by Stefon Mears
“Captain,” said Jefferson. “The other ship is hailing us.”
Jacobs withdrew his finger and cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder in the direction of the gargoyle ship, but said, “This should be interesting. Link it through to my station.”
The man’s head that formed above Jacobs’ comm pad looked German: pale with almost colorless blue eyes, short, spiky blonde hair, and a wide jaw. But the Aryan-poster-boy connection that tried to form in Jacobs head — an admitted relic from his youth and stories from superior officers — was spoiled by the pock marks and twin scars marring the man’s face, gashes across each cheek that had healed the old fashioned way.
“Captain John Jacobs of the Horizon Cusp, I am Captain Leopold Wirth of the mercenary ship Ragnarök. I want to first assure you that we are not after you, your crew, or most of your passengers.”
“How very reassuring.” Jacobs poked the gryphon illusion in the ship’s mage’s workshop and twisted his finger to open a channel, then pushed that finger all the way through to mute the incoming signal. “However, Starchaser Spacelines has a clear policy against piracy and hijacking.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jacobs could see Machado’s head appear over the gryphon display, a separate channel from his main comm pad and a design detail that Jacobs had insisted on when he commissioned the Horizon Cusp. At the time, he only anticipated a need to have two conversations at once.
But Jacobs believed in adaptation.
“We aren’t pirates because we aren’t after any goods. And we aren’t hijackers because we aren’t after your ship. We’re mercenaries, and in this case our target is very specific: Donatello Mancuso.”
“Who is that?” Jacobs tried to sound blasé, but knew it came out forced. Such tones did not come naturally to him.
“Come, Captain Jacobs.” Wirth shouldn’t have tried for a patronizing look. Jacobs only found it irritating. “Perhaps company policies bar you from answering questions about passengers, but we both know that he is your business partner and we both know that he is aboard your ship. We want him.”
“That’s too bad. I’m not in the habit of turning over my passengers to the first punk kid who asks.”
Jacobs turned on his command glare. The full weight of threat his experience could bring filled his face.
“Back off.”
Wirth didn’t even flinch. This mercenary captain must have stared down more than his share of commanding glares over the years.
“We’re outside of Earth controlled space,” said Wirth. “What I’m asking isn’t illegal.”
“Earth claims the space between Earth and Venus, whatever Venus and Mars may say about it. And this is getting us nowhere.”
Jacobs waved one hand through the man’s face, cutting the link. He turned to the head of his ship’s mage, Machado’s eyes narrowed in thought as he continued staring at where Captain Wirth’s head had been.
Jacobs undid the mute, then said, “Did you get enough for a spell?”
“I ... think ... so.”
“Take him down, Mash. Sow some confusion into their ranks.”
“It won’t be easy, but I’ll get it done, Captain.”
“Good man. Bridge out.” Jacobs cut the link, then turned back to the bridge crew. “Ride that speed as hard as you can, Mr. Burke.”
“Captain,” said Grabowski, “The gargoyle ship is accelerating and moving to intercept. And they’ve launched a shuttle!”
Chapter Thirteen
Machado turned to Cromartie and said, “I want you reinforcing the wards. Something’s coming.”
Cromartie leapt to his feet, pulled out a pocket censer that looked like a thick silver cigarette case and lit the charcoal. He sprinkled onto it some of the incense he had been blending, a mixture of juniper, hyssop, and liquid amber.
Machado watched as Cromartie strode toward the far circle, the one with the strongest links to the wards, but the Initiate must have noticed that Machado had not moved, because he said, “Are you going to start the defenses with illusion?”
“No,” said Machado, aware that his voice sounded distant, but not doing anything about it. “I’ve been ordered to take out their captain.”
Cromartie stopped one step shy of the circle. He had the look of someone about to speak, but Machado already knew what he would say. He would know that Machado had always spoken against death magic, both as perverting the art form and as dangerous to the caster. But Machado did not give him a chance to ask the question.
“The captain likely expects me to murder this man, and you and I both know I’m not going to do that. But I have to shut him down hard and fast.”
Cromartie still had not taken another step.
“Get to your spells, Initiate. Make me do both our jobs and I’ll dock your pay.”
Cromartie stepped into the circle and began his work. His deep, resonant voice chanted words not English, but not Gaelic either. Probably Creole. Machado had noticed that Cromartie cast in Creole whenever he got nervous.
Machado stood, called forth Saravá and walked into the largest circle, the one he had designed exclusively for himself as a general purpose circle, easily customized.
No. Machado stopped himself. Not yet. I need more for the connection.
Machado left the circle for his alchemy lab, where he closed his eyes and called to mind everything he had been able to put together through two communication links: the enemy captain’s look, his voice, his expressions, and something of the man’s feel. Machado held these qualities in his head, and let his hands work with his eyes still closed.
His hands found herbs, powders, philters, and oils, knowing which they found because Machado had used the same organization system since his first day aboard the Horizon Cusp. But Machado did not think about which selections his hands made. He trusted himself to his art, holding and analyzing his sense of the man while his hands brought together the right ingredients and blended a connection oil, which would strengthen the thaumaturgic link Machado would need to affect this Captain Leopold Wirth, especially over such distance, and across two sets of wards.
Then Machado’s hands stopped moving, and he knew the oil was ready. He picked up the mortar, turned, and began to anoint that large circle at the cardinal points, while chanting the words of connection.
No, he would not kill this man...
◊
Tunold paced as he could in the main Security Office, while all around him men and women of the ship’s watch lounged like soldiers getting every last moment of rest they could eke out before the call to action came.
But the fire of need already burned through Tunold, and sitting still would not suit him.
He rounded on Chief Goldberg, reclining in his desk chair. “Why are we sitting here? We know there’s a boarding party coming in and we know where they’re going to hit.”
“No. We don’t.”
“The Main Deck. It’s the only place that makes sense.”
Goldberg regarded him, listening but not impelled to action.
“Look,” said Tunold, “the public sections of the Horizon Cusp are common knowledge. Hell, Zoltan used them in the advertising. So anyone after Mancuso knows he’d want one of the top suites, and that means he’s on P1 or P2. But they have no way of knowing which, and speed is of the essence. If they cut in through at the Main Deck, they have the same distance to go either way.”
“Except that they know we know they’re after Mancuso. So they may assume we moved him.”
Tunold leaned on the chief’s desk with both hands. Not that he wanted to intimidate Saul, but if he didn’t do something, he’d start pacing again.
“Why haven’t we moved him?”
“I was just wondering the same thing,” said a female voice behind Tunold. He craned his neck and saw Tai Shi in a form-fitting black bodysuit with low boots and her long hair bound. A hood lay behind her head and goggles dangled from her belt. Her version of a safety skinsuit?
“I suppose we co
uld throw him in the brig for his own protection,” said Goldberg. “Easiest to protect. But really, if we do, the other execs should get adjoining cells, in case the kidnappers have an unannounced secondary target.”
“And why haven’t we done this?” said Tunold, turning sideways to keep both the chief and the interloper in sight.
“I could say that moving them to the Security Deck risks giving the boarding party access to the crew portions of the ship, but it’d be just as true that I was trying to avoid this.”
Goldberg pointed at Tai Shi.
“You can’t keep me out of this fight.” Firm, direct, confident words.
“He can,” began Tunold, but the chief cleared his throat and Tunold decided to let him answer for himself.
“Keep you out of it? No. Try to avoid drawing you into it? I sure as hell can do that much.” Goldberg gave Tunold a wry glance. “But it looks like I failed on that score. So, Kris, do me a favor and take a bunch of men to round up the top execs and any staff they want to have along, and bring them down here to the brig.”
Goldberg turned his attention to Tai Shi. “I believe Ms. Tai Shi and I need to have a little talk about the chain of command during this upcoming soiree.”
“We don’t,” said Tai Shi, and Tunold felt his neck twist around fast enough to bring his shoulders and hips with it. But Tai Shi continued, “This is your ship and these are your people, Chief. Strategically you have to answer to me, but tactically I’d be a fool to interfere.”
She shook her head. “I’m here to help, not hinder.”
Goldberg rose to his feet, a big smile on his face. “Then maybe you and I will get along just fine after all.”
Goldberg turned to his resting men and women of the watch. “Wake up time, boys and girls, and I mean double-time. We have some executives to wrangle before company arrives.”
◊
“Gargoyle ninety seconds and closing, Captain,” said Grabowski.
“What about that shuttle?”
“Thirty seconds tops, Sir. And they’ve launched a second.”
Jacobs swore quietly. Burke was maneuvering to keep the shuttle at bay as long as possible, but with two the task would grow unmanageable even before they reached the pinch point.
And every juke and jink brought the speeding Ragnarök that much closer.
Worse, either or both of those shuttles might be decoys, but more likely both carried boarding parties. A ship the size of the Ragnarök might carry as many as three shuttlecraft and as many as ... two hundred ... armed...
“Mr. Grabowski, judging by size, how many men can those shuttles hold?”
“I estimate ten, plus pilot and copilot.”
“Oh, hell! Mr. Burke, ignore the shuttlecraft, the Ragnarök intends to board us the old fashioned way.”
Jacobs jammed his finger into the security section of the gryphon illusion, twisted, and started speaking before Goldberg’s head appeared to acknowledge.
“Chief! The shuttles are decoys. These bastards intend to grapple and board us from the gargoyle itself.”
But the woman who responded was a lieutenant. Not the chief. And though she would deliver the message, Jacobs knew the delay might cost the chief critical seconds of organization.
Jacobs could only hope the cost would not be dear.
◊
Machado swept his arms out to the sides in a circle and brought them together with all the force his not inconsiderable size could muster, releasing his spell at the apex of a resounding clap.
In that moment, that fleeting portion of a second so brief it might not have existed had not an magician as experienced as Machado known to look for it, Machado felt the spell strike its target.
But Machado could waste no time savoring the befuddlement he had cast upon Captain Wirth, not even to know that the captain would give orders the opposite of his intentions until the friction between desire and action generated enough tension for the secondary effect to render the good captain unconscious.
The spell was cast. Machado knew it would run its course.
In that moment, other matters needed his attention. He felt Saravá contact him from deep within the Horizon Cusp’s tapestry, where the spirit panther kept tabs on the latest information from the scanners.
“Master,” said Saravá, “focus has shifted from the twin shuttles to the primary opposing ship. It is believed that this ship will carry the attack to us.”
“Why send the shuttles then? Just as a diversion?”
“What if they’re rigged?” said Cromarite, who must have finished as much as he could do to reinforce the wards for the time being.
“Good point,” said Machado. “Focus on shuttles. I’ll see what I can do about this gargoyle.”
◊
“I advise against this, Master,” said the cú sidhe as Donal sat cross-legged on the floor of his suite’s social room and prepared to send his consciousness out into space.
“Noted,” said Donal.
“I do not jest, Master. Ronaldo Machado barred this course from you specifically, and if you are elsewhere when the call comes, you may be unable to lend aid at a critical juncture.”
Fionn leaned well forward on its forepaws, a gesture which, from a normal dog, might indicate a desire to play. But from Fionn, Donal knew that it was merely intended to draw his attention.
“I implore you. Choose another course of action.”
The choice of words made Donal hesitate, clacking his teeth together lightly in his closed mouth as he thought. Fionn did many things: advise, recommend, suggest, point out, call attention to, and other similar turns of speech all of which made quite clear the fae deerhound’s opinion while acknowledging that its master would do exactly as he wished.
But Fionn had never before implored Donal, and that made Donal think twice about his goal.
“I just want to see what’s out there. If I do get called to help, I want a feel for the space around us so I don’t waste time getting up to speed.”
“Captain John Jacobs directs us to a narrow channel between asteroids and the feeding ground of the lacunae.”
“Lacunae? There are lacunas out there?”
“I have not checked, but I should be surprised if there are not.”
A smile spread slowly across Donal’s face. A lacuna feeding ground. Only the violet clouds were known to draw lacunas the way a hunting ground drew predators. Donal did not know for certain that lacunas did eat, as humans understood it, but that mattered less than the idea that a great many lacunas might dwell near at hand.
Donal had once called a zuglodon down on this ship by accident, because he had sent his consciousness out into space without proper safety precautions. But conjuration spells required significantly less risk, and did not require Donal to bring the conjured spirits to this ship...
Donal cast a circle about himself and slipped into the proper frame of mind for a conjuration, one of his two magical specialties.
In fact, Donal began to see how he could incorporate his other specialty, the magic of deception, into his plan.
◊
However much pacing might have helped Jacobs, he knew the right place to be was at his station. Seconds made all the difference in combat, and he could afford no delays no matter how badly his legs longed to stretch and...
But Jacobs knew that was a lie. He did not need to pace. He merely needed to act, and short of grabbing the pilot’s station from Burke, there was nothing he could do. And Burke had done a solid job of recovering their course while keeping their distance from the gargoyle as great as he could manage.
Unfortunately, this time the Horizon Cusp was the slower ship.
“Mr. Grabowski...”
“Ten seconds before they’re in range of grapples, Captain. Good news is the shuttles are flying drunk. One may even get in the gargoyles way.”
“Good job, Mash,” muttered Jacobs. “Now do something about that ship!”
Not for the first time, Jacobs wished he
had armed the Horizon Cusp, even though it would have violated the laws of every recognized authority. Might not have been practical, but right then it would have been damned convenient.
◊
Machado swore colorfully in Portuguese, but finished his quick rant in English, “And damn me if they don’t have a Magister. Because someone is knocking down my defenses as fast as I can set them up.”
“I’ve got the shuttles out of the way. What do you need?”
“Something to distract the opposition so I can get a solid defense in place.”
Machado would have to leave the details of Cromartie’s assistance to the Initiate. Machado had time only to raise his hands and keep casting.
◊
Tunold stood beside Goldberg and Tai Shi on the Main Deck, the entire force of the ship’s watch arrayed about them, some sixty men and women. All of them watched the great gray form of the approaching ship through the transparent portion of the hull commonly referred to as the Observation Wall, a lesser version of the Observation Deck at the bottom of the ship, which was almost entirely transparent.
Tunold knew the incoming ship was shaped like a gargoyle, but it was close enough now that he could not see the whole shape clearly. In seconds they would fire their grappling cables, magically augmented to link the ships together.
Boarding would follow shortly.
Tunold knew that they should be waiting on the Security Deck, along with almost all the passengers. But Tai Shi had picked this as the likely location for a breach on the basis of first its central location, and second its transparency, which would ease magical access when the time came.
Tunold wanted to argue because he neither liked nor trusted the woman, but Goldberg had agreed, and it was Goldberg’s call. So the entire force waited here.
Any second now...
◊
“Captain,” yelled Grabowski, “bogeys! Dozens!”