House of Reeds ittotss-2

by Thomas Harlan

  "Kosho to the Cornuelle, come in please. Anyone? Come in."

  There was a sputtering echo of static. Then a voice made itself recognizable out of the distortion. Sho-sa Kosho? Is that you? This is Yoyontzin in Engineering! Are you outside the hull?

  "I'm here with shuttle three," she replied, wondering how bad things were aboard if an engineer-second was running communications. "Are the boat bay doors working?"

  No, kyo. Nearly everything is dead. We've got a system infection. We do have power in the mains, but the Chu-sa says the weapons arrays and tracking are malfunctioning, so shipskin and most systems are unpowered for safety.

  "I see." Susan turned to look at Felix and Helsdon, who were standing behind her. The cargo bay itself was crowded with the enormous shape of a reinforced cargo bladder. Water shimmered inside the translucent plastic, gently sloshing from side to side. "We're not going to be unloading today," she declared, "but I'm going across. Helsdon, do you feel well enough to come with me? Isoroku could use your help on damage control."

  "Of course, kyo." Helsdon's z-suit and gear were charred and still marked with soot, but he had managed the shuttle flight up from Parus. "With this much damage, the Thai-i will need another six pairs of hands."

  Susan nodded. "Heicho, with power down and the ship chewed to ribbons, we're not finding any medical attention for the wounded here. Take this shuttle back and shift everyone to the cantonment. Regimental medical can take care of them. Just make sure no one steals their boots. Understood?"

  "Hai, kyo." The Marine nodded dully. She was exhausted and her armor was glassy with heat damage and scored with bullet splashes and bright, metallic scars made by Jehanan sword blades.

  The shuttle glided to a halt and a green light winked on over the airlock.

  Sho-sa? The pilot's voice was tentative. We're at the boat bay airlock…but it looks terrible out there! Are you sure you want -

  Kosho thumbed the access panel and the inner door cycled open. "Going EVA now. Stand by until I'm inside. I'll comm you."

  Helsdon followed, the remains of his toolkit slung over his shoulder and a package of scavenged comps in his hand. The lock doors irised closed behind them. Felix turned away, yawning, and went to find a place to catch a nap while the shuttle was downbound.

  "Do we have tightbeam to the flagship?" Hadeishi slumped in his command chair, only barely illuminated by the emergency lights on the secondary overhead.

  "Yes, sir." The midshipman tapped the ident code and recog passwords for a secure channel. "We're getting the response carrier wave…hello, Cornuelle calling the Tehuia, come in please." Two-Dog paused, listening. "I have a command priority call from Chu-sa Hadeishi, commanding the Cornuelle, for Admiral Villeneuve. Yes, it is urgent."

  The acting communications officer turned to look at her captain. "They say only the Admiral's aide is available right now…"

  "Put him on." Hadeishi's voice was cold and even.

  Two-Dog keyed the transmission relay to the command chair. Hadeishi heard one of his comm threads warble to life. A v-pane unfolded on his console, showing Flag Captain Plamondon's broad, bearded face. The Novo French officer looked haggard and out-of-sorts.

  Hadeishi! We've been calling you for at least an hour! What's your status? Long-range scan shows signs of fighting on the planet and wreckage in orbit. The officer's voice was tinged with panic. What the devil is happening down there?

  "Put me through to Villeneuve," the Chu-sa said flatly. "Immediately."

  Plamondon drew back at the harsh tone. Are you well, Chu-sa ? This v-feed is quite poor, but I don't believe you're on the command deck of an Astronomer -class cruiser…

  "I have no time for you, Plamondon. Put me through to the admiral."

  Watch your tongue, Hadeishi! The flag officer looked off screen for a moment. Sweat beaded along his collar and hairline. Has your ship been attacked? Are you injured? What happened to the freighters in orbit? Do you need combat support?

  "My ship has been severely damaged," the Chu-sa snarled, rising up. His mutilated face came into clearer view on the v-feed pickup and the Frenchman recoiled. "My crew slaughtered, hundreds of common spacers murdered on two independent freighters and perhaps thousands of Imperial citizens killed, wounded or driven into flight on the planet below. Now put the admiral on the comm!"

  Plamondon blanched momentarily, but then he rallied, outraged by the hectoring tone in the junior officer's voice. You do not demand things of the admiral! You will calm down and deliver a proper status report, Chu-sa, or you will be relieved of command!

  "Will I?" Hadeishi started to laugh, making a horrible croaking sound. "My ship is crippled, Frenchman. There's been a full-scale revolt on the planet and I doubt the Army will give you a polite greeting either! Now, put Villeneuve on the channel and he can explain to me, face to face, why seventy of my crew died for no reason at all! Why you abandoned us here with a ship in desperate need of repair to jaunt off to a planet where I'm sure there was exactly nothing going on, until you were told to return!"

  Told? That's a lie - The flag captain's voice chilled. You are making accusations -

  "I am," Hadeishi interrupted, voice rising steadily. "One of those freighters was a Xochiyaotinime covert operations ship – this entire war was a flowery excuse for certain officers to be promoted and get good marks on their combat record for bravery and expedient dispatch of the enemy! A safe way to move up!"

  Plamondon turned a sickly shade of parchment white. That is insane! What are you implying? We've no knowledge of -

  Hadeishi stabbed his hand off-screen, pointing out to spinward, beyond the indisinict frontier of the Empire. "If your curst admiral wants battle, he should go hunting Khaid or Megair in the empty systems beyond the Rim! Then he can see how real battle feels! Then he can watch the dead pile up in Medical, hanging in the hallways like sides of rotted beef! Then he can buy his precious medals with honest bl -"

  A slim hand, still gloved in the matte black of a Fleet z-suit, slashed down on the Chu-sa's panel, severing the connection.

  "What?" Hadeishi blinked away tears, trying to force himself up from the chair. Another hand pressed into his chest, holding him prisoner. "Why did you do that?"

  Susan Kosho stared at him, the corners of her mouth tight with anger, eyes fierce. "What are you doing? Have you lost all sense of self-preservation?"

  "They betrayed us," Hadeishi whispered, feeling his last vestige of strength drain away, leaking from arms, legs, and chest like a spilled jar, leaving him hollow and spent. "We were chosen to die – as soon as we arrived, they saw our service jacket – they knew we could be cast aside without cost…"

  Kosho leaned close, trying to catch the last of his words, but the Chu-sa fell silent. The lieutenant commander looked around the bridge, saw the two midshipmen were staring back at her with ashen faces and gave them both a steady, fulminating glare.

  "I am taking the Chu-sa to Medical. Remain at your posts. If anyone calls from the Tehuia, inform them we're heavily damaged, the captain is wounded and I will call them back as soon as the situation has stabilized."

  Two-Dog nodded weakly and hunched over her station, concentrating fixedly on the display.

  Kosho levered back the arms of the shockchair and gently eased her captain up. He seemed very small and frail. In z-g, she could carry him under one arm, kicking from stanchion to stanchion. The corridor outside was blackened with fire damage and nothing seemed to be working, but after years of service aboard she could find her way through the ship by touch if need be.

  Instinctively, she moved up-ship, heading for the Chu-sa's cabin, but just past bulkhead sixteen, she found the passageway blocked by a temporary pressure seal. Everything beyond the damage control barrier seemed to be in ruins. Guiding his limp body ahead of hers with one hand, Susan turned aside, descended the gangway to the portside hallway and found herself, fifteen minutes later, at the door to her own cabin.

  The pressure door had lost power, but she m
anaged to force the panel aside and drifted in, head-lamp glowing on the walls and glancing across her personal effects. For a wonder, everything seemed to be intact. The tiny pair of rooms had not lost pressure or suffered fire damage. Her collection of hand-sized paintings of Imperial Court ladies was crooked on the wall, but still intact.

  Kosho bundled the Chu-sa onto her bed and tucked a cotton quilt around him, strapping the edges down to hold him in place. Hadeishi's eyes were still open and staring into the darkness, but he said nothing. Worried, she tacked the lamp to one wall, letting the beam shine up on a section of patterned silk covering the overhead. White-winged herons and cranes interlocked in a delicate geometric pattern. The reflected beam suffused the room with a soft, greenish light.

  Her helmet came undone with a soft click and Kosho wrinkled her nose at the smell of burned plastic and electrical insulation tainting the air. Her medband said the atmosphere was breathable, though chill. Turning off her comm, she unlatched the captain's helmet as well, letting his frayed gray-black hair float loose on her pillow. The bed was very narrow, but just wide enough to sit by his side, one booted foot braced against the desk to hold her in place.

  "What happened to you?" Susan brushed greasy hair out of his eyes, her fingertips gentle on the patches of gel covering burns on his face. "What happened to our ship?"

  Slowly, Hadeishi's eyes turned towards her. They seemed empty, as if his soul had fled already, leaving only a pale, drained husk behind. Weary, he swallowed to clear his throat. "I made a terrible mistake, Susan. I thought we would be safe once the ship was home – once we were in Imperial space."

  "A mistake?" Kosho's forehead wrinkled with a single sharp crease. "A saboteur rigged the satellites in orbit as mines – Helsdon and Felix found the power plants had been replaced. No one could have -"

  "Months ago." Hadeishi said. "Months ago. Do you…do you remember the day the malfunctioning message drone reached us?"

  "In the dead G-4 system beyond Kahlinkiat? Yes, radiation had damaged the -"

  "I wiped the drone message store," Hadeishi said, so softly she could barely make out the words. "Or most of it, anyway. The common news, the things the men look forward to, those I left intact…but not the personnel and fleet orders. I erased them all."

  "That is impossible." Susan pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. He was icily cold. "Only the ship's political officer has…" Her eyes widened and horror crept into her expression. "Hummingbird gave you the control codes when he left us at Mimixcoa?"

  Hadeishi nodded, making the thin, worn linen on the pillow rustle.

  "I wanted…the orders…" He stopped speaking for a moment, gathering his strength. "We were ordered home, Susan, to report to Toroson as soon as possible."

  "Mitsuharu!" Kosho cupped his pale, worn face with her hands. "That was nine months ago! We've been living on dregs and scraping from system to system…" She drew back, comprehension slowly dawning in her face. Her expression softened minutely. "What did the orders say?"

  "We had a good ship," Hadeishi said, eyes distant, staring through her at the overhead. "A good crew. All these years of training and learning how to act as one…moving so smoothly, so effortlessly, without the slightest hesitation…the best crew I've ever had. A fine ship."

  "Mitsuharu," Susan tried to catch his eye. "What did the orders say?"

  "They were…we were recalled to Toroson to deco mmission the Cornuelle, Susan. They were going to break her up, use her for maintenance parts for other Astronomer-class cruisers. They're…the whole class is being retired from service, or sold, or parted out."

  "Oh." Kosho sat back, nostrils flaring, her face perfectly still. "The ship."

  "You…" Hadeishi's face twisted and his eyes filmed with tears. "You're a captain now, Susan. A Chu-sa yourself. You deserve the honor, I must say, more than any officer I've ever served with. And Hayes – he…he…made lieutenant commander. And Smith…ifthey're still alive. If any ofthem are. You're bound for the Naniwa – and she's a fine, fine ship – fresh from the yards. You'll…" Tears began to leak up from his eyes in tiny silver droplets and Susan had to turn away.

  Imperial officers did not cry. Susan herself did not remember Hadeishi ever showing such raw emotion before – oh, he was fond of laughing and making sly hints and poking fun at her when he thought no one was looking – and he treated the junior officers very gently, by Fleet standards, but this…this was too much for her. She held herself very still, hands white at the knuckles as they clenched on the edge of the fold-out bed.

  "You were all being taken away from me," he rasped, barely able to speak. "I was left with nothing. No ship, no crew, no purpose. You see…" He stopped, racked by a gasping heave. "There was nothing for me. No promotion. No new ship. Only orders to proceed to Jupiter to wait on The List. Hayes…Hayes is for the Taiko, Smith for advanced school…Huйmac and the Marines for a training cycle at Syria Planum on Mars. You will all do so well."

  Susan closed her eyes, forcing herself to ignore the dreadful sound of his voice. His exhaustion was creeping into her as well, filling her heart with a cold emptiness.

  "I just wanted a few more months of your company, Susan. A few more days to have a purpose."

  Kosho turned, pressing her hand across his mouth. Her eyes were very bright. "Don't say anything. Nothing. No more." She shook her head slowly, appalled and anguished in turn. "We were out too long, Chu-sa! Worn down to nothing, spent, exhausted…did you think we were ronin in some old tale? Wandering from town to town, helping the peasants, fighting bandits…"

  She stopped, her skin turning the color of fresh ash. "You should have told me. We are Imperial officers, Mitsuharu. We have an honorable duty to attend. We can't just ignore orders…even if…even if they're painful to consider. And the ship…" Kosho looked up at the dead lights on the overhead. "She is dying despite all you've done…we're badly damaged, kyo, they won't even bother to haul her back to Toroson."

  Hadeishi closed his eyes, turning his head away.

  "Oh," Susan said, the brief flare of anger dying, falling away into darkness. She put her hand on the quilt over his heart. "I don't know what will happen to you…"

  The room remained cold and quiet, even after he had succumbed to a fitful, weary sleep.

  Kosho watched him for a long time, checking his medband now and again. At last, she stirred and forced herself to stand up. The little washroom lacked water pressure or lighting, but she managed to repair her makeup, now badly streaked and smeared, and make herself look presentable.

  Then Chu-sa Kosho let herself out and headed for the secondary control bridge. There was work to be done, and – if she could manage to placate the gods of the Fleet – save the careers of her junior officers. Those who lived, at least.

  The dead will keep their honor. They will be remembered at the Feast of Spirits as heroes.

  The Sobipuru Bus Terminal, Parus Near the Court of Yellow Flagstones

  Clouds of exhaust fogged Gretchen's view of the city as the Tikikit bus slowed to a crawl. A huge crowd of Jehanan townspeople blocked the street, voices raising a huge, frightened murmur, claws scraping alongside the vehicle and clattering against the windows. Anderssen stared out in alarm, barely able to make out the stone awnings over the bus stands through the moisture on the windows. Torrential rain poured down, turning the street into a muddy river.

  "Hoooo… Taste the fear in the air!" Malakar leaned at her shoulder, long snout pressed against the glass. "Such a crowded city this is!"

  "This is much worse than last time," Gretchen said, feeling the bus shake from side to side as the crowd surged against the vehicle. A clamor of hooting and warbling made it hard for her to hear. "Everyone is trying to flee -"

  "Should we leave the bus?" The gardener folded one claw over the other, eyes wide. "Where will we go? How will we pass through such a throng?"

  "Our hotel isn't far," Gretchen said, wondering if they could manage to move through such an enormous press of peopl
e. A wild face appeared momentarily at the glass, a young Jehanan trying to scramble up onto the roof of the bus. The window made a splintery sound as his clawed feet scrabbled on the sill. "What else can we try? If we stay here, they'll push the bus over."

  Anderssen took a breath, readied herself to plunge into the fray and patted Malakar on the shoulder. "Come on."

  Chuffing exhaust, the Tikikit bus inched into one of the quays in the station. Hundreds of Jehanan, nearly every one of them laden with baggage, pots and pans, bedding, and wicker baskets filled with personal effects, overflowed from the waiting ramps into the road and packed the open floor of the station itself. Gretchen pushed down the stairs from the bus, shoving aside a Jehanan matron trying to claw her away aboard while shrilling wildly in an unknown tongue. Malakar tried to apologize, but had to stiff-arm a frantic male to keep from being thrown to the ground.

  A stifling blanket of heat and humidity started to choke Anderssen before she'd taken two steps into the surging, agitated crowd. Her medband squeaked an alarm before being drowned out by the booming roar of thousands of panicky townsmen. She reached back, seized hold of Malakar's harness and started plowing forward, head down, shouldering natives out of the way on either side.

  Claws scraped her face, clutched at her shirt and pants, then fell away behind. Malakar hooted mournfully, hands tight on the back of Gretchen's field jacket. Intermittent blasts of some kind of alarm horn shook the air. A sea of noise rolled back and forth over them, echoing from the vaulting roof and the awnings over the buses. The stench of the crowd faded, replaced by the smell of smoke and burning plastic.

  Anderssen stumbled through a wood-and-glass door at the front of the bus station. Broad flights of steps littered with discarded goods – potted plants, shoes, smashed sun-hats, broken bottles and fallen, ripped paperbacks, sections of sod, torn clothing, harness buckles and straps – led down to the curving road. The huge crowd inside petered away to a few mournful souls sitting on the sidewalk, huddled in blankets or staring sightlessly at the sky, rain sluicing from their scales.