There was something inside the human which was not in the hathol, a brilliant unique spark which could not be
Russovsky climbed out of the aircraft and walked to the hangar door. The sun was still high in the sky, but she turned and paced down to the edge of the landing field. Long blond hair luffed in the wind as she raised a seamed, weathered face to the sky. Far above, far away now, there was a shining bright speck. A gleam of metal and composite spiraling higher and higher into the black heavens.
Tendrils of hair began to break down, smashed by the radiation flooding from the blazing disk blazing in the west. Then the skinsuit turned gray and began to crack. The constant wind abraded Russovsky, chipping away at tools, djellaba, the threads of the kaffiyeh. Slowly, she eroded, eyes still raised to the slowly dimming spark high above.
Aboard the Turan
Smoke curdled in the air, seeping back into the space blown clear by the Webley's concussive blast. Thrown flat on the deck, Hadeishi's combat armor sizzled with waste heat from the impact of the flechettes. Four hand-size blotches glowed cherry-red on his breast and side.
Alarms continued to honk in the distance. All three corridors had been sealed off by the pressure doors. A half-heard, half-felt vibration was absent from the usual run of background noise aboard ship. The air circulators had shut down when environmental override isolated the level.
Among the uneasy crowd of his men, Ketcham slowly lowered the pistol. The blowback mechanism had already reloaded the firing chamber. The riggers at his side started to inch forward, emboldened by the sight of the stricken black-armored figure.
"Wait." Ketcham's basso voice carried easily in the smoky, troubled air. "He might not — "
Hadeishi's head moved. The suit speaker, mostly destroyed by the impact, made a distorted growling sound, then the control fabric adapted to the damage. "Uhhhh… that hurts."
The chu-sa levered himself up from the ground, the mirrored faceplate of his visor reflecting the crewmen shrinking back from his movement. Ketcham raised and sighted the gun again, his face blank with surprise. The refinery captain seemed equally shocked at having shot Hadeishi and at the chu-sa surviving the blast.
"There is no quarrel between us, Captain Ketcham." Hadeishi's voice was slurred and tinged with a buzzing edge of feedback. He was having trouble breathing. He wondered how many ribs he'd broken. The Nisei braced himself with both hands and stood up, swaying slightly. "I know what Fleet did to you, but I am not the Admiralty or the promotions board. I'm just a ship captain, as you were. All I want to do is talk."
"About what?" Ketcham bit out the words, his blood pressure rising again at the very mention of the word "Fleet." He usually accounted himself a patient, reasonable man, but the very sight of the Nisei's black combat suit inspired stomach-churning hate. But the absolute, unflappable confidence of the man standing in the middle of the passageway gave him pause. Unless he was insane, no officer — much less a commander — was going to put himself in harm's way like this, not without an enormously good reason.
Hadeishi gingerly prodded the impact points on his armor. Hissing cherry-red slivers of metal poked from the outer layer. A heat haze trembled around them. He decided they were better left alone. "Captain, you should put on a breather mask."
Without the vents going, the smoke from the RSM rounds was beginning to percolate down the corridor. Most of the miners already looked a little green around the gills. Ketcham noticed the danger and backed up, waving his men back. They scrambled down the hallway in a confused mass, pushing and shoving each other.
The refinery captain ignored the dissipating gas, continuing to block the hallway, the Webley still centered on Hadeishi's chest. The chu-sa took two steps forward, then stopped. He reached up and unlocked his visor, letting the servomotors in the joint swing it up and away from his face. Ketcham's gimlet-eyed expression became even harder as he took in the classically Japanese features.
"A brave gesture," the captain said bitterly. "But you've proven yourself recklessly bold already. Say your piece."
Hadeishi thought he had the measure of his opponent. Seeing the man now, in person, and knowing he'd been a ship captain in Fleet had settled his mind about one thing. The sense of imminent death — a taut, blood-stirring tension vibrating in every muscle — had not slackened. Indeed, Hadeishi was very sure he was far, far closer to death now, staring down the muzzle of the pistol, than he'd been before stepping out into the corridor. He had, in fact, a very clear view of the inside of the pistol barrel from where he now stood.
"The third planet of this system is a First Sun artifact."
Ketcham did not blink or otherwise react. "I know, we saw the Company exploration ship in orbit when we…wait. The entire planet?"
Hadeishi nodded. "This system is now under interdict. An Imperial nauallis aboard my cruiser has issued a directive-six order encompassing the entire Ephesian system and everything within twenty-five light-years."
"Wha — " Ketcham shook his shaggy head from side to side in disbelief. "Interdict? The planet…" His eyes widened in astonishment. "A ship? The planet is a First Sun ship? There's a planet-scale starship orbiting this sun?!"
"It is necessary," Hadeishi continued in a firm, level voice, "for all human ships, yours and mine alike, to leave this system in the quietest possible manner. No comm transmissions, no hyperspace transit within detection range of the third planet. None of us will be allowed to return. In the fullness of time, a distant picket will be established to keep the unwary from stumbling into danger."
Ketcham gave him a pitying look. "Do you really think that will happen? The Empire will cordon off this sector and leave well enough alone?" He made a disgusted gesture. "If what you say is true, if that world is a ship, they will have survey teams and exploration drones and an entire bloody battle fleet here as fast as a reliable squadron commander can make transit from Earth."
"I know." Hadeishi nodded slightly, acknowledging the man's point. "I am not a well-connected man, Captain Ketcham. I am not reliable. My family is small and poor, though we have a noble name. I do not have any friends — " here he placed a sharp emphasis on his words "- among the great princes or the clan lords. But I do believe in duty and in honor."
Ketcham started to interrupt, his broad face twisting into a furious epithet, but Hadeishi made a sharp motion with his hand, cutting him short.
"I swore an oath, Captain Ketcham, to protect humanity." A finger stabbed at the refinery captain. "Including you and your crew. Now, what you do once you're out of this system is your business. But right now, today, I need your help before you leave."
Ketcham just stared at him. At the same moment, there was a soft chime in Hadeishi's earbug. He almost collapsed in relief and could not keep from swaying a little. The refinery captain did not lower his pistol, but a worried look flitted across his face.
"You're going to let us go."
Hadeishi nodded, realizing the pain in his chest was not all from bruised flesh and bone. "Yes — but I need your help first. I need you to help me restore this system to as close to its original state as possible."
"What? That's insane…there's no way you can disguise the base camp those scientists built on the planet!" He chuckled evilly. "Dropping a nuke or a c-boosted rock won't exactly remove the evidence without making a bigger mess."
"The planet is not my concern." Hadeishi keyed his medband to dump a higher level of painkillers and coagulant agents into his blood. A sensation of spreading dampness was creeping down his chest. Mitsu couldn't see the wound, but he guessed the impact had turned his left pectoral into a pulpy, shattered mass. He tried
not to move suddenly or raise his arm. "The judge is taking care of business there. I need you and your ship to restore the mass you've extracted from the belt…uhhh…as near to the source planetesimals as possible."
"Dump my load?" Ketcham's gun rose again, though Hadeishi felt his legs give way. He crumpled slowly to the deck. On the nearly-muted combat channel, he heard Felix hiss an order.
"Hold your position, Heicho!" Hadeishi's exclamation caused Ketcham to stiffen in alarm. The miner had forgotten — in the brief space of time they'd been talking — there were Fleet Marines aboard as well. Now he eased back, squinting into the slowly-settling smoke. "Captain Ketcham, I'm offering you a trade. The ore you've taken aboard while in this system — all of it! — in exchange for your ship and your freedom." Hadeishi coughed abruptly and his head swam with pain.
A spray of reddish droplets glistened on the deck. My lung is perforated.
Ketcham was staring at the blood. His face was a little gray.
"You need to be in medical," he said, lowering the pistol.
"Will you…uhh…help me? Dump your load in predetermined points? Circulate quietly through the belt. We have a nav-track…huh!" Another cough racked him and Hadeishi covered his mouth. His hand was wet when the spasm passed. "My navigator has a plot of your path through the asteroid zone. You can retrace — "
"Medic!" Ketcham was at his side, fingers pressing on the release points around the collar of the combat suit. "Marines — your CO needs a medic right now!"
Hadeishi blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. All he could see was a swirling gray haze. "Susan? Can you hear me?" The refinery captain was still shouting and there were people running in the hallway.
Your signal is very faint on this tap, but I can hear you. What do you want me to do?
Mitsu blinked again. He felt a tight cold sensation in his chest and wondered what kind of drugs the suit was injecting. Was he still bleeding? Had one of the flechettes penetrated, piercing more than his lung, perhaps his heart?
Mitsuharu, you must remain focused and alert. There is still work to be done. Susan sounded very angry. Hadeishi smiled, wondering who had made a mistake on the bridge. Something must have gone wrong to make break her composure. Smith. It must be the midshipman. Poor lad, she'd flay him alive.
Mitsuharu! I'm sending in another assault team. Asale will dock and take you off. Medical bay is standing by right now.
"No, no." Hadeishi stirred, concerned. There was pressing business to conclude. His father would not approve, rushing matters in such an impolite way, but he remembered there was really no time left. A big man was looming over him, blue eyes very bright. The gray haze was thinning. Long rectangular lights were shining through the mist behind his head. "Captain Ketcham, are you going to help me?"
The big man's eyes narrowed. His thoughts seemed to burn so obviously in the broad, high-cheeked face. Fear and avarice and worry struggled to capture his attention.
"Captain," Hadeishi tried to speak clearly, though there was something wet in his mouth. "If you will not help me, then my executive officer will be forced to disable your ship and imprison your crew. You will lose…everything."
Ketcham's face hardened, but at the same time, the spark of concern in his eyes flared into open fear. Hadeishi coughed again and everything became very hazy, very distant. I'm shutting down, he realized, thoughts moving very slowly. The suit is knocking me out…
"Susan." He whispered. "No shot. There is no…shot."
Above Ephesus III
Both rockets sputtered, blew a thin trail of black smoke and died. The Gagarin hung in emptiness, a white-hot sun reflecting in the mirrored upper surface of the wing. The sweep of the horizon was filled with stars, with the darkness of the void. The rust-red disk of the planet below seemed very small and far away.
Gretchen stared anxiously over her shoulder, searching the black vault overhead for any sign of a shuttle. The Midge's radar was scanning wildly, but nothing showed on the scope. Sweat streamed down her face, pooling in the suit, overloading the recyclers. They had passed through a region of intense heat, though now the windows were crackling with ice. Hummingbird was stiff as a board, clutching his restraints, knuckles white.
"Do you see anything?" Anderssen barked at him, craning her neck to try and see past the nauallis. Only stars and the wispy white arc of the planetary atmosphere were visible. Her medband began to chirp in alarm, but she ignored the alert. Radiation, she thought sickly. Doesn't matter.
She realized Hummingbird's eyes were closed and his lips were moving silently.
"Prayer might help," she laughed — only slightly hysterically. "But I need your eyes."
The altimeter began to fluctuate. Tumbling slowly, the Midge began to arc back toward the planet below. Low gravity or no, the mass of the world tugged at them, drawing them back into a hot, close embrace. She punched the old man in the leg as hard as she could.
Hummingbird's eyes flew open.
"Do you see anything?" Gretchen jerked her head sharply toward his side of the Gagarin.
The nauallis blinked, then turned, staring out at the ebon sky. "Nothing…there's only…wait — there's something shining!"
Gretchen rapped the radar display sharply and though the mechanism ignored her, a spark suddenly flared at the edge of the Midge's detection range. Something was approaching at tremendous speed. "Oh thank the Sister, the Mother and the Son of God! Hang on!"
"I am…" Hummingbird's cry was drowned by a roaring hiss as Gretchen blew the last of their fuel and twisted the Gagarin away from the oncoming object. Surviving the next sixty seconds required reducing their intercept differential as much as possible. She slapped a control and the Midge trembled as the skyhook ratcheted out of the roof.
"Wings away!" Gretchen threw a lever and explosive bolts banged sharply. The cockpit shuddered as both broad, shining wings spurted away from the sides of the cabin. "Brace!"
For a moment, the Gagarin rushed forward, racing across the world below. The hissing stopped and the engines went dead. A light flared on the panel, indicating they'd switched to battery power with the loss of the solar panels and fuel cells. Gretchen felt cold pour into the cabin around her feet and did not look down. Instead, she forced her head back into the headrest of the seat and braced her arms.
Something flashed overhead, glowing red-hot and the entire world jerked away in a blinding jolt of pain. A flood of white sparks roared across her vision. A massive wave of sound slammed into her, battering her eardrums. Someone's scream was lost in a dragon-throated roar. Metal squealed, stressed beyond all expectation of design and manufacture. Gretchen caught a glimpse of the planet rolling past, then Hummingbird's face slack in unconsciousness.
The windows shattered as the airframe deformed, spraying glassite into the cabin. What little air remained was wicked away into a supersonic slipstream. Waves of heat boiled in, raging against her face. Blinded, Gretchen gritted her teeth and hung on. Somewhere above and behind her, there was a shrieking whine as cable spooled in at tremendous speed.
The blazing red shape — superheated air flaring around the Komodo in a brilliant corona — swelled over her head. For a single instant, a black maw gaped before her, limned with fire.
Everything slammed to a halt, flinging her violently against the seat restraints. She choked, feeling bone and muscle tear. The world outside went black, even the stars blotted out by a roaring, twisting storm of abused atmosphere. She was still bouncing back into the seat, a shattered retaining ring spinning free to fly out through the window, when the side door tore away.
A pair of hands reached in, seizing the centerline join on her suit. Something blazed blue-white at her back and shoulder, then she was free of the restraints and being dragged from the shattered wreck of the Midge. A combat-suited figure — broad, well-muscled — wrapped her in powerful arms and leapt back as a workline reeled in. They hit the wall of the shuttle's cargo bay together and his hand wrapped around a support brace
.
"Clear to eject," shouted a tense male voice on the comm. Every other sound was overwhelmed by the shriek of air whipping around the hold doors.
Gretchen squirmed around — so slowly, time stretching like taffy — and saw, in a brief, perfect image: the crumpled cabin of the Gagarin sprawled on the deck of the cargo hold. The clamshell doors stood wide, Hummingbird in the arms of another man in a combat suit on the far wall of the hold, the launching pad rushing back, slamming into the broken, twisted metal of the Midge.
No!
The ultralight punched out into the darkness, spewing glassite and metal and bits of plastic. The Gagarin hit the shuttle's slipstream and blew apart, vanishing in the blink of an eye. Nothing remained, even the debris was already dozens of k behind, falling toward the planet in an expanding, jumbled cloud. The clamshell doors swung inexorably closed, blocking out even a momentary glimpse of the white arc of the planet.
Gretchen slumped into the man's arms, feeling their strength holding her up. Poor little plane. After all you did for us, for me.
"Pressure doors secure," Fitzsimmons shouted into his comm. "Kick it."
The shuttle engines lit momentarily, pitching the Komodo up into a higher angle of exit from the gravity of Ephesus Three. Somewhere ahead, the Palenque was waiting, swinging through its own wide orbit, gathering speed from the planet's gravitational pull. Glowing wings turned, catching a glint of the distant sun, and they sped on into the sea of night.
Aboard the Cornuelle
Gretchen became aware of a peculiar, antiseptic smell. Feeling strangely unencumbered, she opened her eyes and blinked in pain. Everything was so bright! A pale gray ceiling inset with soft white lights shone down on her. Walls of pale green. Chrome fixtures and subdued paintings in black, gray and brown on wrinkled rice paper. She looked down at her body and found a fuzzy cotton quilt laid across her.
"My suit…" Some kind of flannel pajamas had replaced her z-suit and Gretchen felt horribly, dangerously naked. Her arms clenched reflexively across her breasts. The sight of her hands was a surprise. The grungy, stained bandages were gone. Instead, patches of new skin shone pink in the clear white light. She flexed her fingers and found they moved without pain. The welts and ridges left by the jeweled chains were only faint reddish lines on her skin.
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