by Jaleta Clegg
"Somewhere a few days off the main route to Duraanos," he answered. "As far as we can tell. The instruments don't give us what we think we're asking for. We haven't found anything like a signal beacon, either."
I used the chair to help me stand. "The emergency signal is supposed to be automatic. Not that it will do much good. I don't know if the Patrol scans those frequencies."
"We can't have come this far just to die," he muttered.
I staggered across the floor and plopped into a chair in front of the signaling controls. At least the symbols I could recognize suggested that was what it was. A single orange light blinked on and off, a steadily beating heart.
"Can you work it?" the man asked, following me across the cabin.
I shook my head. "I'm not some kind of expert on alien ships. I was guessing the whole time."
"Could have fooled me." He tapped one of the clear strips.
Speakers crackled to life. A hissing filled the room, punctuated by sharp bursts of static.
"That's interesting," he said. He ran his finger up and down the strip. The hissing changed slightly.
I sat back in the chair and watched him play with the controls.
"So how many made it onto the ship?" I asked.
"Seven," he answered. He pushed a button and the hissing ended abruptly.
Seven, out of how many? I wondered. How many had died that night on Trythia? How many more would die because we were stranded? How long before the air grew stale and ran out? I pulled my feet into the chair. I'd never had a chance to tell Tayvis goodbye.
"What's that?" the man asked. I didn't even know his name. He leaned over the controls, staring at a small screen.
A tiny dot of yellow crawled across the screen. Red light flared around it. The yellow changed course, moving towards us.
"How do we contact them?" the man asked.
I leaned forward, studying the board. I pushed a button, a symbol that might be helpful. Nothing happened.
"We could try flashing the lights," I said.
I pushed myself out of the chair and hurried across the control room. I pushed a series of buttons on a panel. The green lights on the board blinked off.
"They're coming closer," the man said. "What range is this?"
"I don't know," I said.
"What are you planning?"
"Do you know pulse code? Does anyone on board?"
"I'll find out," he said.
He hurried out the single door. Within moments, I heard them coming back. They crowded around both boards, watching the yellow dot and me.
"You said you wanted pulse code?" one man asked. He was young, blond and barely old enough to be Patrol.
"I know emergency code, nothing else," I said.
"How are you going to send it?" he asked.
"Blinking the outer lights off and on."
"It will only work if they're close enough," the first man answered. He was sitting, watching the yellow dot.
"I only hope they're Patrol out there," I muttered. They had to be. Lowell had to be looking for me. I couldn't give in to despair. I had to get help and get back to Tayvis. I wouldn't let myself consider what might happen if they were pirates instead.
The yellow dot crawled slowly closer. I pushed the button that I hoped controlled the outer lights. I had no way of knowing if I was pushing the right buttons or if the lights were still working. I had to trust to blind luck that they did.
Time crawled past. The dot kept coming. I kept pushing the button, slowly blinking the code calling for emergency aid.
"They're gone," the first man said. "The blip is gone."
They all turned to look at me.
"I don't know what it means," I said. "Maybe they're close enough now."
"Send a different code," the first man said to the one who knew pulse code.
I stepped away from the controls. He took over pushing the button. I sat in one of the oversized chairs and pulled my feet up. The stench in the room was strong, but we'd gotten mostly used to it. No one had been able to figure out if the ship had showers or how to work them. Someone had figured out the toilet, but nothing more.
My stomach ached, so far beyond hungry that I no longer felt it. I had bruises, I could feel them hurting. I wondered if I looked as bad as the others. And then decided I didn't want to know.
Time still crawled. The others huddled over the controls, watching intently for any change. I couldn't think of any way to help. I shifted in the chair. Something in my belt crackled. I pulled out the scrap of paper Will had given me. There were three numbers scrawled on it. Coordinates to bring help. If I could find any. No, not if, when. I had to believe they would come in time. I had to believe the yellow dot meant a ship coming to rescue us.
The ship lurched to one side. Metal grated over metal as I grabbed the arm of the chair to keep from being thrown to the floor.
"Do you think they can find the hatch?" someone asked.
"Can we send them any kind of signal?" They looked at me again.
"I don't know how," I said.
The first man came to stand over me. "You can access their computer. You flew this ship. And now you don't know anything."
"You think I don't want out of this as badly as you do? The engine blew. I don't know if the computer will work or not." I stayed huddled in the chair as I argued with him. My head ached at the mere thought of trying to make the interface work again.
"You could at least try," he said.
That stung. "Haven't I done enough already? How much have you done?"
"This isn't helping," one of the other men said. "We're all hungry. And sick from the smell in here. We all know what's at stake." He looked down at me. "Is there anything you can suggest that might help?"
I shook my head, looking away from them.
The ship lurched again. The clank of something against the hull echoed through the ship.
"Evac tube," one of the men said. "I think they found the hatch."
The first man pulled me up, out of the chair. "Go open it for them."
I glared at him. He ignored my glare, dragging me through the ship to the hatch. The lights around it blinked in patterns of blue and orange. Someone beat on the other side, tapping short and long bursts. Pulse code, I couldn't understand it.
"Open it," the first man ordered.
"You have as much chance as I do," I muttered.
I pushed all the buttons I could think of. Nothing changed. The tapping stopped. I sat in front of the control panel and tried to pry the cover off. I had to keep trying. Or give in to despair. It was a close contest which was going to win. I was too stubborn to let despair take over. I picked at the cover, breaking a fingernail on it. It wasn't moving.
The first man grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back, away from the door. I sprawled on the floor. He pulled me farther back as the door blew in. A wave of fresher air blew into the ship. I looked up from the floor. Three men in Patrol combat uniform peered in through the blown hatch. The lead man stepped through the hatch and lifted his face shield. He stared at us, puzzled by our appearance.
The man beside me straightened. He saluted the man in uniform. "Lee Minson, chief navigator on the Lawrence."
"And the rest of you?" the man in uniform asked.
They gave their name and rank and ship. All of them were Patrol. They finally turned to me.
"Dace," I said. "Commander Grant Lowell sent me out here. I'd really appreciate something to eat and clean clothes."
He grinned as if I'd said something hilariously funny. But they started moving, escorting us aboard their ship through the flexible tunnel that connected the hatches of the two ships.
I wanted nothing more than to sleep for a few days, in a real bed, wearing real clothes, even if they were borrowed Patrol uniforms, and eating real food again. They didn't let me. I was taken immediately to the captain of the ship. Somehow they assumed I was in charge. Lowell's name probably did it.
The captain invited me to sit in his cabin.
I sat. I still wore one of the gowns I'd made at Mayguena's insistence. I still had the slave collar on.
"We're taking your ship into tow," the captain informed me. "Do you want to explain how you got it?"
"I stole it," I said. Let him think what he would of that. I scratched under the collar.
"You want me to arrest you for piracy?" he asked.
"No, I've already tried that. It wasn't any fun. Can I have something to eat?" I leaned forward on his desk. "Feed me and I'll tell you the whole story. You can worry about your security clearance."
He leaned back, away from me. I smelled awful. "I have full authority out here." He pushed a button. "Bring in a meal," he told the woman who answered.
"Where do you want me to start?" I asked, slouching back in the chair.
"Your name pulls up some interesting files. You want to explain that?"
"No, but I will. I work for Grant Lowell. Not the Patrol."
He raised his eyebrows. "That Dace?"
"I'm famous."
"They tell stories about you in the barracks. I expected someone—"
"Taller?"
"Older."
The door opened. An ensign entered, carrying a tray that smelled wonderful. She slid it onto the captain's desk. She put a small black box on the desk next to it. "Major Minson said you would want this, sir."
"What is it?" he asked.
I picked it up and twiddled the end. My collar pinged, splitting apart at the back. It fell into my lap. I put it and the black box on the captain's desk.
"Did you ever hear of Vallius?" I asked.
"Who hasn't?"
"That was a dysfunctional colony ship. We found where they came from. That," I pointed at the box, "controls the slave collars."
I didn't wait for him to invite me to eat. I picked up the fork on the tray and started eating. Even though it was bland, the Patrol standard frozen meal, it was delicious after months of tasteless mush and Sessimoniss food.
The captain watched me eat. He poked the collar and the black box, frowning to himself. "Vallius is part of this?"
"A colony, like I said." I yawned hugely.
"I expect a full report before we reach Duraanos. We'll find a bunk for you. And some spare clothes."
"I appreciate that," I mumbled through another yawn.
They gave me the upper bunk in a corner of the women's quarters. One of them gave me a spare suit of hers that was too long. It was clean. It didn't matter that it had a purser's patch on the sleeve. I thanked her and made good use of the tiny bathroom.
Chapter 33
They sent a message capsule ahead of us. Towing the Trythian ship slowed us down considerably. The captain's orders were to send message capsules if anything out of the ordinary happened. They'd sent at least three since we came aboard.
I gave the captain and his top officers the full story. Lee Minson and the other six gave their versions. Mine had the most information in it. Mayguena and Lilliasa had told me much more than most slaves ever guessed about the Trythians.
They let me roam the ship. It reminded me a lot of my cadet training flights. I did my best to stay out of the way. Time was slipping by, though. I paced a lot, up and down the corridors of the ship. There was nothing I could do to make the ship fly faster. It labored under the extra mass of the Trythian ship. Captain Perith was nice enough, but he wasn't the person I needed to talk to about sending a rescue fleet.
The crew wasn't quite sure how to treat me. I was a legend, although few of them made that connection at first. I didn't have any rank. I wasn't enlisted and so wasn't invited to join the card games in the lounge. I wasn't an officer so I didn't fit in there either. All the people I knew were far away. I found solitude on the observation deck. For once, solitude was not what I wanted but it was what I got.
It was a relief to finally make port at Duraanos. They docked the ship at a station. The eight of us from the Trythian ship were met with a full escort decked out in formal dress. We got a priority ride to the surface of the planet.
The Patrol hadn't made it a circus, though. The civilian media weren't advised of what was happening. We stayed within the Patrol compound.
I was given a set of rooms apart from the others. All of us underwent complete psych probes, recording every detail possible about our experience. I refused the meds they offered. They consulted my files, which led to another round of whispering and consultations and resulted in more extensive interviews. I felt like a prisoner. I wasn't being charged with anything, but I was still watched constantly.
I was on my third day of interviews, dressed in a baggy gray jumpsuit. I had bare feet. I picked at the Patrol logo stitched across the front of my suit while I talked.
"Describe their social customs," the tech said.
"You've been over this eight times already. Can I talk to the base commander?"
"Soon enough," the tech said.
I slammed my hand on the table and got to my feet. I stalked over to the window and stared out. The view was depressing. I saw a lot of solid wall of the building next door. There was a narrow strip of walk below me with a solitary potted tree sitting forlornly in the middle.
"Describe their social customs," he repeated. "Tell me about their genetic . . ." His voice trailed away. His chair scraped across the floor. I didn't bother to turn around and look. "Sir," he said stiffly.
"I'll take it from here," Lowell said.
I almost sagged in relief. I turned and leaned one hip on the windowsill. The psych tech gathered his papers and hurried from the room. Lowell shut the door behind him. He turned around to study me. I noticed he was wearing his High Commander's insignia.
"You were supposed to report back to me on Tebros six months ago," he said.
"You're not going to ask me how I'm doing?" I said it with more than a touch of sarcasm.
"I read the med files on you," he said. "They're still not quite sure what to do with you."
"And you just happened to pass through here and catch my name on a report."
"Don't push your luck, Dace. I've been making regular rounds of this sector for the last three months. Ships are still disappearing."
"But now you know why."
"What happened with the Sessimoniss?" He looked out the window, staring down at the limp potted tree.
"We were shot down, with pretty much no warning. The Trythian drive is so much different we didn't register their ships until they were on top of us. And they can maneuver in the hyperspace interface."
He didn't look surprised. I would have bet just about anything that he'd read everything I'd told the techs before he came in.
"Vance managed to get the Sessimoniss to acknowledge him as a person. The next delegation sent there should get a much better reception."
"There won't be another delegation, not for a long time," Lowell said.
I let that hang in the air for a while, waiting for more explanation. None came.
"When is the Fleet getting here?" I asked.
"What Fleet?" Lowell glanced at me, raising one eyebrow.
"The one you're sending to Trythia to rescue the others."
He sighed heavily. "There won't be a Fleet."
"Why not? When I left, I had two months to bring back help. They're counting on me. They can't survive much longer than that."
"You escaped, why can't they?" He watched me with his silver eyes opaque and unreadable.
"They can't pilot the Trythian ships. You aren't going to rescue them." It was an accusation.
"I can't, Dace." He sounded as if he really regretted it. "There are too many other things happening. The Fleet can't be spared."
"They're connected to Vallius. You can't ignore them."
He raised his eyebrow again.
"Vallius was a group of rebels. From what I could find out, their ship was tampered with. Which is why they crashed where they did. It's a miracle any of them survived." I stared at the floor of the room, at the dusty fake boards with worn spots in
their coloring. "You think they can't possibly be a threat, not to the Empire. But sometime, within a few years or centuries, they'll have us all wearing collars. They're ruthless."
"How many worlds, Dace? How many of them?"
"A dozen worlds, and I don't know. A few hundred million, maybe."
"And that's a threat to the Empire?"
"Yes."
"Then how did you get free?"
"I had help." I closed my eyes, tired of arguing, tired of explaining. "We have to go back. We have to help. I promised. If you won't send the Patrol, I'll find my own fleet."
"I don't doubt you could."
Silence built in the room, creeping out of corners until it filled the space.
"It might work," Lowell said quietly. "Give them an enemy to focus on. It might unite some of them."
"I heard about the Federation and Roland. Will Scarlet, Willet Smythe, was there. Roland sent him to the Trythians to try to negotiate a deal. They made him a slave."
"Tell me what you heard," Lowell said, mildly curious.
"About Roland? After he was named planetary governor, he rewrote the laws and then kicked the Patrol out. He made contact with the Federation, made a deal with them. And then rewrote their laws as well. Will said three systems had left the Empire to join the new Federation."
"Twenty three. Most of a sector. And another hundred are threatening. The Empire is crumbling at the edges. Maximillius won't listen to reason. He sent Patrol battle groups to enforce order. They won't shoot their own people. And he doesn't realize it."
"Should you be telling me that?"
Lowell shrugged. "You've got a higher security clearance than most Patrol officers. Tell me what I should do here, Dace."
"You've got power. You've got your information network, you can rescue those on Trythia. I don't know what you can do about systems leaving the Empire. Isn't that their choice? Does the government really matter? Their local government is still in place, only the highest have changed."
He laughed. "Trust you to put it in simple terms. Is everything that clear cut?"
"What has the Empire ever done for me? Except get me in trouble. What use is having an Emperor that most of the people in the Empire have never seen and probably never will? Does it matter who the Patrol takes orders from?"