Games of Command

by Linnea Sinclair

  But the crash, the crash he would hear.

  Her fingers found the diamond insignia. “I love you,” she whispered, tears trailing down her face as the Interceptors attacked again. The Blade’s starboard wing sheared off from enemy fire, rendering the controls useless. But she was clear of the outpost, clear of the Traveler. That was one of the last bits of data she’d seen before the console went dark.

  Now it was only the moonlight and the stars and the oncoming treetops. And a part of Branden with her, forever.

  Captain Tasha Sebastian forcibly leaned back in her seat, ship shuddering and yawing beneath her, and rested her hands on the armrests. If she was going to die in the captain’s chair, she was damned sure she was going to look like a captain when she did so.

  She brought the image of the blue-purple Bad Thing deliberately into her mind. “Fuck you and the equinnard you rode in on,” she told it.

  MommyMommy! said a small voice in her mind as something warm and furry suddenly thudded into her lap. Go Blink!

  THE MYSTIC TRAVELER

  The roar of Interceptor engines overhead was almost deafening, even from inside Serafino’s ship.

  It was minuscule compared to the pain lancing Kel-Paten’s heart. The four-minute mark had elapsed. He knew immediately that something was very wrong.

  He worked with intense, methodical precision at the transbeam controls of the Traveler, his ’cybe functions at max, his emo-inhibitors on triple duty, every PsyServ-designed control program in his system activated. Yet his hands shook as he stood as he keyed search after search. He couldn’t get a lock on Sass. There was too much interference from the Interceptors and the wild spikes from the Blade’s failing systems.

  With each passing second, his chest tightened unbearably, but he didn’t stop trying. Three times he glimpsed her biosignature, made a grab for her, and lost it. At six minutes forty-one seconds, when the scanners showed the Blade’s battered outline, starboard wing gone, the ship careening wildly out of control, he had to look away. Tremors racked his body.

  Not like this. Gods, please. Pull up. Fly!

  He altered parameters again, rekeyed the search. At eight minutes twenty-seven seconds the ground under the Traveler shuddered violently, sending vibrations into his boots. The sound of the explosion followed.

  His legs buckled. He locked his knees, locked his arms, pushing heavily against the transbeam console. His stomach heaved. He couldn’t stop trembling.

  A siren wailed in the distance. He turned to stare out the viewport, and his night vision, now blurred by tears, showed square land vehicles racing down the tarmac toward the plume of smoke, the tips of orange flames licking into the dark sky.

  He wanted to cover his face with his hands. But he knew if he let go of the console he’d collapse.

  “Branden!”

  He went rigid for a second, then spun to his right so quickly he lost his balance. He grabbed the back of the copilot’s chair, stumbling because there was the sound of hurried footsteps in the short corridor that led to the bridge and a voice, her voice, even though there was no way, she couldn’t possibly be—

  “Tasha!” He gasped her name and surged forward, closing the distance between himself and the woman coming toward him, a black and white fidget under one arm, two backpacks looped over the other, a twinkling insignia on her shirt.

  He yanked her against him, Tank squirming between them then plopping to the floor along with the backpacks.

  Oof! BrandenFriend!

  “Tasha!” He buried his face in her hair, felt her arms wrap tightly around him. “Gods, Tasha.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper, and sobs—his and hers—punctuated the words.

  He framed her wet face in his hands and kissed her hard, tasting her tears, life flowing back into him.

  “The transbeam failed,” she said against his mouth, but he kissed her again, not letting her talk. They could talk about what had happened later. Tomorrow. Next month. Next year.

  “We don’t,” she managed, turning her face, but his mouth followed, covering hers again. “Have time,” she added, breaking that kiss too.

  “I know. I know,” he breathed into her ear, but he couldn’t let go.

  She angled back and ran her fingers down his wet face. “It’s okay, flyboy,” she said softly.

  He could only nod, his throat closing.

  “Jace and Eden,” she said. “Reilly can’t Blink both of them here. Here’s Eden’s biosignature.” She grabbed her datalyzer from her belt. “Get her via transbeam. Reilly will bring Jace.”

  Go Blink! JaceFriend go Blink!

  “Now,” she said, shoving him toward the rear console.

  He moved, reading Fynn’s numerical code from the handheld. He keyed it into the transbeam access module, hit wide scan, locked on to her with no trouble.

  “Got her!” he said over the low whine of a transfer in progress.

  “How in hell?”

  He heard Serafino’s surprised exclamation, shot a quick glance over his shoulder, and for a split second didn’t recognize the hairless man, shirt torn, blood running down his left arm. Sass grabbed Serafino as he wobbled dangerously. “Sit, ’Fino, here. You look like hell.”

  “Jace?” Eden Fynn was a blur off the transbeam platform, shoving past Kel-Paten, almost tripping over Reilly, who darted out of her path with a yowl.

  “Let’s go!” Sass waved Kel-Paten forward with a jerk of her hand. “Get those engines hot. I’ve got weapons, nav. Eden, secure ’Fino and the furzels.”

  “Got them all,” Eden replied, but her voice shook.

  Kel-Paten slid into the pilot’s seat as Sass, in the copilot’s, raked the straps over her chest. He permitted himself one long glimpse of her—hair ruffled, face smudgy, furzel fur streaking the front of her black jacket, five diamond stars glistening. She was alive.

  “Guess we don’t give traffic control a courtesy warning,” he intoned.

  She shot him a sly glance, then looked over her shoulder at Fynn and Serafino. “Brace for emergency takeoff. This is not going to be pleasant.”

  Pleasant? No. It was going to be godsdamned wonderful.

  Lady Sass was alive.

  A pair of Interceptors was on their tail within minutes, but those few minutes were enough to create a slim margin of safety. Plus the Interceptors were heavy-air fighters, and the Traveler was heading far out of their range and at a speed they couldn’t match.

  Serafino’s old ship was Triad-built. Kel-Paten recreated a spike port easily in the pilot’s armrest, in spite of being flattened into his seat by the pull of gravity. That made piloting—though Sass handled that at the moment—navigation and defense more a thought process and less a physical one.

  The Interceptors swung away and regrouped for another attack, but he and the weapons comp were on them. Aft shields took the worst of the hits, dropped down to seventy percent at one point, but between his fixes and Sass’s wild revisions, they held.

  Sass. He couldn’t stop sneaking glances at her. Losing her had been unbearable. Finding her was indescribable.

  Loooove Mommy, trilled a small voice in his mind.

  For a moment, Kel-Paten tensed and was about to shoot a less-than-kind comment back at Serafino. Except Serafino wasn’t on the bridge—he was in the ship’s small sick bay with Fynn. And that wasn’t Serafino’s voice.

  They cleared the planet’s lower atmosphere. Artificial gravity kicked on. Sass sighed and wiggled a bit, adjusting her straps. “One problem gone, but more to come, no doubt.”

  The Interceptors had pulled off. But the deep-space fightercraft were very likely out there, waiting.

  Love BrandenFriend, the voice cooed.

  Branden friend?

  “Branden friend?” he repeated aloud.

  “What?” Sass frowned.

  Tank jumped into his lap and sat. BrandenFriend!

  Oh, sweet gods. “I think your fidget is talking to me,” he said slowly, automatically adjusting shields to cou
nter deep-space effects. “I’m hearing…this is crazy.” He shook his head.

  Sass chuckled. “You can hear Tank?”

  Mommy! BrandenFriend! Safe. Reilly hunt. Tank hunt. Safe.

  “He said—”

  “I heard him that time.” She reached over and ruffled the fidget’s ears. “Safe? Did you check for Bad Thing here on the ship?”

  Look. Hunt. Small Bad Thing. Very small. Dying now. I Blinked it. I did! I did! Want to see?

  “You get that?” she asked him.

  The fidget’s nonsensical chatter could easily make his head spin. “He blinked at a bad thing.”

  “The furzels found a small psi-creature on board and neutralized it. They call it Blinking. I tried to explain this before.”

  She had. It made no sense then. It made even less now.

  “Don’t try to analyze it, Kel-Paten. Just listen and accept. It gets easier the more you talk to him.”

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to a fidget. “Why am I able to hear him?”

  She shrugged. “Ask Serafino, not me. But first we need to ask him if this is the real Traveler.” She tapped a few commands into her console. “Approaching geosynch. You have the con.”

  He accepted full control of the ship with a coded thought.

  Want to see? Want to see? Tank pawed Kel-Paten’s arm.

  “BrandenFriend and I can’t leave the bridge right now, sweet baby,” Sass said. “There might be bad ships out there. As soon as we’re in jump, we will.” She nodded at Kel-Paten. “Pet his head and tell him he did a good job.”

  “What?”

  She mimicked a stroking motion with her hand. “Pet him. Say, ‘Good furzel.’”

  “Sass—” He paused, deliberately.

  “Branden.” She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed. Definitely sassy. “Do it.”

  He touched Tank’s soft head, rubbing the place between his ears. “Good furzel.”

  Tank leaned against his hand and purred. BrandenFriend.

  A warning chime pinged. “Right on time,” Sass intoned. “Five unfriendly friends. Tank, go to sick bay. Go to Eden and Reilly. Be safe.”

  O-kay. Safe. Go Blink!

  The fidget vanished. Kel-Paten started slightly. Sass had evidently caught his uncharacteristic flinch and grinned. Sweet gods, how he loved her smile. “Time to get to work,” he told her. “Hour twenty to the gate.”

  “We’ll make it.”

  He took a moment to squeeze her hand. Then it was coded thought and physical action.

  “Seeker launched,” he said. The Traveler—a larger ship than the Blade—carried four. A good defense against their unfriendly friends, who, because of their small size, were appearently armed only with lasers.

  Their small size gave them speed and agility, though.

  Sass played with the shields. “Three bogies coming in hard portside—”

  “Got ’em.” His response was faster than weapons comp’s, and he raked the pair of attackers with laser fire—not seekers, because the ships were now too close. The pair quickly split apart but not quickly enough; debris trailed behind one of them as it slowed, tumbling. Two down. Three to go.

  “Got problems with shields, starboard aft,” Sass told him. “Can you tweak it?”

  “Take the con.” He shifted command functions to her console. “I’ll work weapons and see what I can do.”

  Starboard shields did have a problem. His first patch took, then failed. He worked a more detailed one, taking longer than he liked because he had to split his attention between the repair and the attacking fighters. Sublights were again beyond max capabilities, and the Traveler dipped and wove as it streaked for the gate. An hour to go.

  He launched another seeker at a fighter that had pulled back, then caught Sass’s concerned frown.

  “Have two more,” he reminded her. “And, yes, I’m worried what will greet us on the other side too.” He needed something to work with until the Triad Fleet showed up to defend one of their own. Of that he had no doubt.

  “Those are PsyServ ships,” she said.

  He nodded as he watched the seeker gain on its target—this one more wily than the others. It might well evade the seeker, but it would also be far off their tail by the time it did so. “These psi-creatures must be some kind of mutant experiment of theirs.”

  “They’re not. They’re mine,” said Serafino’s voice from behind them.

  Kel-Paten and Sass turned almost in unison. Serafino, leaning on Fynn, walked slowly through the bridge hatchway. Tank and Reilly trailed behind.

  “Yours?” Sass asked before Kel-Paten could.

  “Not personally. They’re Nasyry.” He eased down into the seat at navigation behind Sass and ran a hand self-consciously over his shaved head. “Thought you might need my help, Kel-Paten.”

  There was something different about the man, and it wasn’t just his appearance.

  “You need to be in sick bay.” Fynn took the chair next to Serafino but left one hand on his arm.

  “We’ll nap in jump, sweetling.” He turned back to Kel-Paten. “The Ved’eskhar are a Nasyry mistake.”

  It took a moment for Kel-Paten to recognize the name. Ved’eskhar. Vampirelike energy beings. He’d found only a few odd, chilling references in PsyServ files over the years but nothing definitive.

  “The furzels killed the one that had been left on this ship to guard it,” Serafino was saying. “They’re the Veds only known natural predator.”

  “What is PsyServ doing with them?” Kel-Paten asked.

  “It’s not what PsyServ’s doing with them,” Serafino answered ominously. “It’s what they’re doing with PsyServ. The pet has become the master.”

  The Traveler shimmied as the shields absorbed incoming fire from the two remaining fighters.

  “On it,” Kel-Paten said, tripping weapons command codes in his mind, shoring up the starboard shield again.

  “I know what’s wrong with the shields,” Serafino said, swiveling around to the nav-station controls. “I’ll handle them. You keep those bastards off our tail.”

  Kel-Paten hesitated. PsyServ was telepaths. The Nasyry was a telepath. He wasn’t sure if he trusted the man—

  “Admiral Kel-Paten.” Serafino angled back around. “Eden can confirm I’m not the enemy. But I need to apologize first. My lack of respect toward you was wrong. I was fed a lot of misinformation,” and he tapped his head, “by PsyServ.”

  “The implant,” Kel-Paten said, a little stunned at the change in the man.

  “That implant also recorded things, damning things that PsyServ can’t afford to have known, including what we’ve just been through. We don’t have time to go into it now,” Serafino added as the ship dipped again. “I’m asking you to trust me. I understand if you can’t.”

  “Do it, Branden.” Sass nodded at him, but he was already transferring control of the shields to Serafino. Serafino wasn’t the only one who’d changed. The console in front of the Nasyry lit up, flowing with data.

  “Thank you,” Serafino said. “And by the way, congratulations on your promotion, Sebastian.” Grinning, he pointed to the insignia on Sass’s shirt.

  “Fix the shields, ’Fino,” she said. Blushing.

  Kel-Paten caught her eye as Serafino swiveled to his console and she was turning toward hers. Her smile was soft, but it faded as she looked at the scanners. “Here they come again.”

  “Got ’em,” he said, segueing into the weapons comp and targeting with all laser banks. “Forty minutes to the gate. Serafino, shields look good. Keep it up. Dr. Fynn, please keep Captain Serafino alive. We need those shields. Sass, I’ll take the con back now.”

  “Shunting command codes to you in five,” she said. “Four, three, two—she’s yours.”

  “Affirmative.” He plucked the datalyzer from his belt and handed it to her. “Download that to the computers, send a copy to Serafino’s station. I need to know before we hit the gate what we’re dealing with. Is this your real ship, Seraf
ino?”

  The fighters launched another barrage. Kel-Paten countered, answering with a barrage of his own. He was saving the seekers, for now. Serafino’s information worried him.

  “Real?” Serafino asked.

  “Your Ved dropped us on a raft off Kesh,” Sass said before Kel-Paten could. “We met up with Zanorian and Angel. Without Suki. Drund was there.”

  “But Drund died on—” Serafino stopped as if suddenly realizing he said too much.

  “Lethant,” Sass filled in. “The admiral knows who I am, ’Fino.”

  “That explains the promotion,” Serafino quipped.

  “I’m glad you approve,” Kel-Paten said, but it was an easy exchange, as was Serafino’s answering grin. “It may be,” he continued, “we’re dealing with a dimension that can copy things from our minds. Like this ship. Or it could be something else altogether. I need to know before we hit that gate. Because I’m not sure if anything created here can cross it without dis-integrating.”

  “This ship looks real, but let me run some checks,” Serafino said. “And, yes, that’s exactly what we’re dealing with: a dimension manipulated by the Ved.” Starboard shields flickered. Serafino was on the problem before Kel-Paten could mention it. “They operate within the observer’s paradox—that is, the observer influences the outcome. The Ved extract a memory that’s highly emotional, magnify that for the host body. What my people realized too late was that the symbiont wasn’t the only one having the experiences. And when the Ved hungered for more, it went seeking more experiences and more hosts. It learned to control both.”

  The pair of fighters had pulled back. Kel-Paten didn’t know if that was a good sign or an omen of a new tactic. He considered using a seeker, opted against it. He didn’t know what trouble they yet faced ahead.

  Fynn left her seat and hovered over Serafino, medicorder beeping and clicking in her hand.

  “PsyServ, running experiments to recreate the Nasyry dimension of Novalis, found the Ved about thirty years ago,” Serafino continued. “And now the Ved control PsyServ.”

  “This ship, Serafino,” Kel-Paten intoned. “I’m not going to chance the gate—”

  “No risk. She’s real, not an emulation. Looks like Rej paid for his sins,” Serafino added with a grin.