A Covenant of Justice

by David Gerrold

  Several hours after that, the shuttleboat veered upward through the rings of Burihatin again. It ejected a second wrapped package, and changed course again. The package continued along the previous course.

  When the next pursuing Marauder caught up with and intercepted this package, a similar result occurred. The coded message sent back said, “The ejected object contained one of the boat’s backup locater beacons—and the body of its astrogator.”

  Several hours later, the shuttleboat again dived below the planet’s rings. Again, it ejected an object and changed course.

  Eventually, a third Marauder matched trajectories with this package and brought it aboard. “The object contained the body of the boat’s pilot and the second backup locator. In addition, we found a message from the rebels attached. It says, and we quote, ‘Recall all pursuers or the next package will contain the body of Lady Zillabar, the cannibal.’”

  On the bridge of The Golden Fury, this message provoked significant consternation among the Phaestor crew. The Dragon Lord, however, remained unfazed. “They don’t dare,” he remarked. “We still have them on our probability displays. We still track their course. If we gave the order to intercept, the Marauders could still catch them. This vessel could intercept them. If they kill the Lady, we will have them at our mercy within hours. This message—I don’t believe it. They bluff.”

  “How can you have such certainty?” Commander ‘Ga Lunik asked with temerity.

  “I know humans. They don’t think like Dragons. They don’t think like Vampires. They fear death. They will do anything to avoid death or injury. They will fight for life even after life becomes hopeless and death becomes inevitable. They don’t know how to die with honor. These humans . . . they have some courage, they certainly have a wild ferocity that deserves respectful caution on our part, and they have a surprising cleverness that does their species honor—but I do not think that they have the strength of Dragons when it comes to facing death. I believe that they will try to prolong their lives as long as possible.”

  The Dragon Lord turned to Commander ‘Ga Lunik. “Tell your Marauders to keep tracking, but to continue to maintain discretionary distance.”

  “But, my Lord, they’ll see the Marauders on their displays.”

  “I expect them to. We need to show them that we didn’t believe them, that they have no ability to fool us. Remember this, Commander ‘Ga Lunik, youth and enthusiasm has no chance against age and treachery—especially when the youth and enthusiasm comes from short-lived humans and the age and treachery comes from an ancient Dragon.”

  “Yes, m’Lord. Thank you for the blessing of your wisdom.”

  The Dragon Lord grinned in appreciation. He rather liked the sound of that acknowledgment, especially as it came from the mouth of a Phaestor Commander. If only he could train the rest of the cannibalistic breed to such politesse.

  Several hours later, his voice trembling with emotion, Commander ‘Ga Lunik requested the presence of the Dragon Lord on the bridge. The Dragon Lord lumbered heavily along the wide corridors of Lady Zillabar’s space-going palace, once again reminding himself how much he hated the Phaestoric self-indulgence and extravagance.

  When he reached the bridge, Commander ‘Ga Lunik led him to the large strategic display. He pointed at a blinking red dot coursing upward away from inner ring of Burihatin.

  “What does that dot represent?” the Dragon Lord asked suspiciously.

  “My Lord, I regret to inform you that the scarlet indicator represents the position locater implanted in Lady Zillabar’s own personage.”

  The Dragon Lord scratched himself thoughtfully. “We can pick it up at this range?”

  Commander ‘Ga Lunik nodded. “If they have attached an amplifier—not a hard thing to do—the signal could travel for many light-days.”

  “Hm,” said the Dragon Lord thoughtfully. “I wonder if you haven’t miscalculated, my young Captain. Perhaps they’ve killed the Lady after all. How unfortunate for you to have such a short inglorious career.”

  “My Lord? The log will show that you advised me of this course of action. I followed your orders—”

  “I should like to see you present that as a defense at your trial. I have always understood it that the Phaestoric aristocracy only gives orders, never takes them.” He lumbered out, grinning.

  Commander ‘Ga Lunik stared after the departing Dragon. He mouthed a silent curse. Then he turned back to his waiting First Officer and ordered, “Tell the Marauders to intercept the object.”

  Escape

  Sawyer and Lee stood over the medical cabinet containing Zillabar’s still-unconscious form, studying Three-Dollar’s handiwork and grinning. The Lady would not only have a small scar under her right arm, but in the mirror it would appear as a TimeBinder’s symbol: a circle with a sine wave across its center.

  “I know that I display a foolish regression to infantile emotionalism to admit this,” Three-Dollar said, “but I regret only that I could not have left the scar in the middle of her forehead. It would have represented an enjoyable demonstration of karmic justice. Ah, well,” he sighed.

  Among the many memories and experiences contained within the TimeBinder’s headband, the skills of several brilliant surgeons remained vivid. William Three-Dollar had artfully removed the Lady’s implanted locater chip, connected it to an amplifier, wrapped it up with forty kilos of Vampire food—things no sane human would eat—and jettisoned the package before their last course change.

  By now, the boat had gone more than two-thirds of the way around Burihatin’s circumference, in a zigzag course that still led inevitably toward the fourteenth moon. On the display, the course looked like the long way around, but Sawyer had a method for his madness. If he had guessed right, they had lost or confused most of their pursuit by now.

  “We’ve found them all then, right? We have no more locater beacons aboard?” Lee asked.

  Three-Dollar nodded. “To the best of my knowledge.”

  “And mine,” agreed Sawyer. “I’ve scanned this boat, searched its programs, had system analysis look for all transmitters, audited all programming, and listened to six impossible hunches.” He allowed himself a rueful grin. “If we have any more locators still aboard, they’ve earned the right to stay.”

  “In other words,” said Lee, concerned. “We may still have a squad of Marauders on our tail?”

  Sawyer nodded. “Perhaps—”

  “How can you say that so coolly?” Lee’s anger came up sharply. “Perhaps the Dragon Lord expects us to lead him to the TimeBinder of Burihatin. Maybe we missed a locater. Perhaps it only broadcasts intermittently. Maybe the Marauders only veered off to fool us into thinking that our plan has succeeded.”

  “Perhaps,” agreed Three-Dollar. He put a calming hand on Lee-1169’s shoulder. “And perhaps not. We’ll know soon enough. We’ve already committed ourselves to this plan. We have to wait and see how it develops.”

  Sawyer scratched his head thoughtfully, then looked to Lee. “I agree with you that paranoia drives the Vampire thinking, but I honestly don’t think they would have prepared every shuttleboat on the Lady’s Imperial Starship for this kind of situation. The Phaestor have too much arrogance to seriously consider the possibility that someone could capture a hostage on The Golden Fury and use one of their own boats to escape. No,” he concluded. “I doubt that the Vampires thought to prepare for this circumstance.”

  “And what if you’ve figured this whole thing wrong?” demanded Lee.

  “Then you’ll get a full refund,” replied Sawyer. “What else do you want? What else can I give you?”

  Lee slammed himself back in his seat, disgusted. Sawyer shrugged at his reaction. He looked to Three-Dollar.

  The memories of a thousand years usually confer a good degree of wisdom on the wearer of the TimeBand. Three-Dollar chose not to get involved. Instead, he replied, “We need to choose a landing site. We still have four hours before we obtain orbit around Fourteen.” He tap
ped his headband. “I’ve tried several times to contact the TimeBinder of Burihatin. I’ll keep trying, but I haven’t picked up any response.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Sawyer. “We’ll find the TimeBinder of Burihatin. We’ll find him before the Lady does, I can promise you that.” His face became serious. “I think I know a man who can save Finn. If anyone can, Dr. M’bele can—if we can find him. But he hates the Vampires as much as anyone, and he willingly serves anyone else who shares that hatred. So . . . maybe he can also help us find your missing TimeBinder.”

  Three-Dollar looked grim. “We don’t even know if the missing TimeBinder still lives.”

  “Don’t worry. We found Murdock. We found you. We’ll find the TimeBand and anyone who’s wearing it.” He allowed himself a bittersweet expression. “I always told Finn I could work faster without him. Now I guess I’ll have to prove it.”

  Bad News Bearers

  This time, Commander ‘Ga Lunik handled it differently.

  He selected his most junior aide—a pale neuter boy so frail-looking that he seemed inadequate even to the task of carrying a simple message—and sent him back to the Dragon Lord’s quarters bearing a casually scrawled note.

  The Dragon Lord took the note from the aide, scowling in annoyance. He unfolded it clumsily and held it up before his tiny black eyes. In Phaestoric script—not Dragon—the note read: “I have information you may find interesting. At your convenience, I would appreciate your joining me on the bridge. Thank you. Commander ‘Ga Lunik.”

  The Dragon Lord recognized the inherent insult. The boy. The note. The phrasing. Even the use of Phaestoric writing over Dragon script. Everything. He smiled inwardly. The child learned fast. Perhaps too fast.

  Not a problem, he decided. The Dragon Lord looked down at the messenger, wondering if he should send him back with a reply or simply eat him. The latter action, of course, would represent extremely bad manners. On the other hand, considering the history of this whole voyage so far, the bizarre displays of the Lady and all the subsequent events that followed, the breach of etiquette that the accidental ingestion of a minor aide might represent, would cause only a lesser embarrassment when compared with all the other much larger breaches of etiquette so far. The Dragon Lord eyed the child suspiciously, decided that the meal looked neither attractive enough nor plump enough to justify the trouble it would cause, and allowed the Phaestor boy to return unharmed.

  After a suitable delay—after several suitable delays, each one long enough to represent a specific insult to the Captain’s authority—the Dragon Lord finally ambled out of his quarters and forward to the great bridge of the Lady’s Imperial Starship, The Golden Fury.

  The balcony of the command bridge loomed high above the main operations deck. The Dragon Lord stepped boldly out into the center of the bridge and waited. He had come to the bridge. He had come this far and would come no further. Commander ‘Ga Lunik must come now to him. He stopped. He stood. He struck a pose. Squat and stolid, he waited.

  And waited.

  And waited. . . .

  Commander ‘Ga Lunik stood at the opposite end of the bridge, drinking from a steaming mug. He listened to the reports of his aides. He turned and studied the displays on the deck below. He turned back to his aides. He issued several orders. He turned and noticed the Dragon Lord waiting for him. He turned back to his aides and chatted with them a while longer. He snapped his fingers and an insect attendant scurried up. He handed the insect the mug and waved it away. He glanced at the displays below again, studied them for a long moment. He conferred with a junior officer. At last, he completed all the many little tasks associated with running a starship and ambled over to the Dragon Lord.

  Commander ‘Ga Lunik smiled at the Dragon Lord. His expression revealed nothing of his inner face, it reflected only sincerity and concern. “Thank you for coming, my Lord.”

  “You have information?”

  “As a matter of fact, we do. I thought you should know. Our Marauders have intercepted the Lady’s locater. Only the locater. Not the Lady. The rebels have . . . removed it from her body.”

  “They have touched her? They’ve laid hands upon her flesh?”

  Commander ‘Ga Lunik kept his expression neutral. “I would presume so, yes. I cannot imagine any other way to remove the locater without a physical extraction.”

  The Dragon Lord snorted in fury. “They have soiled the Lady’s purity! Will their heinous offenses never cease?” He stamped around in circles, lashing his huge tail back and forth. For several moments, he gave one of his very best performances of offense and rage. When he finally came to a stop, he noticed that few of the Phaestor crewmembers had reacted, or even bothered to look up from their instruments.

  The Dragon Lord realized with chagrin that the Vampires had not accepted his performance as genuine. Indeed, apparently they had even expected him to demonstrate his rage. He hadn’t fooled them at all. Hmm. He considered killing a few, but the moment for that urge had already passed. He allowed his anger to subside and turned back to the waiting Captain of the starship. “What else?” he demanded.

  “With the loss of this last locater, we can no longer track the course of the boat. Our probability display shows an ever expanding sphere of possibility. Within two hours, we will have to assume that they have landed on Burihatin-14.”

  “Yes,” acknowledged the Dragon Lord. “We will have to assume that, won’t we.” He roared once in annoyance, just to see if ‘Ga Lunik would flinch. It worked; he did. The Dragon Lord felt a little better. But not much.

  This latest bit of news represented a serious setback to his strategies. He had meant to discomfit Zillabar, not endanger her. He had never considered her in real danger while they still maintained the ability to track her. Now, the damned rebels had actually escaped! And Zillabar’s safety had become more than problematic. Suppose they injured her further. Suppose they killed her—?

  The Dragon Lord groaned inwardly. The recapture of the rebels and the rescue of Zillabar would require a major effort. Dishonorable suicide began to look inevitable again. The Dragon Lord did not like that thought at all. He knew of too many tastes that he had not yet sampled, too many things he had not yet had the chance to eat.

  He snorted and turned to Commander ‘Ga Lunik. “Recall all your Marauders, except those that can get to Fourteen faster. Set an immediate course for Burihatin-14. We need to arrive there as soon as possible.”

  Commander ‘Ga Lunik stared at the Dragon Lord blandly. “My Lord, perhaps you have forgotten. The Phaestor do not take orders from the Dragons. I give the orders aboard this vessel. And I have already given all the orders on this matter which I consider necessary and appropriate.” He bowed gracefully. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to advise you. You may return to your quarters now. Your continued presence on the bridge may present a distraction to my crew.” Commander ‘Ga Lunik turned crisply and strode away without waiting to see the Dragon Lord’s reaction.

  The Lady MacBeth

  Aboard the starship Lady MacBeth, otherspace appeared as a glorious blur of light and color. The entire ship glowed with energy, within and without. As beautiful as the omnipresent FTL aura appeared, it annoyed the hell out of Star-Captain Neena Linn-Campbell. She strode angrily up the keel-corridor of The Lady MacBeth, swearing every step of the way to the Operations Deck.

  Two aides followed her—Ota, her bioform First Officer, and Robin, her android copilot. “I won’t have it!” she exclaimed. “I won’t have this ship run like a third-class freebooter freighter.”

  “But Captain—our registration lists us as a third-class freebooter freighter,” said Robin, keeping her voice and expression neutral.

  “So what? That doesn’t mean we have to act like it. I want us to represent ourselves as a first class ship, inside and out, top to bottom, bow to stern, forward and aft, with no one and nothing left out, goddammit! This damned FTL shimmer curdles the milk. It wilts the lettuce. It fatigues the polycerami
cs. And it gives me migraines! I want the fluction-bars recalibrated. I don’t care how many goddamn times Shariba-Jen has to do it. If we have to flush every last assembly valve in the entire system, then that’s what we’ll do. And I want it done before we break orbit from Burihatin-14. God knows what an undamped FTL-effect will do to a cargo of 5-week pfingle eggs.”

  “Allow me to say this again, Captain. I have my doubts about the rating of those eggs—”

  At that moment, Gito, the ship’s engineer, turned out of a cross passage ahead of them. Seeing the Captain and the look on her face, he thought to step back quickly; but he acted too late. Captain Campbell stopped him with a roar. “Gito! Can you hear it? Can you see it? The hyperspace injectors have begun making that pocketa-pocketa noise again!”

  “Yes, Captain. I can see it. I can hear it. And I promise you, Shariba-Jen and I will find the problem and fix it.” Without missing a beat, he added, “May I ask you when you will find the time to continue our contract renegotiation?”

  “When you and Jen complete the repairs to this ship, then we’ll talk. Why should I discuss shares in the corporation with an engineer who can’t keep an otherspace field in tune?” Catching sight of the robot crew member behind Gito, she added, “Oh, and Jen—I see you! Don’t you try to hide! I want you to see to the food processors again! The orange juice still has a nasty blue tinge. I thought you said you fixed that.”

  “Yes, Captain. I’ll see to it immediately. But if I might echo Gito’s concern, perhaps we might have more attention to some of these things if we felt a sense of financial partnership as well as spiritual—”

  “No, goddammit! No! I will have no discussions of partnership of any kind unless and until every damn doohickey and thingamabob on this bucket works correctly! You will not get your way through blackmail, greenmail, whitemail or any other kind of mail! Prove your worth and then we’ll talk! You think I don’t know what the lot of you have done! Put this ship right or I’ll shove the lot of you out the goddamn airlock and drag this thing home myself!” She stormed ahead, leaving the rest of the crew gaping after her, unable to reply. Ota, a Lix-class bioform, followed without comment.