figure all the angles.
“Affirmative.”
“Then employ that while we’re down there.” She looked up. “We can more or less make up the rest as we go. Cal, Weapons will have to worry only if Sellers is closing. Any questions?”
Bryana nodded. “What do we do when we get this thing on board?”
Connie laughed dryly. “Run as fast as we can for Frontier and the Craft. We’ll take whatever the ship has to give as far as acceleration. After that, I have no idea. The solution will lie in the hands of the political officials. My responsibility will be ended—and you will have your ship back.”
“You heard the lady,” Happy growled. “Let’s get to it, people.”
Connie walked back to the hospital alone. In the far too familiar room, she dropped onto one of the med units. “How’s his status, Boaz?”
“I am repairing the damage to his spinal column. This particular procedure is very delicate since each nerve path must be precisely reconstructed. On the other hand, his teeth are growing back, each of the bud implantations having taken suitably. Cellular damage from shock is healing. Under electro-stim, the broken bones are knitting nicely. His brain is functioning correctly again and cerebral swelling is controlled.”
“No permanent damage?”
“No, Speaker, none.”
Connie hesitated. “You are most remarkable, Boaz. Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Speaker. Within limits, I will respond. I am not free to divulge Craft secret doctrine—and certain technical specs are restricted.”
“I detect a certain, shall we say, reservation in First Officer Bryana. Is there a particular reason for that?” Connie crossed her arms, eyes tracing the line of Carrasco’s face where it stuck out of the med unit. She yearned to reach down and caress his features—but too many flying probes were whizzing back and forth.
“The First Officer is currently developing an infatuation for the Captain.” Boaz seemed reluctant.
“I see. In your opinion, Boaz, is it enough of a detriment to our functioning together professionally? And, if so, what do I do about it?“
The answer almost left Connie speechless. “I suggest you treat her the same way I treat you. Respect her affection for the man you love . . . and be professional.”
“But,” Connie struggled. “You’re a ... ship!”
“And Solomon Carrasco loved at least three ships prior to me. That human can love ship is accepted. Is it therefore illogical in the converse that ship love human?” Boaz kept her voice unemotional.
Connie smiled wryly at the speaker. “No, I suppose not. All right, Boaz, as soon as we have met our responsibilities, let’s see who can keep him?”
“Done!”
CHAPTER XXXI
She watched the surface of the first moon glow and blow away. The white ship came for her. Around the planet war had flashed and abated as the human ships struck and curved off, trying to damp velocity. The fighting had confused her until she came to the realization that those primitive weapons were all they had. Had civilization fallen so far?
The white ship drew closer now while one of the black vessels nosed over the moon, detected the molten hole, and veered to investigate. Subspace energized as frantic messages babbled back and forth.
What would Se
llers do now? So perfectly tailored for her powers, he commanded the search of the planet. But then, he had superiority of firepower. Would he use it correctly to obtain her and become Master? Or would the caste warriors in the white ship destroy him?
The white ship shed velocity, slowing to maneuver with her terribly inefficient reaction motors, and hovered overhead. The quaint sight of the cargo bay doors opening goaded her insane frustration. What? No directional atomic fibers? Indignation twined through her like ropes of burning rage to knot and sear her thoughts.
She, the greatest power in the universe, would be winched aboard by beings so primitive they used CARGO BAY DOORS INSTEAD OF DIRECTIONAL FIBERS! Madness bubbled in her thoughts.
Damn the Aan! Damnation and dismemberment to their cursed souls! Vermin like these would control the spring?
To break these . . . vile beasts would be a simple delight! Only for such humiliation, she’d twist them, wring from them every erg of pain and anguished suffering as she crushed them in their own septic stew of organic damnation.
* * *
Misha’s face betrayed perplexity as he stared into the monitors in the main hold. Green lights glowed across his homely face, underscoring his thick black eyebrows and the lines in his face. “The tractors have no effect. Gordon! Ijima! You guys get down there. Hustle now, that Arpeggian’s spotted the tunnel. We don’t have much time. Get that confounded egg hooked up, and get back here!”
On the bridge, Constance sank incisors into her lip as the cables dropped to dangle in empty loops over the alien ship. She watched the two crewmen clamber down and help slip the lines around the polished sheen of the Artifact. Ijima lashed the two cables together on the top while Gordon’s suited figure dropped down out of sight to do the same below.
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