by Chris Walley
“Can we outrun it?”
“No. Betafor says their weapons systems are online.” Merral saw Betafor staring at him, but as ever, he found it impossible to read any expression in her face.
“So can we drop into Below-Space?”
“It would take five minutes. They’d spot it.”
“Not good.” Merral gave a sigh. “Just after we escaped a baziliarch, too. Luke, do me a favor. Can you break a rule and pray for us?”
Luke did just that.
“Amen,” said Merral, and as he looked up, it came to him with some force how much he needed Luke. He stared out the window. “Well, it’s still there, Luke. I was hoping it might have just vanished.”
The dark eyes flashed, but not in an unkindly way. “Sometimes, Commander, I think you don’t just want me to be your tame prophet and priest, you also want me to be your magician.”
“Sorry.” Merral sighed again. “I see little option but to order all those who are able to prepare to fight any boarding party.”
The silence that followed clearly said that no other option presented itself.
“Very well. I—”
“Commander,” Betafor interrupted, “I have an odd signal coming in. It is faint. Let me display it on the starboard screen.”
The image was of a man. Azeras.
“Commander?”
“Azeras! Nice to hear from you.” I may as well be polite. “Where are you?”
Merral looked at Betafor. “How far away is he?” he whispered. “He can’t be too distant based on the speed of the response.”
Laura, glancing up at a screen, said, “Twenty thousand kilometers.”
Betafor raised a hand with a thumb extended upward in a very human gesture of agreement.
Azeras spoke again. “I apologize for the signal. It’s a tight-focused beam, and the Star is moving rapidly. I have been watching your progress. Was your mission at the Blade a success?”
“We have all the hostages, but we had two men killed. Slee and Ilyas.”
He gave a sad nod. “I am sorry. I really am. War is like that; often worse. I hope my absence didn’t contribute in any way.”
“No. I don’t think it did. But now we have other problems. You’ve seen this ship—the Twisted Spear? The first boarding parties from it will be on board in eight minutes. We may have to end this conversation very soon. But do you have any advice?”
The man grunted. “Yes. Listen carefully. I’m in shallow Below-Space heading your way. My intention is to emerge just behind the Twisted Spear on . . . what will appear to be a ramming course. In such cases, standard Dominion tactics—I doubt they have changed—are to launch defensive fire at the attacker while simultaneously rolling to port or starboard and diving into the Nether-Realms. With the Blade so close, he will have to go starboard. Do you follow?”
Merral caught Laura’s nod. “Yes. So what do we do?”
“Keep the engines warm. As soon as he picks me up and starts defensive maneuvers, fire the engines and head port and up as fast as you can. That’ll have the plus point of putting you at a tough angle for any lasers or particle weapons to hit. And don’t forget, they can see the Blade behind you; that will deter them from launching any missiles. Stay as close to the Blade as you can as you accelerate—less than a kilometer––and then hit the Nether-Realms and get out of the system in case they try to pursue you.”
Merral turned to Laura. “Captain, prepare to carry that out.”
Laura gave an “Aye aye,” but she didn’t look up; she was already tapping at the screen.
“But, Sarudar, what about you?”
Azeras stared at a console and made some adjustments before looking up. “Ah . . . sarudar. You know, I have decided it is time to bury that title. An office in an extinct military? I’m afraid the True Freeborn forces are history.”
Merral was aware of Luke standing by his side, staring at the screen.
Azeras raised his left hand and, with an abrupt gesture, pulled the bronze circlet off his wrist. “You may read into that what you will,” he said as he tossed it carelessly to one side.
“Then you are joining us?”
“I suppose so,” Azeras said. “I’m an old enough soldier to recognize when I am beaten. I was genuinely going to flee, but . . .” He shrugged. “Well, never mind.”
“So what’s your plan?”
“I’ll get as close as I dare and then pull away. That ought to buy you enough time. I shall try to meet you at Farholme or Bannermene. I think I can handle the Assembly.”
“We do have nice beaches. I look forward to it.”
Azeras gave a weak smile. “But, Commander . . . if I do not make it, I would ask this of you. You carry the flag of the True Freeborn in my cabin. I failed to take it with me. Take it to Earth and present it wherever you present such things.”
“The Chamber of the Great King,” Luke murmured.
“I will do that.”
“Good. Now listen. When the account of these events is written, be fair. Judge the True Freeborn with mercy. We were not the worst of men. It is undeniable that we groveled before idols; that we were fearful of spirits; that we feared the hand of Fate on us. And true, we toyed with powers and technologies that we might better have left alone. But remember, I beg you, that we hadn’t your privileges. We had only a little light, and we walked by such as we had. Most of us did what we could against evil: we did not consult the deeper powers; we did not sacrifice our children. We resented the powers, and we did what we did out of fear, not love. Remember us this way, I beg you. And if you think of us, think kindly of us.”
“We will,” Merral replied. He felt strangely overwhelmed. “I plan to talk more of these things.”
“Perhaps. The signal goes, and I have some delicate flying to do. Have a safe journey back.”
“Godspeed, Azeras,” Luke added.
“Ah, Chaplain; I thank you, too. Especially, perhaps. Yes, Godspeed. Both.”
Amid a flare of static, the screen went blank.
“So he returned,” Merral said slowly. “That sounded like a final message.”
“It was. I do not anticipate seeing him again in this life.”
“And in the next?”
“Ah, of that, I now have a much greater confidence.”
Merral caught Laura’s urgent look. “Sorry to interrupt such a fascinating discussion,” she said with what was evidently a forced smile. “But the Rahllman’s Star has just emerged from Below-Space. I think things are about to get interesting.”
Captain the Earl of Karlazat-Damanaz stood at the helm of the Twisted Spear surveying the activity about him. It was very creditable; the half dozen men on the bridge were moving into battle drill with a smooth swiftness. He hoped that Lieutenant Second Class Lumzarast, of no breeding, who was standing the appropriate half meter behind him, appreciated it.
Yet this new ship appearing from their rear and diving toward them was a troubling issue. On the main screen, projected impact time was now at three minutes ten seconds and falling.
The captain turned to the lieutenant and noted the expectant and concerned face.
“So, what do you think I’m going to do?” The moment he asked the question, the captain regretted it. Supposing he gives the right answer?
Lumzarast swallowed. “Sir, the standard response to a ramming attack is threefold. One, fire rear defensive missiles to give you a screen; two, accelerate and pull sharp to either port or starboard; and three, begin to dive down into the Nether-Realms.”
The captain nodded, partly to conceal his dismay. The correct answer! I hate these dazzling young recruits who know everything. Especially when they have no breeding. He forced a light smile. It’s exactly what I should do; but to do it now would be dishonoring. After twenty years, most of them in battle, how can I appear to follow the advice of a man who is little more than a student?
“Thank you, Lieutenant Second Class. Technically a correct answer.” Never praise these bright yo
ung things. “But do you know what, in reality, I am going to do?” As he said it, the captain was aware that he didn’t know.
“No, sir.”
The answer came to the captain. “Nothing.” His reply was greeted by a delightful look of incomprehension.
“You see, Lieutenant Second Class, the standard response works in standard situations. This is a real-world situation. My assessment of the situation—based on, oh, twenty-five years’ battle experience—is that this is a bluff. You see, people are remarkably unwilling to throw away either their lives or expensive ships in these attacks.” The captain saw that the projected impact time was now two minutes thirty seconds. One or two of the crew members were looking at each other with perturbed faces.
Captain Karlazat-Damanaz continued his lecture. “Lieutenant Second Class, you must read your enemy. I am convinced that it is an attempt to distract us from our prime task, which is seizing and neutralizing this hijacked ship. Our apparent assailant will pull clear at the last moment.”
“But, sir, surely defensive missiles would be a good idea?”
“Don’t interrupt a superior, Lumzarast! Defensive missiles on a fast incoming target like this would probably be counterproductive. They generate debris, which can impact the defending ship. That happens in the real world. No, we are better off keeping him in one piece.”
The captain stared at the tracking screen, hoping he would see the approaching ship change course. He has to do it soon. But no change occurred. Sensing an intensifying unease on the bridge, the captain began speaking again.
“No, Lieutenant, it’s a bluff. He wants us to turn into a position from which we would find it almost impossible to target the Sacrifice.”
“I see, sir,” Lumzarast said, although the captain noticed that the man kept his eyes on the rapidly declining impact time.
“He will change course to swing past us any second. And when he does, we will be in a position to rake him with particle beams.”
Lumzarast seem to struggle for words. “Sir, your decision is based on the behavior of enemies in the past. But, if you permit me to express a concern, can we be sure that this attacker is adopting the same rules?”
By the powers, another good response!
“Young man, what we can be sure of is that if we let the Sacrifice escape, it’s not far from here to the Blade. But don’t worry; it’s a bluff.”
The captain realized that everyone on the bridge was listening now. That makes it so much worse. I can hardly let myself be publicly forced to retract a decision, can I? Not prompted by some lad fresh out of training. Honor will not allow it.
“Continue as you are,” he snapped loudly to the restive crew. “We should see him turning in the next few seconds.” Impact time was now at one minute forty-five seconds.
The navigator to his left spoke. “Sir, his acceleration is actually increasing. Projected impact time is now . . . ninety seconds away.” The clock figures jumped.
The captain continued the agonized debate with himself. We have time to turn. But I would lose face. Everyone would hear how the earl of Karlazat-Damanaz gave in to a glorified student. It would be unbearable. And if the Sacrifice were to escape, then it would be worse still. No, I really have no choice.
“Continue.” He forced a smile. “It’s a bluff.”
As Merral watched the screens and the front window port of the Sacrifice, Laura sounded warning alarms and announced to the entire ship that the gravity modification system would be switched off and that they should expect high acceleration and beware loose objects. On the large screen, a red triangle overprinted with the words Rahllman’s Star drew closer to a green square labeled Twisted Spear.
Merral heard commands for fuel pumps to be primed and the reactor temperature increased.
Laura called out, “Commander, we have to bear in mind that, for whatever reason, the Spear may not move.”
Merral looked up at the front port. He could now see one of the tethercraft and behind it a boxlike assault vessel. They were close. A dozen kilometers, perhaps.
“What are the options?”
“It’s not an easy choice. If there is an impact, the debris will get us. If we start to run now, they may be able to fire at us. What do you suggest?”
He looked at the screen. Estimated collision time was now a mere eighty seconds away.
“Run.”
“Aye aye.” Already Laura’s hands were sliding on the controls. “Full emergency power!” she said.
A growing vibration rumbled through the ship. Through the window, Merral saw the stars begin to shift. The pressure on his chest started to build up.
“They are beginning the firing cycle,” Betafor commented in her expressionless voice.
Merral found himself pressed down into his seat. The image ahead was changing, and the somber mass of the Blade was coming into view.
The hull creaked. Something slithered across the floor. A hatch door slammed shut. Through the front port, a tethercraft grew larger until the vents and hatches could be seen and then slipped past.
“Th-the screen, Merral!” Vero said, and Merral looked up to see the red triangle and the green square begin to merge.
On the Twisted Spear, Captain Karlazat-Damanaz watched the numbers slide down with an unhappiness that was increasingly a torment. In his mind, the irresolvable conflict between honor and prudence was still waging.
The clock showed seventy seconds.
“Sir, the Sacrifice is igniting her engines. Looks like full power.” It was the weapons officer.
It was almost a relief to have a decision that was easy to make. “We warned them. Prime weapons and fire at will; go for progressive disablement. If you get full disintegration, don’t worry.” His eyes didn’t veer from the screen. It’s still not changing course!
“Yes, sir.” He heard the message being relayed.
I need to back down. But I can’t; not in front of this man.
“Sir . . .” It was the lieutenant’s soft voice. “Respectfully . . . it does look like he is going to hit us.”
The captain snapped an order. “Rear optical screen on!”
The image changed to show a tiny pale dot highlighted by a red diamond in the dead center of the screen. It was visibly growing in size. The countdown appeared underneath. He watched, transfixed.
Captain Karlazat-Damanaz heard lots of voices.
“Preparing to open fire.” The weapons officer.
“Sir! Sir!” The crew.
“Honor may demand sacrifice.” My father. What’s he doing here?
“Sir! Please!” The lieutenant.
“He’s bluffing.” His own voice.
He saw the immense shape expand to completely fill the screen.
The countdown reached zero.
Everything became pure light.
Oddly enough, through some quirk, Captain Karlazat-Damanaz was one of the few men on the Twisted Spear not to be killed instantly in the blast. He hung on to life for thirty seconds before burns, blood loss, and vacuum terminated his existence. It was long enough for him to have just two final thoughts. The first was I have died honorably. The second was that realization that is all too often a last thought: It wasn’t a bluff.
On the Sacrifice, the hull vibrating under maximum acceleration, Merral also watched the time hit zero. On the screen, the red triangle and the green square both vanished.
“I-impact!” It was Vero’s awed voice.
“God, have mercy,” whispered Luke.
A ragged wave of light—successively white, yellow, orange, and red—flooded the bridge like an entire sunset condensed into a second. Blinking, Merral looked up to the right, where, through the starboard roof ports, he could see a blossoming cloud of debris. Good-bye, Azeras. And thanks.
Merral, tensing himself for the debris to impact them, watched as they plunged on, with the towering, massive height of the Blade so close to starboard that they could see tiny details of the superstructure like cables and
aerials.
The debris impact never came.
“We are going for a steep insertion into Below-Space,” Laura said. “This close to the Blade, it’s going to be tricky.”
She pressed more controls, and Merral had a strange sense of sinking.
A mist started to creep across the window, and within a minute, the stars had slipped behind a dense fog. Grayness began to creep into the room, and the colors began to drain away.
“I think we may have done it,” Laura said with a quiet satisfaction. “Would someone get me a glass of water?”
Lloyd found her one, and she drank it gratefully. “I needed that. Now, Farholme, Commander?”
“Yes. Farholme will do very nicely, Laura.”
Merral looked at the chaplain. “We lost another man, Luke.”
“Yes.” There was a reflective silence. “Or did we gain him?”
Merral saw one of the Allenix looking at him and decided it was Betafor. “Azeras died so that we might survive. What do you say to that?”
Betafor paused. “I am grateful, Captain. But I do not understand why he did that. He was free. He could have left us and gone wherever he wanted.”
Luke shook his head. “He found that he wasn’t free. And when you do understand why he did it, you will be close to being human.”
She made no answer.
Merral got to his feet. “Luke, I have to see Abilana and check on the wounded. And then . . .” He gave a deep sigh. “Then, I’m going to get out of this armor. I’ve had quite enough of death and war.”
Merral found that, while it was easy to take off the armor, it was less easy to have done with death and war. He assisted Luke as the pale forms of Slee and Ilyas were sealed up in body bags and placed in Freezer Two. Then the two of them supervised the cleaning out of the cabins. In Slee’s they found sketchbooks, and Merral made a promise that they would go to the Isterrane Art Gallery. People will want to see them. Extraordinary events render even the ordinary remarkable, and these are more than ordinary. He recovered Azeras’s flag and took it to his room, and there as the grayness of deeper Below-Space gathered and thickened, Merral’s spirits sank.