by Stefon Mears
Donal’s head ached, like he’d slept hard then tried to wake up and missed. He dug his fingers into his shoulders.
“Can you...” A stab of pain forced a wince out of Donal. “Can you get me back to my room?”
“I will guide and guard the way.”
Donal devoutly hoped the fancy bed in his suite could take care of muscle spasms.
Chapter Twelve
Jacobs rose to an early alarm, expecting trouble.
It came while he was shaving.
Jacobs stood half-dressed beside a sink full of hot water — a luxury beyond gold to an old Navy man — in a bathroom larger than his first berth had been. He shaved straight edge and soap, the way his father taught him. He had finished both cheeks, chin and lip, and was just moving on to his throat when he heard the audio alert from his nearest comm pad: his own voice said “link from the bridge.”
Jacobs dropped his straight razor into the sink, grabbed a hand towel, and wiped his face down on his way to the nightstand beside his queen-sized bed. The captain’s cabin did not compare to the fancy suites or even the top-of-the-line cabins on the Horizon Cusp, but it was more than roomy enough for Jacobs, even with the nightly encroachments by Benny Sugg, Pillow Thief.
Jacobs slapped the red, glowing comm pad and Tunold’s face phased into being above it.
“Captain, the shimmer winked out a few minutes ago, but the gargoyle’s now in full view and flying to gain on us. Must have abandoned that trick when they lost their link to the package. I’ve got us up to ahead three-quarters, but there’s tight space ahead. Keep this quiet? Or—”
“Not this time. Wake Mash up, but alert Goldberg first. We need his people to contain the passengers before that ship can reach us. And prepare to sound general quarters the second I reach the bridge.”
Tunold was mid-confirmation when Jacob waved his hand through the image to break the connection. He thrust his arms into his shirt and jacket. He slipped his socked feet into shoes, pulled his cap into place, and hustled out the door, buttoning his shirt and jacket on the way.
◊
Machado awoke naked, deep within the comfort of his king-size bed. It was too much bed for his quarters, requiring him to make do with little sitting room and use his workshop for additional personal storage, but Machado knew where his priorities lay.
On a normal morning, he would have awoken to a pre-set internal alarm, allowing him fifteen minutes to revel in the comfort and enchantments of his mattress and sheets as he contemplated some thaumaturgic question or other, but his alarm was not due to awaken him for another hour.
That realization made Machado sit up, his arms behind him, propping him in place. He closed his eyes and felt one of his spells pull at his attention ... the scanners. Machado slipped his mind into the tapestry of spells that tied the Horizon Cusp together, then along connections and threads, following the tug of his own alert to the scanners.
His spells had detected a ship where none should be.
Machado had almost forgotten this particular bit of spellwork, because it could only trigger when a foreign ship approached at speed in an unpopulated area of space. It was an alert he had established after the last time the Horizon Cusp had faced pirates, some five years past.
Pirates?
Machado snapped his consciousness back into his body and called forth Saravá. “Find out if Cuthbert made it back to his room. If not, wake him up and send him there. Then go awaken Aaron and have him meet me in my workshop. Tell him to bring our breakfast.”
Machado sighed. At least this time he would have a passable assistant in Cromartie.
“And make it a big breakfast. We may have a busy day ahead of us.”
◊
Jacobs arrived on the bridge, still straightening his cuffs. Tunold had the bridge crew hopping, but too keyed up for Jacobs’ taste. Even a glance was enough to show Jacobs that every one of them held their controls too tightly, expecting a fight that Jacobs hoped to avoid.
Well, most of him wanted to avoid it.
He knew that running was the safest option for his crew and passengers. Certainly it was the responsible option.
But part of Jacobs, the old hellion who used to start fights in bars for the joy of fighting, the part of him that had tucked into his pocket those modern boxing gloves Dr. Ramirez had given him, that part of Jacobs wanted the fight to happen. Wanted one last fight before he retired, wanted to show Tunold, show Mancuso, show Ramirez, show all of them that John Jacobs at eighty-six was still more a man than any of them.
Jacobs tried to quell that belligerence on his way up the stairs to his station.
“Sound general quarters, Mr. Tunold. Confine all passengers to their cabins for the duration.”
He drew a deep breath as the klaxon began to sound. “Scanners, how’s it look out there?”
“The gargoyle’s gaining, Sir. At current rate, they’ll be right on top of us in five minutes.”
“Helm, ahead full. Let’s see how fast they really are.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Tunold. “Sending my analysis of approaching space to your station.”
“Acknowledged, Ex Oh. Now go help Goldberg with the passengers and get things ready for the fight I’m going to try not to have.”
“Aye, Sir,” said Tunold, and the ex oh saluted with a look in his eye that did more to reassure Jacobs about how things stood between the two men than anything Tunold could have said.
Tunold was off to handle the people while Jacobs handled the ship. The old school way. Jacobs spared a moment to wonder if he had not allowed his ex oh enough room to take care of his own duties.
But then the general quarters klaxon sounded again, and the moment was gone. Jacobs had a ship to run. He took a quick glance at the systems reports through the illusory gryphon display, but everything appeared to be in order, at least as of five-to-ten minutes ago.
On to Tunold’s report then. Tight space indeed. To stay on course, the Horizon Cusp would have to thread the needle between a violet gas cloud and a bank of asteroids. At normal speeds this would be nothing worth noticing, but at evasive speeds both represented increased risk and limited maneuvering that would be necessary to keep ahead of that gargoyle, a ship that, if the assessment of its carterite content was correct, was probably faster and more maneuverable than the Horizon Cusp.
Worse, the violet clouds were known to be feeding grounds of lacunas.
While lacunas were not normally a hazard to ships, they could get big, and the big ones could get interested in large things that occupied space and reeked, metaphorically, of other lacunas. A description that applied to all helioships.
No doubt, the gargoyle ship had Jacobs at a disadvantage. He needed to buy time to find a way to steal that advantage back.
◊
Machado walked into his workshop to see Initiate Aaron Cromartie laying out a breakfast of pastries, scrambled eggs, linguiça, and orange juice on a cleared section of worktable.
Saravá looked up from where it lay curled on the floor next to the three inscribed circles and said aloud, in English, “Shall I fetch Donal Cuthbert as well? Or perhaps Tai Shi Li Hua?”
“No to both for right now,” said Machado, nodding his thanks to Cromartie and picking up a link of linguiça. Its taste was sharp with just a hint of spice, and Machado noted to send his complements to the mess hall.
To his familiar he continued, “I may have you fetch Cuthbert if it looks like we’ll need the help, but there’s too much politics in involving Tai Shi.”
“What’s the plan?” said Cromartie, looking and sounding fresh and ready after a good night’s sleep.
“First we eat. Next we’ll prepare some basic deceptions to throw them off our trail. After that, we may have to play it by ear. I’ll need permission from the captain before we could directly attack them.”
“I’ve never heard a battle stations call before,” said Cromartie with a shake of his head. “Damn near straightened my hair.”
&nbs
p; Machado chuckled. “Don’t call it ‘battle stations.’ The captain hates that term. On this ship it’s ‘general quarters’ or you’ll find yourself on a most unpleasant duty.”
Machado chuckled again, remembering the time the captain had ordered him to scrub all the toilets on the main deck for a similar offense. But that had been back when Machado was younger, and naïve in the ways of military men.
“Now,” he said to Cromartie around a mouthful of bear claw, “what can you tell me about that ship’s magic?”
“Didn’t have time to get much.” Cromartie, like Machado, wolfed down his food as he spoke. “I don’t know how they pulled off invisibility, but I think the shimmer resulted from the fits it gave their lacunas—”
“Obviously, and that level of invisibility would require either an exceptionally talented Journeyman or a Magister, so don’t worry about analyzing that. Stick to your gut. You felt them detect you, I believe.” Machado waited for Cromartie to nod confirmation while sipping orange juice. “What else did you pick up? How fast did they respond? How aggressive?”
“I went straight into throwing illusions. I didn’t have time for analysis.”
“This is why you need a familiar.”
“I know.” Cromartie dropped his shoulders. “I can’t make sense of the spells. Conjuration—”
“Later. How did they handle your illusions?”
“Can’t be sure. I don’t think they intended to pursue us, and that’s what I tried to prevent.”
“Well, we’re coming into this blind, and they probably think they have a pretty good idea of what we can do.”
Cromartie started to apologize, but Machado stopped him with a wide smile. “Are you kidding? This sounds like fun!”
Machado downed half a glass of orange juice in a single gulp.
“Let’s get to work.”
◊
Donal awoke surrounded by bliss. The kink in his neck was gone. The stiffness in his back was gone. That weird headache from waking up wrong earlier? Gone. He felt only luxuriant comfort as he snuggled into his sheets, the question of how he could have awakened from such joyous respite barely able to form in the back of his mind, much less garner his attention.
Donal began to nestle back into his pillow, fully prepared to return to what must have been a glorious dream, but someone kept calling his name. In fact, this person had been doing so for several minutes now.
Donal decided that whatever this person wanted could not possibly be more important than letting his mind drift away from consciousness for just a little while longer. Not for too long. His personal alarm would wake him by ten, and it hadn’t yet, and there was simply no way anything could have such urgency as to require Donal to jump out of his bed and deal with it.
On some level, Donal knew that was not true. But on most levels he succeeded in telling himself it was, and only moments after realizing someone had been calling his name, Donal began to slumber once more.
Then he felt what could only have been Fionn’s teeth denting the skin of his hand.
Donal’s eyes snapped open.
“What? Who? Fionn?”
His familiar released its grip on his hand. “I apologize, Master,” said Fionn in its lilting tones, which sounded less than entirely apologetic to Donal’s sleep-addled ears. “No one wishes more than I to see you sleep deeply and fully following your exertions of last night. But alas need may require it.”
Donal forced himself to a sitting position, half considering that having access to so enchanted a bed might cause one to oversleep. He wanted to say at least a dozen different things, but none of them could quite find their way to his mouth.
“A short time ago,” Fionn continued, “the ship called its crew to general quarters, which appears to be how they call action stations.”
Donal didn’t know either of those terms, and curiosity finally came together with the right nerves and he produced sound.
“Is that like battle stations?”
“Indeed. The arrival a short time ago of two guards confirms this. They asked for you, but were content to leave a message with me. Their message: a nearby ship presents a possible threat, and all passengers are confined to quarters until the all-clear announcement comes.”
“But I’m a magician. They may need me to help out.”
“In the brief interval between the visit from the guards and the moment I began calling your name, Tai Shi Li Hua sent Pinyin Lung to check on you. Through Pinyin Lung, Tai Shi Li Hua requests that you remain in your suite and refrain from anything that could be construed as heroics.”
“Is that really how she said it?”
“I’m paraphrasing. Would you like her exact words?”
“No,” said Donal trying to rub sleep out of his eyes and deciding that this would not be entirely possible until he got out of bed.
“Moments later,” continued Fionn, sitting in his ‘patient dog’ pose, head tilted slightly to one side, “Saravá arrived carrying a message from Ronaldo Machado. Ronaldo Machado requests that you eat a good breakfast and prepare yourself in case you are needed.”
“I can’t exactly visit a restaurant right now, and if the ship’s on alert, I can’t imagine they have room service run—”
A knock came from the suite’s social room. Without missing a beat, Fionn said, “Ronaldo Machado said that he had arranged for your breakfast.”
◊
Tunold reached Goldberg’s office at a brisk jog. He expected to find the chief bent over his desk, discussing tactics with watch leaders and pointing out details on actual paper maps. Goldberg was the only officer aboard the Horizon Cusp who shared the captain’s love of keeping and tracking paper records, and it meant that he kept archaic filing cabinets along one wall, cutting down on the space available for watch men and women who needed to wait in his office for one reason or another.
It also meant that Tunold found the chief with his desk covered in paper more often than not. But this time was different. The desk was clear, and the drawers of the filing cabinets all fully closed.
Also absent from the room was the chief himself, but Tunold knew Goldberg had to be around there somewhere because a dozen ship’s watch filled the office, donning their safety skinsuits.
Safety skinsuits looked like body stockings the color of adobe, with hoods covering everything but their eyes, and goggles to protect those. Tunold had heard Jacobs describe the safety skinsuits as “ninja outfits, as interpreted by a ballet company,” but Tunold thought they looked like skintight pocketless combat fatigues. Not much good for stealth, though, unless the wearer had to blend in among the reddish deserts of the North American southwest.
Invented to aid in riot suppression in the early days of the Rise of Magic, the skinsuits had defensive charms designed to reflect the force of anything stronger than a light pat. The modern version not only protected its wearer but also doubled her striking strength.
They were quite effective, but too expensive to maintain on an everyday basis. The Horizon Cusp kept a dozen available in case of emergency.
“I need the chief,” said Tunold.
“Right here, Ex Oh,” said one of the skinsuits, close enough that Tunold actually jumped and immediately hated himself for it. But sure enough, the speaker lifted his goggles and Tunold saw in Goldberg’s eyes the smile he’d never let reach his face at such a moment.
“Never thought I’d see you willing to put one of those things on,” said Tunold.
“We might get boarded, Ex Oh. I can’t protect my ship if I’m unconscious on the deck.”
Tunold nodded, then indicated the others with his chin. “How soon are you ready to move?”
“I already have my lieutenants taking teams to break the confinement news to the passengers and quell any general questions. They’ll leave a skeleton crew behind to monitor and the rest will join us here.”
Goldberg looked around the deck. “The Main Deck may be the most central, but it’s from here that we can reach
any part of the ship at speed.”
“Need anything?”
Goldberg shook his head. “So far this is running like a drill. But when the party starts...”
He shrugged, then picked up a gleaming white billy club: a Pacifier. “Could definitely use you if you want to stick around.”
Tunold grinned and accepted the Pacifier.
◊
Jacobs checked details on his three-dimensional map. The choke point between the violet cloud and the asteroids approached rapidly, and Jacobs could find no way of avoiding it that would not allow the gargoyle ship to catch them even faster.
“Mr. Burke, how’s your sewing?”
“I can thread a needle, Captain.”
“Then hold our speed as long as you can and bleed it only when you have to. We’re going in.”
Jacobs shook his head. They might as well slow to half for all the good their speed did them. The gargoyle still gained. It might not have achieved speeds much higher than those of the Horizon Cusp, but a little higher could be enough.
Jacobs poked a finger into the part of the gryphon display that represented the ship’s mage’s workshop. The workshop flashed green, signaling that Machado and his Initiate were ready to defend the ship.
Ordinarily, Jacobs hated to be the first to take action, because in most cases there existed the possibility of coincidence, that the other ship happened to find itself crossing Jacobs’ path through an unfortunate confluence of circumstances.
But not this time. No other passenger ships had filed routes as of then minutes before the Horizon Cusp’s launch. Jacobs had checked. And no captain would have been so foolish as to attempt this route without logging his flight path. A military ship would have obvious markings, or have hailed them by now, as would a news ship.
One twist of Jacobs’ finger while touching the location of the ship’s mage’s workshop and he would open a communication link with the ship’s mage. He drew a deep breath and prepared to give the order.