That chance was too great for the fighters closing from astern. Though capable of three times the shuttle's acceleration, they had begun the pursuit late and were unable to employ their full acceleration in a volume of space crowded with fist-sized chunks of rock. Besides, they were not military pilots, but private employees of a TOG administrator temporarily assigned to a planetary defense installation. Their willingness to take chances for an unseen controller safe on the world behind them was only so great. Before the shuttle had more than brushed the fringes of Haetai's outer ring, all four fighters had begun decelerating at 8 Gs. By the time the shuttle had begun its final plunge toward Haetai's outer atmosphere, the Spiculums had reversed course and were on their way back.
Close passage around the curve of Haetai was a hellish nightmare of heat, meticulous calculations, and continued vigilance for stray bits of rock. The shuttle's flicker shields continued to cycle some sixty times per second, sharply reducing the levels of both heat and ionizing radiation received from the giant. Warned by the ship's computer, T.C. found a ship's medkit and administered shots of thyrotriphenylami-nine to herself, Kendric, and Douglass to counter the radiation that inevitably seeped past the flicker shields. The shuttle' s interior became so hot that it was difficult to breathe.
Then they shot low across the gas giant's night side, their ship bucking and vibrating at the head of a wake roiling the tenuous upper atmosphere of stray hydrogen atoms. The ship struggled against the pull of gravity as they shot past, but their speed was such that Haetai's gravity served only to bend their course in a sharp curve around the planet. That curve flung them well above the ring plane on the far side of the planet and hurled them onto a new course, plunging toward the distant heart of the Narbon system.
Only when their destination was locked in did Kendric relinquish full control to the computer. He leaned back, his face drawn from lack of sleep and the inhuman strain of riding the ship's computer through the steps necessary to cut so close to the ring system. He stood up, then nearly fell down again.
Without a word, T.C. took Kendric's arm and led him aft to the owner's cabin, helped him strip out of his sweat-soaked coveralls, and guided him into the gravnull suspensor field that served as a somewhat luxurious bed. His feet had no sooner cleared the deck than he was lost to a sleep that owed more to unconsciousness than to rest.
T.C. watched him a moment, then left to check on the ship, now safely under the control of the ship's computer. Then she looked in again on Douglass, still unconscious but closely monitored by the med systems in the shuttle's medical tank. She left instructions with the shuttle computer to sound an alert with any break in routine, then returned to the owner's cabin, pulled off her own wringing wet coveralls, and joined Kendric in the weightless embrace of the cabin's suspensor field.
Kendric woke once and found her clinging to his arm in sleep, as though fearful of letting go. His chest was damp with her tears. She was so beautiful that he felt longing and desire stirring him deeply. For all the strength she had shown at Grod, he knew that T.C. was also hurt somewhere inside.
He put his arms around her and went back to sleep. They slept together that way for a long, long time.
Jaime Douglass woke when they were only a few hours out from Narbon II and already well into the final maneuvers for approach and landing. The passage from Haetai to the second planet had been uneventful, marked only by two meals and nearly fifteen hours of much-needed sleep. Jaime seemed little the worse for wear. The med system had diagnosed his injury as a mild concussion, and treatment consisted of little more than basic support functions and a routine scan for fractures or brain damage. The back of his head was still sore where it had hit the steel deck of his shuttle, but there were no signs of permanent damage. When he finally regained consciousness, Jaime was more than agreeably surprised to find himself aboard a shuttle with a lovely woman named Terra and the very man he had come to help rescue.
"But how in the blazing damnation...uh..." He stumbled and hesitated. Traditional Alban culture was still protective enough of its women that even mild curses in their presence were considered improper. "'Scuse me, T.C.. But Skipper, how is it that you wound up rescuing me?"
They filled him in on the events of the past weeks and pressed him for his story in return.
"Everything's going to hell...Uh, sorry, T.C....."
"I suspect I know a few words you don't, Jaime," T.C. said. "So stop apologizing for your damned mouth and tell us what the hell's happening!"
"Uh.. .sure. Skipper, they're disbanding the squadron. The word is that TOG is going to deploy all ten ships to ten different fleets, and eventually shuffle all our people off to other ships. Lose 'em in the fleet, so to speak."
Kendric nodded. "I was wondering if they were building toward that. Imperial doctrine discourages small, tight groups of men serving together. Are they blaming me for it?"
"Well... some. The story of your court-martial was on all the Alban news services after we got back, of course. Funny, though. It took a few days before they said anything about it...like maybe they were still trying to get the story straight."
'TOG no doubt controls every news service in the Cluster by now. Propaganda and control of the news seem to be among their favorite weapons for keeping order."
"Yeah, well...there's more."
"What?"
"The word is that they're planning to evacuate the Five Worlds."
"What?"
"That's what's being said. The story going around is that one of the Cluster's stars will go supernova soon. If it does, the radiation front would sterilize every world in the Cluster, and TOG wants to start evacuating people to other worlds before that happens."
"I don't suppose they're just giving us a planet to move to?"
"I haven't heard, but it sounds more like they may be planning to scatter a few of us over a whole lot of planets. The entertainment channels have been showing lots of documentaries lately about small Human enclaves on different worlds, how they keep the old ways, learn new ways, that sort of thing."
"And our people are accepting this?"
"Well, it's kind of complicated. You have to understand, sir, that things have been pretty unsettled since you...uh...left. It hasn't quite been a mutiny... but close enough! TOG has stationed a God-awful lot of Imperial Marines on Alba Port and at all of the surface bases. It's gotten worse since TOG started rounding up all of our families on all Five Worlds."
"Oh, no..."
"The official word is that the government has started to ask for volunteers for the first of the evacuations." He told them of the arrival of the Aldebaran Class transports, and grimaced. "Nothing voluntary about it, Skipper. They've got our people as hostages, for our good behavior."
The emotion behind Douglass's words was so strong that Kendric reached out and touched the younger man's shoulder. "They grabbed someone of yours in the roundup? Your family?"
He shook his head. "My parents are dead. But there's a girl. She's the daughter of Commander Burns, the CO over on the Iolaire. I haven't heard from her in two weeks, and neither has Sean Burns. He thinks they got her, and his wife and son."
"Dear God" T.C. murmured.
"So as long as we don't know what's happened to them, TOG can pretty much do what they like with us...and with the squadron."
"We've got to get back there," Kendric said. His hands closed into fists. "We've got to get back there."
T.C. laid a hand on his. Her eyes glistened. "Why? What can you hope to do?"
"God only knows, but we can't just sit back and let them walk all over us any way they please!"
"I think I know now why Administrator Elliot was so set on getting you back, Skipper."
"Oh?"
"Our people are, well, confused. Commander Morganen's a good guy, and a fine Captain, and all that.. .but the people don't pull for him like they pull for you. Most of the men in the fleet'd follow you to hell itself if..." He paused, stole a guilty glance at T.C., then p
lunged ahead. "They'd navigate straight into hell for you, Skipper. They know what you did for them at Trothas."
Kendric looked thoughtful for a moment, then excused himself and left the lounge. T.C. looked after him. "What was it he did at Trothas, Jaime?"
"I guess he wouldn't have told you, ma'am. He took on the whole TOG High Command, and he did it in such a way that they had to go after him, not the rest of us. I suppose you could say he saved us all." He shrugged. "I don't think any of the guys even know why he did it, but they love him all the more for it."
"Yes. I can see that." She turned to look at the door through which Kendric had just vanished. "I can see that quite well."
A devastating volcanic eruption on the major inner moon of Narhon IV two days ago has reportedly resulted in enormous loss of life and property. Rescue operators are being organized and all approach to the moon has been interdicted by Imperial order.
Imperial authorities have stated that it is too early to comment on reports that unidentified raiders were attacking Imperial facilities on the satellite at the time of the eruption, but they have admitted that underground or xeno activities in the region are suspected and are under investigation.
—Text of electronic news broadcast, Diralen, Narbon II, 27 Sep 6830
T.C. had learned that there were few formalities needed to approach and land on Narbon II. If they had been a newly arrived ship from outsystem, perhaps there would have been more questions, forms to fill out, and the usual ragtag annoyances inherent in a large, overly officious, under-efficient bureaucracy.
Clovis's shuttle was well known at the port and was identified by its transponder signal long before they established contact, as required by the system's pilot guide, with Diralen's Starport Authority. Clovis, it appeared from the notations in the shuttle's computer, had an Alpha clearance at Diralen, meaning he could come and go as he pleased without submitting to port inspections or customs surveillance.
The officer of the watch at the port control tower was not about to question so high a government official as Administrator Clovis about some minor transgression of routine piloting regulations or protocol. It was well-known that junior officers who officiously interfered with the comings and goings of the TOG elite rarely became senior officers in a Navy where a single unfavorable notation in a man's personnel record could, at best, slow his advancement, at worst, break him utterly.
Kendric knew that the pursuing fighters might have identified their shuttle and passed the word to the authorities on Narbon II. If that were the case, they would be arrested the instant they stepped off the shuttle.
That scenario seemed relatively unlikely, however. With so much radio noise in the vicinity of Haetai, the pursuing fighters would not have been able to establish a solid transponder lock. Nor had they gotten close enough to establish visual contact. Moreover, chaos reigned on Haetai-Aleph with the unleashing of 20,000 megatons at Mine 12. Seismic quakes must have wracked the planet, perhaps triggering other eruptions. Thousands of slaves in a hundred different compounds would have been roused from apathy by terror, might even have risen against their masters. Ground-defense authorities would more likely than not have filed and ignored any report by mercenary fighter pilots in the employ of the now-vanished Administrator Clovis.
So it was that Clovis's shuttle was cleared for routine approach to Diralen. T.C. was able to request by radio a guide beacon to bring the shuttle to what should have been a familiar berth. To cover her ignorance, she pleaded a new shuttle pilot just picked up on Haetai-Aleph at the controls and a master who had left orders not to be disturbed. The young watch officer in the tower knew the consequences of disobeying such orders.
The shuttle grounded under Kendric's hand. Guided by a mobile guide beacon, he let the craft drift a meter off the ferriplast surface of the port toward a canyon-like bay prominently identified as Bay 34. No police or Port Authority officials were on hand to arrest them. No order was given that they surrender and come out, hands raised. Even before they had cracked the hatch, it was as though the scent of freedom was in the air, a rare, wild, and exhilarating fragrance.
"Now what?" Kendric was standing behind T.C. in the shuttle's lounge, watching her peck away at a computer keyboard, intermittently pausing to study the data scrolling down the screen.
"I've patched through to the Port Authority computer," she said. "I have a listing of the freighters now at the port."
"How many are there?"
"Fifteen at the moment. That one"—she pointed at the name Roshenka flashing on and off—"is sealed up and awaiting clearance
for boost."
"Mmm... mmm... we don' t want her any way. She's a big merchan-ter with Imperial HiLines. What we want is a small, dirty, freelance tramp. An independent."
T.C. typed a few lines, then looked at the screen once more. "Eight independents, Ken."
"Do they list destinations?"
"Five do. The others may not have posted them yet."
"Or they won't know until they see what they can pick up on Narbon II... or they just don't want the government knowing so much about them. Come to think of it, one of those other three might be our best bet. What are they?"
"Zeta Rianni, 22,000 tons, out of Malabar."
"Too big. We want a small crew, along with all my other requirements."
"Picky, aren't you? O.K. so how about the Yanisuthstra, 5,000 tons, out of Tralanith?"
"Possibly."
Jaime reached past Kendric and tapped the screen. "No," he said. "That one."
"Corrine," T.C. read. "Six thousand tons, registered out of Dorelai IV."
Kendric looked up sharply. "Why that one? Do you know her?"
"In a way. Her skipper won't remember me, but he's almost certainly a smuggler. At least, he makes runs into systems without bothering to notify the proper government authorities!"
"Really?"
"Sure. He's made runs in and out of the Argrian system, back home."
"Better and better."
"Yup. My squadron was chasing him just before we got recalled for deployment aboard the Gael Warrior. You might say he and I are old friends."
Captain Zannifred White was willing enough to let Kendric and T.C. buy him a drink at the Black Hole on Dschubba Street, located among the maze-like warren of cheap hostels, tenements, bars, and flooyjoints that made up Diralen's Scarlet Quarter. They'd been able to leave a message through the computer net that they wanted to talk business with him, and it was White who suggested the Black Hole as a meeting place. Both T.C. and Jaime had wanted to accompany
Kendric to the meeting, but he felt it would be more dangerous if more than one of them ventured forth. In the end, Jaime agreed to stay with the ship, more because he, a Lieutenant, was willing to obey the orders of Kendric, once a Captain on TOG's roll of naval officers.
T.C., on the other hand, laughed out loud when he suggested that she should obey his orders. "I'll go with you or after you," she said. "But I got over being a TOG Naval officer a year ago! Shall we go? Or plan to set up housekeeping here in port?"
In the end, Kendric gave in.
Dschubba Street had the appearance of an alien ghetto. Within a span of five minutes, Kendric saw members of at least a dozen different xeno species that he was able to identify, including Ssora, KessRith, Hlachuk, and Vandali—and at least as many more that he did not know.
Xenos had once ruled most of the Galaxy. Indeed, the Terran Empire was built upon its conquest of war-torn alien dominions. At various times in Galactic history, xenos themselves had conquered and enslaved large numbers of Human worlds and populations. Kendric's oath of honor as an Imperial officer had been sworn to Caesar, to TOG, and to the Praeceptum Princeps—the First Principle of Mankind's absolute sovereignty in a Galaxy threatened by xeno domination.
No Imperial could trust xenos or feel entirely comfortable when they were around. For one thing, all Imperial training impressed upon them the firm belief that non-Humans could not meet Human stan
dards of intelligence or decency. For Kendric, it was worse. Seeing a lumbering, green- and gold-cloaked KessRith trader, he remembered the maimed KessRith on Trothas. Guilt mingled with his sense of unease. Is it really that they're unclean, somehow...or is it me?
The Black Hole Bar, however, prominently displayed signs proclaiming "HUMANS ONLY SERVED." Judging by the ship patches of the uniformed patrons, most of them were Human spacers. The place was smoky, dimly lit, and reeking with the cloying scents of various narcotic smokes. Lit by garish beams, naked women gyrated on a stage to the beat of some harsh melody almost lost in the buzz and grumble of conversation, raucous laughter, and occasional fistfights.
Kendric noted with some amusement that the Black Hole's definition of "Human" was rather broad. Though he'd met many Human somotypes during his ten years with the Navy, most of his experience was confined to fair-skinned, two meters-minus people common to the Five Worlds—and to TOG's ruling elite. But here were individuals easily three meters tall, who had to stoop to keep from bumping their heads on the wooden cross beams of the ceiling, and others who sat perched on cushions piled onto their chairs so they could reach the drinks on the tables before them. Skin color ran the gamut of hues and shadings, from albino white peeking through the folds of a robe designed to protect the wearer from direct sunlight to the lustrous blue-black of a denizen of a world bathed in ultraviolet. In four millennia of space travel, Homo sapiens, assisted by applied genetics, isolated gene pools, and cybernetic prostheses had diversified explosively as he adapted to alien environments, gravities, and suns.
As Kendric and T.C. stepped down into that den, the press of the crowd was disturbing, but it took several moments to realize why. The last time Kendric had been surrounded by so many strangers was in the mines of Grod. He had not yet completely adjusted to his new-won freedom, and it almost seemed that smoky, crowded bar scene might at any moment blur and dissolve into the familiar, crowded horror of Mine 12. Feeling a bit shaky in the knees, Kendric had to watch his step carefully as they traversed the room.
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