by Ren Garcia
On the way to Engineering, Kilos had warned Syg about him: Commander Mapes, Lord of Grenville, Chief Engineer.
"He's a marvelous engineer, Mapes is, but he's certainly a Grenville, the younger brother to Lord Sixtus Grenville."
"That means nothing to me," Syg had said.
"It means he can be a pompous ass and makes it a point to be so. Five years ago when our old engineer, Commander Penderline, took command of the New Britain, Mapes was appointed as the new Chief Engineer—a surprise move knowing how the Grenvilles can't stand Dav, his castle, or his family to boot."
"How did that happen?"
"Blue maneuverings—social stuff, politics. Ask Dav, I try not to bother in such things."
"I would love to ask Dav something, anything right now."
"Anyway, the end result was that Dav was stuck with Mapes, brother of his archrival. It was gossiped that Lord Grenville was trying to take control of the Seeker. But Dav being Dav, he was able to win Mapes over to some extent, and it worked out in the end. Mapes is a talented engineer."
"Dav is able to control him?"
"He is. But we don't have Dav right now, do we? Remove Dav, and he's prone to arrogance and insubordination. He will, doubtless, challenge my command as first officer because I'm a pathetic Brown, and he'll see you as nothing more than a beautiful woman to make trophy out of."
"He may say what he pleases, as long as we achieve results. I am anxious to get Dav back as soon as possible."
When they entered Engineering, there was a great bustle of people moving about here and there. The smell of burning metal filled the air.
Mapes, resplendent in his Fleet uniform, stood by the rails and surveyed the situation. Becoming aware of visitors, he slowly turned.
"Ah, Lieutenant Kilos of the Stellar Marines, I was wondering when you would be arriving down here."
"What is our current status, Commander?" she asked.
"Status? Is it not obvious?"
"Please answer my question."
"Status, if you must know, is not operational. Life support is maintained, breaches controllable as long as the ship does not alter course. Any movement or pressure on the spar and we will go into breach afresh."
"When will we be re-sparred and fit to travel?"
Mapes shook his head. "We will not be re-sparred. The spar is in twain, and we've not the materials on hand to dock it. We must send word to the Fleet and tow to dry-dock."
"We must re-spar, Commander. Otherwise, we will not be able to effect a rescue of the captain on Ergos."
"I'm afraid the captain is lost. We will not be re-sparred without a proper dry-dock and a team of craftsmen in attendance."
"Mapes, I have brought Sygillis here to—"
"I do not care a moment's notice who you have brought, Marine. We will not be re-sparred, as I have said. You are lucky we have managed containment thus far."
"I am in command on this vessel, and I am ordering you to—"
"Issuing orders are you? If you have an ounce of sense available to you, you will lay down your claims to command and allow the Fleet to attend to our situation."
"I am the first officer of this ship, Marine or not, and you will accept my orders in the captain's absence or I will have you clapped in irons."
A passing group of Marines heard the conversation and moved in behind Kilos. They were fuming.
Mapes regarded them with scorn. "Get your frothing rabble out of my engineering bay at once, Brown-head!"
The Marines muttered to themselves in a low growl.
Kilos's right eye twitched with rage at the insult. "You are about to be knocked on your Blue backside, Grenville."
"That is Lord Grenville to you. You should know your place."
A few Fleet crewmen lined up behind Mapes.
It appeared the peace Davage had so easily kept over the years was about to fall apart in a bad way.
Sygillis stepped forward. "Lieutenant, Commander, please," she said. "This bickering is a fruitless waste of time. We've a ship that needs repairing, and we've a captain who needs immediate rescue. I am certain it is in all of our mutual interests to recover him as soon as possible. Please, Lord Grenville, we have come to assist in the repairs required to make this vessel whole once again."
Mapes looked long and hard at Sygillis. His eyes moved up and down her small, fit frame. "Well met, madam." He bowed. "You must be Lady Sygillis, our captain's esteemed guest."
His eyes smoldered beneath his large hat. He seemed to take notice of the Blanchefort belt Syg was wearing.
"The captain has done me a great disservice. I had no inkling that you were such a … handsome … lady of standing. I am sorry that you have been smothered up to this point by the captain … the Blancheforts, you see. I assure you that much more tasteful company abounds."
"Sir," she said, "time is of the essence. We have come to assist you in repairing this vessel. Please, could you—"
"And how could a, lovely lady such as yourself, assist me in the serious repairs ahead, hmmm?"
"I am wanting to fix the problem, the what is it—the Main Spar?"
Mapes doubled over with laughter. His crew followed suit.
Syg and Kilos looked at each other in disbelief.
"Sir," Syg said in a dangerous voice, "I am most certainly not joking. I intend to repair this ship, for it seems that you cannot or are unable to do so."
Mapes stopped laughing and stood bolt straight up—he towered over her. He fumed.
He went to say something.
Sygillis spoke over him, the Dirge hard in her voice. "Now," she Dirged, "You will be good enough to show me this spar machination, and you will show me and Lieutenant Kilos exactly what needs to be done to correct what ails it."
Her Dirge voice banged around the bay, fierce and strong. Mapes's crewmen, enraged, made to advance on Syg, and she was quickly surrounded by the Marines in a defensive combat box, just as they did for a Sister in their charge. They were ready to defend Syg to the death. The irony.
Mapes, Dirged, began walking, his staff eyeing Syg angrily. The Marines stared them down, ready for a fight.
"You have set the Dirge to a Lord of Grenville," he hissed on the march. "I'll see you executed for this, Lady Sygillis," he said, his body moving of its own accord.
Sygillis snapped back, her mastery of the Dirge allowing her to talk and hold it at the same time. "And, if anything happens to Captain Davage as a result of this childish delay, Mapes, I will kill you myself as many times and in as many ways possible. Pray you, sir, that he returns to my arms safe and unharmed, for woe to you should he not. Lead the way, sir, and you need not speak until we arrive."
In a shuffling mumbling mass, they exited the bay.
* * * * *
Davage seized the limp form of Bethrael of Moane and Wafted out of the alcove. A whirling fist of black Shadow tech shattered it, grinding stone into dust and making the ground shake.
He re-appeared about a hundred yards south of the alcove on a flat plain, approaching the temple.
He was panting, winded. Wafting while holding another, even a tiny person like Bethrael, was an exhausting labor. He needed a moment.
Looking back he saw a Black Hat approaching his position. He noted, even at this distance, that she was a good deal taller that most of the Black Hats he'd ever seen—she appeared to be almost as tall as Kilos.
His Sight began to take over.
He saw himself and this Black Hat in hand to hand combat. He saw a huge black battle axe.
She seemed to have no Hulgismen, for none were in the immediate area, and she seemed much wiser as far as fighting with a lone opponent.
And that will make her his most dangerous adversary yet.
She raised her hand, and a scintillating black battle axe formed. It was huge. When she raised her arm, it seemed to tower over her, thirty, forty, fifty feet in the amber air. With her other hand, she formed a withering black whip that cracked and hissed.
She was going to fight him one to one. He wondered, given her power and apparent skill, if he would survive.
He laid Bethrael down and un-saddled his CARG, stretching it out to a manageable fighting length of four and a half feet.
Further underscoring this particular Black Hat's skill, he noted that she was moving around. Most Black Hats tended to stand still when they fought. Obviously, their Dora were a painful impediment. This one closed in, moving easily, gracefully, ignoring the pain she was in.
She raised her battle axe; it climbed to towering heights.
It came down in a whistling arc.
Davage rolled to his left and felt it bite deep into the dirty plain behind him, lifting dirt and rock and bits of Ergos into the dull air. He lunged forward and swung his CARG around. It impacted with a heavy thud against her left foot—the Dora again.
The Black Hat didn't make a sound and didn't fall. Instead, she hauled back and lashed him across the back with her black whip. As he recoiled in agony, she picked him up using a simple TK and mashed him into the ground. Again, her skill at in-fighting was superb. She ignored the usual Black Hat Weapons, the Point, the Mass, the Sten and so on, and used the things that worked—quick, easy TKs, Shadow tech weapons, and her bare hands,
In an instant she was on him. She cast aside her unwieldy battle axe in these close quarters and slammed him in the kidneys with two Full Strength blows—her fists having the characteristic "stony" feel to them. He could hear her grunting as she hit him. She then reared up and drove the heel of her right Dora into his shoulder. Searing pain ripped through him as she twisted it around.
Reveling in the moment, she dropped her TK and tried to rope him with her Shadow tech whip—too slow, Davage pounced. Rolling to his left, he hooked her legs and sent her rocketing, robe and sash, to the ground. Using his own Full Strength, he smashed her across the throat and then followed up with a solid thudding blow to the jaw, sending her reeling.
Time for the Secret Weapon. He saddled his CARG, jumped on top of her, and lit his Sight, waiting for her to become lost in it.
She was ready; she must have been watching him fight Bethrael. She covered her eyes and blasted him off of her with a brutal Sten—the fastest he'd ever seen created.
Stenned hard and accordingly stunned, he flew back and landed in the black dust near Bethrael and didn't move.
* * * * *
The angry, muttering contingent of Fleet and Marines entered the half-moon-shaped maintenance bay in the "saddle" of the neck— oaths, curses, and insults being exchanged back and forth as they went. Nobody other than Fleet engineering members came here. Kilos had never even seen the place.
"Here, damn you," Mapes said, thoroughly enraged, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Here's the damn spar."
Sygillis looked around. The bay was long and dark, full of access panels, terminals, nodes, and bulkheads. It was all so bewildering for her, all this stuff. She allowed herself to momentarily admire Mapes for fully grasping all of this.
She looked up. Overhead, high above was a long series of stout metal bars and struts all linked together into an intricate, semi-solid mass. It gave her the impression of a backbone—the monstrous backbone of some huge, ephemeral creature.
It looked strong—unmovable. How could such a thing be broken?
"Is this it, Mapes? Is this the spar you mention?" Syg asked.
"It is," he spat, still locked in her Dirge.
"What is wrong with it?"
"It's broken, snapped in twain."
"It does not appear broken," she said, looking at it, trying to understand.
"Not here, Nimrod!" he shouted. "At Js 7 and 8, the next compartment forward."
"We shall go there, then, and you will show me," she Dirged.
Mapes began moving. He looked terrified.
"We can't go in there—that compartment's breached, open to naked space. You'll kill us all," he shrieked on the march.
Syg's heart sank. She had a momentary mind to let him keep going, to march Mapes right in there and allow him to be sucked into space.
"Stop," she said finally. Dirged, Mapes stopped walking and looked relieved.
She looked up at the spar again and followed it forward with her eyes. It disappeared beyond a bulkhead and apparently continued on unseen.
This thing was Dav's salvation, she thought. She mustn't give up.
"So, through there is where the repair is needed, correct?" She pointed forward.
"Yes, tis as I have said. Now, release me at once!"
She took a deep breath and took off her blue shawl. She let it fall to the floor.
Again, she could feel Mapes eyes all over her. She didn't like it. There was only one man she wanted looking at her, and he was far away, possibly struggling for life—clawing for it.
She mustn't fail him.
She reached up with her left hand and let fly a small, tentative streamer of Silver tech. It floated merrily upwards, hit the various cross members of the spar, and began coating it with silver.
"What are you doing?" Mapes asked.
Ignoring him, she continued coating the spar. She increased the flow of her silver, and soon, the entire length of the spar, its strong intricate construction, was covered.
Syg closed her eyes and smiled.
"There, yes—yes I can feel it, in the next compartment, the broken pieces of the spar, the hanging metal, the coldness of space."
"You can feel that, Syg?" Kilos asked.
"Yes—there's a great deal of metal missing, many broken sections. Yes, yes I've bridged the gap—I can feel the spar continuing on past the other side of the gap."
"What are you doing?" Mapes asked again.
"I'm fixing the spar," she said vacantly. "I'm doing your job for you."
"It is not possible to fix the spar in space. There is too much material missing, and the torque pressures…"
The ship gave a groan—of twisting metal and grinding girders.
"What are you doing?" Mapes shouted. He looked over to one of his Fleet crewmen. "Magyart, man your console there."
Magyart ran over to a terminal. He looked at the screen and tapped some buttons. "Sir, Z axis stability … is returning. It is still 150 percent below minimum stability, but it is climbing."
Mapes looked at the spar, now coated in silver. He watched Syg with an open mouth, no longer mocking or arrogant.
Sygillis added more silver to her stream. She grunted and strained. Again, the ship lurched.
"Sygillis…" some of the Marines began to chant, becoming excited in the moment. "Sygillis …"
"Ninety-seven percent of minimum and climbing!"
Mapes stared at Sygillis. "Magyart," he barked, "is it straight and true?"
"No sir, bent to the starboard at fifteen minus two Y axis."
"Lady Sygillis," Mapes said, "you must true the spar, bend it to your right and up a bit. Listen to Magyart, and he will guide you. Magyart, provide her with constant updates!"
Sygillis closed her eyes and strained. The ship gave a loud clank.
"Seventy-two percent of minimum! Eight minus two Y axis!"
"You're getting there," Mapes said. "Continue bending to your right and up."
Something appeared to break, and a huge breach opened high overhead.
"Breach!" one of the Marines yelled.
Hardly giving a second thought, Syg, with her right hand, threw up a blob of silver and plugged the hole. It flexed and held fast.
"Thirty-two percent of minimum! We are reading straight and true!"
"Lady Sygillis, stop bending. Now concentrate of shoring up the spar!" Mapes said.
She raised her other hand and joined its silver. More complaining from the ship.
"Minimum stability reached! We are straight and true and climbing to max hold!"
"Sygillis … Sygillis!" the Marines shouted.
The door to the bay opened and several Sisters came in. They looked at Syg.
One of the Marin
es spoke up. "What is this?" the Marine said for her.
Mapes turned to the Sisters. "Sisters, let her continue. She is correcting the spar. I know not how, but it is being done."
The Sisters watched Syg launch her silver. They were clearly confused by what they were seeing. They'd never seen Silver tech.