Hadeishi's expression suddenly changed, a keen light coming into his eyes and the corners of his thin lips tightening. "Comp," he said to the command interface in his comm-thread. "Dictionary lookup, source, Tepoztecatl."
Tepoztecatl is one of the Four Hundred Rabbits, ship's main comp replied in a grandmotherly voice. The Four Hundred are the gods of the pulque , of drunkenness, of fertility. They are the consorts of Mayahuel, the goddess of the maguey, who is a mask-avatar of Xochiquetzal – Precious Flower – the goddess of spring.
"Precious Flower?" Hadeishi frowned, still trying to capture a half-remembered anecdote overheard in a Fleet transit bar. Then the furrow in his brow cleared and he snarled, making both Smith and Jaguar flinch in alarm. "She is the historical patron of the xochiyaotinime!"
"The xochi-who?" Smith asked, confused. At the same moment Jaguar blurted: "The priests of the Flowery War? But they're just military archivists…"
"No, they certainly are not!" Hadeishi's hand jerked towards the 'battle-stations' glyph at the top of his command panel, then he mastered himself. Haste will only lead to disaster, he thought, reminding himself of the repairs underway on nearly every deck. We are not in any condition to rush to combat alert. The freighter is a fellow Imperial vessel, mis-flagged as it may be, and deserving of some courtesy – not a hostile target!
"They're not?" Jaguar's voice brought his attention back to the two junior officers. "Don't they put on the historical pageants and mock battles at TeotihuacГЎn for Emperor's Day? The ones with everyone dressed in the old costumes and armor made of feathers?"
"They do," Hadeishi allowed, his burst of emotion suppressed. His voice chilled noticeably. "Though they serve the Empire in other ways as well." And if they are here, on Jagan, in pursuit of a flowery war with the natives…then I may lose my command for gross incompetence. We are not ready for battle. The tight feeling in his neck increased. "You two, take a knock me out timed for six hours. I need you back on the bridge, rested and refreshed, as quickly as possible."
Without waiting for a reply, Hadeishi brushed away the open channel and punched up Thai-i Huйmac's comm. The fresh v-pane flickered and then revealed the copper-skinned Marine officer in the number two armory, high cheekbones sheened with sweat, and a towel around his neck.
"Huйmac h -"
"Disposition of your men," Hadeishi snapped before the lieutenant could say anything more.
"Ready squad in boat bay one, kyo, with the combat shuttle." The Marine's response was instantaneous. "Squad two is groundside with Sho-sa Kosho at the Sobipurй maintenance yards. Squad three is dispersed on-leave groundside."
The Chu-sa drummed his fingers on the side of his command panel. This is what quicksand feels like, he realized. A third of the crew are off-ship, my exec is twelve hours away, and my only reserve troops need to stay in reserve.
"Thai-i, I need two of your men in z-g combat armor and a launch prepped for a foray in orbit," he said, forcing himself to calm down. "Comm everyone groundside and order them back to the ship with all speed. If they aren't near a shuttle, they should immediately proceed to the Sobipurй spaceport or the Legation cantonment in Parus. We are not at combat stations, but a situation is developing groundside and I think we'll need all hands aboard within the day."
"Hai, kyo!" Huйmac's response was professionally brisk, but Hadeishi could see a hundred questions poised to spring to the man's lips. The Chu-sa nodded and thumbed the channel closed. He turned in his command chair, fixing the duty officer with a cold stare.
"Hayes-tzin, shift our orbit to pass over Sobipurй. Squirt the shuttles on the ground with our new vector. I want those crews back aboard as quickly as possible, so let's keep them from wasting too much time in transit."
The weapons officer nodded and began tapping course corrections into the ship's helm.
Hadeishi, in turn, thumbed the still-winking comm request from Isoroku alive.
"Engin -"
"We are no more than four hours from battle stations," Hadeishi interrupted. "Prepare all compartments for combat acceleration. Shut down all repair activities, stow your materials and prep your teams to assist Medical in handling wounded. Do you understand?"
Isoroku nodded, eyes wide, and Hadeishi closed the channel. Sourly, he looked around the bridge, where everyone was suddenly very busy. The murmur of voices on comm was noticeably sharper. His mood improved by the sight, the Chu-sa tapped open an all-department-heads channel.
"This is the Chu-sa. Be aware hostilities are imminent on the surface of Jagan. Prepare to go to combat acceleration and conditions in no more than four, repeat four, hours. We will be providing orbital fire-support for the Army against native military elements." And whatever other surprises the Flowery Priests have devised for their 'training exercise'!
Hadeishi hid an involuntary grin – the sharp, crystalline feeling of incipient combat was stealing over him – and all the tedium of handling repairs and resupply banished instantly. He tapped up groundside comm to Sho-sa Kosho, then waited for the channel to clear through the usual routing static.
Waves of heat rippled across the tarmac at Sobipurй, hiding the sprawling shantytown beyond the edge of the spaceport behind a wall of shimmering haze. Susan Kosho turned away from the window of the repair depot quartermaster's office and pressed a hand over her earbug, trying to hear Hadeishi clearly. A faint sheen of sweat made her forehead glisten. Outside, a shuttle was warming up for takeoff and the roar of its engines was making the building tremble and obliterating any chance of conversation.
…ship on ready-alert. You need to get everyone back into orbit. If you can't make lift from Sobipurй, relocate to the Legation in Parus and we'll extract you from there.
"Kyo? What's going on? What's the situation?"
The shuttle engines throttled back, and the office – a dingy room with walls covered with tacked-up posters and damp manifests – swelled with the chatter of conversation, the chiming of comms and the ozone-stink of comp equipment running hot in dreadful humidity. Kosho peered out the window, wondering where Helsdon and his scavengers had gotten to. The captain's voice on her comm had the particularly sharp quality she associated with their ship plunging into combat.
We're dropping orbit, the Chu-sa's voice continued, each word crisp, to reduce your lift time back to the ship and to provide fire-support for the regiment. Hayes will handle outbound traffic control through the bombardment path. Make sure you -
"Chu-sa?" Kosho tapped her earbug in irritation. Some kind of interference had flooded the channel. There was a warbling squeal for a moment, and then Hadeishi's voice popped back, perfectly clear.
– can you hear me?
"Hai, kyo. The channel went out for a moment." Susan palmed her comp out and thumbed up the local locator grid, hoping everyone was in range. "Should I evac just ship's crew, or everyone at Sobipurй?"
Just our crew, Hadeishi said, after a brief pause. We need the shuttles back in orbit so we can provide medevac for the 416th. I've learned the -
The comm dropped out again, just for a fraction of a second, but Kosho caught the missing beat in her captain's voice rhythm. Puzzled, she cleared away the locator grid and thumbed up a diagnostic on her shipsuit comm.
– natives are preparing to rise against the Imperial presence. So I want all of you safe in orbit as quickly as possible.
"Understood…" Susan stared at her comp, where the diagnostic display was showing an unaccountable lag in the transmit/receive time between her and the ship. The Sho-sa turned to the corporal who had been trying to help her round up sixty tons of raw protein for the shipboard recyclers. "O'Reilly-tzin, can you bring up the orbital traffic control plot on your comp?"
"Of course, ma'am." The quartermaster's aide pushed a pair of antique spectacles back on his nose and pudgy fingers danced across his comp display. "Here…"
Susan craned her neck to check the position plot on the display, found it matched the one on her handheld, and her nostrils flared in
puzzlement. The ship has not moved a million kilometers away from me in the last minute and a half. What could be throwing this kind of delay in the comm channel? Is the network relay failing?
"Captain," she said slowly, paging through the rest of the diagnostics provided by her comp. An obscure screen holding network routing information caught her eye. "I've an entire squad down here, as well as Helsdon and his technicians. Should we reinforce the landing field perimeter? What do you want me to do if the comm net goes dark?"
If you lose comm, Hadeishi said, then collect everyone groundside. Third squad is on leave in Parus. We don't want to leave them hanging – not like at Forochel. I trust your judgment.
Susan nodded and squared her shoulders. The Forochel exercise posited a failure of inter-unit comm due to a precedence dispute among Fleet commanders of equal rank. All subordinate commanders were expected to maintain their heading and unit cohesion while a unity of authority was re-established. The Sho-sa felt herself become very calm. "Understood. Kosho, out."
Then she jammed her thumb down on the all-units channel. "Kosho to all Cornuelle personnel groundside, we've been recalled to the ship with all haste. Return to the shuttle immediately and prepare for lift. Repeat, return to the shuttle immediately."
A babble of voices filled her comm as the Marines and technicians checked in. Only Helsdon was more than ten minutes from their shuttle. Kosho frowned, realizing the master machinist's mate must be overseeing loading of the replacement power supplies Isoroku had bartered for. She tapped up Felix, who was standing by at the shuttle itself.
"Heicho, go get Helsdon and his techs – they're at the Imperial Development Board warehouse – if they've got everything on the lifter, bring it with you, but if not, leave the supplies in place and get those technicians back to the shuttle in one piece."
Hai, kyo ! The corporal signed off. In the ensuing pause, Susan realized the quartermaster's office had fallen silent. She turned, one eyebrow raised, and found all of the clerks staring at her with wide eyes.
"Yes?" The Sho-sa groaned inwardly. All of the personnel in the room were Fleet – but not crewmen from the Cornuelle. Sobipurй was a Fleet installation, but not attached to a specific ship, being staffed by crew seconded from battle group 88's general staff pool. "Where is your commanding officer?"
"In Parus," O'Reilly squeaked, pale round face sheened with sweat, "arguing with the staff liaison of the 416th about acquiring more surface transport for resupplying the squads operating in the field… Are we going to be attacked?"
"I have no idea," Kosho said bluntly, counting heads. "Who is responsible for perimeter security for the landing field? Do you have an evacuation shuttle assigned? Someplace secure to go?"
O'Reilly swallowed, one finger picking nervously at his collar. "D-Company was handling fence patrols and keeping the slicks from picking through the rubbish tip, but they were reassigned to secure the highway and rail-line north to Parus."
Susan stared coolly at the corporal. "And now?"
"Now…the kujen of Fehrupurй sent a brigade of lancers. They're encamped over at the east end of landing strip two…near the customs shed. I heard they were only temporary, until a company from 2nd brigade arrived to take over, but they won't be here until next week…"
Kosho nodded, hiding her horror at the prospect of the entire Fleet landing field having no security at all if the wrong princeling had secured the assignment.
"And your shuttle?"
"Hangar two," O'Reilly replied, his voice rather faint.
She started to tap open a comm channel to Felix, then paused, staring intently at the comp in her hand. Something is delaying our comm, she thought, reading through the routing details. This looks like the entire military net is being relayed through a location far out in space. She keyed a series of commands into her suit comm, then squirted a reset code to every Fleet comm within range.
Sixteen devices in the quartermaster's office beeped simultaneously, startling the already edgy clerks, and then reset.
"We're in local point-to-point mode," Kosho announced briskly, "in case the nearest relay is damaged by enemy action. You men, pack up this office, pull your comps, flashbox any hardcopy and get to your shuttle as fast as possible. O'Reilly-tzin, you're in charge. Our shuttle is in hangar number six. Comm me when you're ready to lift – we'll go in sequence and relocate to the ship."
"Yes, ma'am!" the corporal said, weak-kneed with relief he wouldn't be abandoned.
Susan spun on her heel and banged out the door, taking the steps down to the searingly hot concrete two at a time. She started running towards the looming row of hangars, her armor activated, safety off of her pistol, a locator grid now showing in eye-view on her combat visor. Her temperature regulators immediately began complaining.
"Felix." Kosho cleared a channel to the Heicho. "Forget the repair supplies – we've no cover out here; an unknown force is handling fence security – just grab Helsdon and get back to the shuttle. Do not assume any native troops you encounter are friendly."
The Sho-sa heard Felix acknowledge, then swerved to use a warehouse for cover as she approached a road cutting across the base. She could hear a distant rumbling to the north. Clouds were busy gathering for the afternoon thunderstorms, but had not yet built up enough to deluge the landing field with a torrent of greasy, warm rain.
Hadeishi slid into the passenger's side of the captain's launch and let the shockchair fold around him, mating on-board environmental to his z-suit and hooking his comm into the launch relay. The forward window showed twin boat bay doors recessing, revealing a widening slice of abyssal darkness. A ring of landing guide lights flared to brilliance and the chatter of the bay traffic officer and Sho-i Asale negotiating undock and departure filled his earbug.
"Captain's launch is away," Asale said briskly, and the ship's boat puffed free of its cradle and swept through the bay doors with steady grace. "Outbound to make intercept with traffic control orbit ninety-six, freighter Tepoztecatl." The pilot turned slightly, inclining her head towards the Chu-sa. "Time to match velo and orbit is four hours, kyo."
Hadeishi's eyes narrowed, displeased. "I'm in a hurry, Sho-i. Don't hold back on my account."
The pilot's dark brown eyes widened in delight. "Orbital traffic control regulations say I should -"
"The faster you get us there, Sho-i, the happier I will be." Hadeishi tapped his shockwebbing. "Everyone's in-harness."
"Yes, sir!" Asale toggled off the thrust regulators and checked her distance from the nearly invisible shape of the Cornuelle. "Fitz, Deckard, you strapped in back there?"
"Hai…" Marine gunso Fitzsimmons answered with a grumble. "I just had lunch…"
The cocoa-skinned pilot shook her head in amusement, then twisted her control yoke all the way forward. The pair of Ventris Aerosystems thrusters at the heart of the launch flared sun-bright and Hadeishi felt a kyojin's heavy, heavy hand crush his chest. The launch leapt forward, spaceframe groaning, and there was a muttered curse from the passenger compartment.
"Forty-five minutes to intercept," the pilot reported cheerfully, letting her boat cut loose. Hadeishi could see the planet begin to swell ahead. The Tepoztecatl was in a lower orbit than the Fleet warship on overwatch. Scattered satellites and a lone merchantman sparked on the navigational plot. Most of the face of Jagan was wreathed in cloud. A huge storm system was gathering in the southern ocean.
The Chu-sa listened to Hayes with one ear, keeping track of the Cornuelle's maneuvering burn. After he was satisfied nothing had gone wrong aboard and the cruiser was on the proper heading, he cleared his display of the Navplot and tapped up a communications relay interface.
Now, he thought, steeling himself, we will see if a little truth can be sifted from all this deception.
His earbug went silent and Hadeishi keyed the traffic control channel to the merchantman alive. "Cornuelle to the registered Imperial freighter Tepoztecatl, come in please. This is a priority call to…" He glanced at the re
gistry information. "…Captain Chimalpahin."
The channel popped alive with gratifying speed and the face of an irritated-looking, elderly NГЎhuatl with very long black-and-gray hair appeared in a fresh v-pane.
This is Chimalpahin.
"Hadeishi of the Cornuelle here, I am inbound to match your orbit. We have some matters to discuss face-to-face."
The man's expression twisted into intense annoyance. Captain…this is not a good time for a social visit. In a day or two, I would be happy to meet you on the Cornuelle and we can discuss whatever you wish.
"I am on my way now," Hadeishi said. "You will allow me aboard your ship and you will explain to me exactly what you and your fellow priests are doing here."
We are about the Emperor's business, Chimalpahin said in a patient tone, as I'm sure you guess. So – shouldn't you be with your command? There will be work for you soon.
"Yes, I expect there will be 'work' for us within the day, or at most the week." The Chu-sa's tone cooled. "And Imperial starmen and soldiers will die because you've arranged a 'live training exercise' for them – without informing Yacatolli, the Resident or myself of your presence or your purpose."
The corners of Chimalpahin's small mouth twitched in amusement. Go back to your ship, Hadeishi. Yours is an honorable role, do not dishonor the Fleet by taking our business personally. Just do your duty.
"My duty," the Chu-sa bit out, "is to secure the common peace, police mercantile traffic and enforce the will of the Emperor. At present, I have every reason to believe you and your companions are actively seeking to destabilize the situation on Jagan and place every single Imperial citizen on the planet in danger – citizens I am oath-bound to protect."
Asale reached over and tapped Hadeishi's display. A time-to-intercept counter was ticking relentlessly, showing ten minutes to deceleration. At the same time, the freighter captain's nose crinkled up in a mocking sneer.
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