They met no one else as they descended three decks via maintenance ladders, emerging into a short corridor with a door at its end. The guard pointed to it. “Communications,” he said.
Jarrikk led Kathryn to the closed door. Ready?
Ready, she replied.
Like planets colliding, they plunged into each other’s minds.
Instantly they could sense the three S’sinn inside the communications room, as well as the mind of the guard, still slightly confused, like a pool into which someone had dropped a large stone, stirring up mud and sending ripples chasing each other to and fro across the surface. It was an unsettling sensation, but Jarrikk/Kathryn could not spend time worrying about it; they tuned it out and concentrated on the three minds beyond the closed steel door.
This was different than changing a single mind. The three held similar loyalties and beliefs and those loyalties seemed to set up a kind of reinforcing field around each mind. The Guild said that any race which could produce Translators must have some innate empathic ability in all its members, a subconscious ability that did much to explain mobs and riots and politics. Here they could see proof of that. Karak would be fascinated, but it made their task much harder.
Instead of crashing through each mind’s barriers as they had with the guard and, before him, with the High Priest and Rikkarrikk, they had to proceed cautiously, slowly, pushing a thought there, prodding an attitude here. It felt like turning the tuning pegs of a three-stringed musical instrument, trying to produce a particular chord. It seemed to take forever, though it must only have been a few beats. They almost had it, almost had the three minds to the point where they could safely open the door and walk in, when something new ripped through their consciousness, like a cymbal crash in the middle of a string sonata.
With a blood-chilling scream, the guard rushed forward, pushing them apart, sending Kathryn crashing against one corridor wall, where she crumpled to the floor, and smashing Jarrikk into the other wall, setting his crippled wing throbbing. But he hardly noticed that in the whirlwind of disorientation that filled his mind from the sudden cessation of his link with Kathryn. He clung to the wall for support, his mind barely registering the sound of the door opening: when it did register, he whirled and lunged for it, but he was far too late. As Kathryn pulled herself up beside him, the guard’s firelance sliced through each of the three S’sinn. The room filled with the stench of burned flesh and fur, and the three minds Jarrikk and Kathryn had moments before been delicately tuning fell silent forever as their owners slumped to the floor, hands dropping lifelessly from blood-spattered consoles.
The guard screeched again, not the sound of a rational S’sinn at all, but the sound of a wild carnivore, his mind filled with insane rage. As Kathryn gripped Jarrikk’s hand once more, he could sense the guard’s mind more clearly. The mud and ripples from the stone they had thrown into it hadn’t cleared at all; they had turned into a black whirlpool that had sucked him down into bestiality.
He turned now and saw them. Down! Jarrikk cried mind-to-mind to Kathryn, flinging a wing over her protectively and pulling her to the padded floor. An energy-bolt sizzled through the air, but he felt nothing—nothing but the sudden ending of the guard’s shattered mind.
Slowly Jarrikk raised his head, as did Kathryn. The guard lay in the center of the room, the firelance clutched in his hand, his head a shattered, smoking ruin, the tip of one wing still jerking spasmodically.
Unintended consequences, thought Kathryn. Jarrikk, what have we done?
Jarrikk didn’t reply. Kathryn had been right. They had raped the guard’s mind, and they had destroyed it. With the priest, and Rikkarrikk, they had just provided information. With the guard, they had deliberately erased whole structures of thought, structures which had held his mind intact. With the communications personnel, the result might have been less traumatic—or maybe not. They’d never know, because of what they’d done to the guard.
He had telepathed none of that, but Kathryn’s thoughts obviously echoed his own. This power we have, she sent. I’m not sure I want it. I’m not sure I want anyone else to know about it, either.
Neither am I. But this isn’t the time to sort it out. He looked around the room. I think I can operate this equipment. Close the door. He let go of Kathryn’s hand and made his way to the nearest console, trying not to look at the dead S’sinn at his feet or the blood now clotting on the controls.
As he had hoped, the flagship had a channel already set up which would allow Kitillikk to speak directly to every Hunter in the fleet. She’s probably already used it to make a morale-building speech about the imminent attack on the human Fleet, he thought savagely. I hope she appreciates this irony as much as I do.
He slipped the datachip out from under his Translator’s collar, plugged it into the console, and activated the transmission.
Kikks’sarr now filled the vidscreens on the Bloodfeud ’s bridge. Kitillikk’s control helmet showed the Fleet’s course, an atmosphere-skimming trajectory that would help foul the human’s scanners and accelerate the Hunterships at the same time. She’d changed her mind; rather than lure the human Fleet out by attacking Kikks’sarr’s cities—cities she hoped to make her own—she’d decided instead on a bold, preemptive move, taking the Fleet straight through the center of the human Fleet at far higher speed than was strictly practical for combat, hitting whatever they could hit on that first pass and, she hoped, destroying the cohesion of the humans’ formation. Then the Hunter Fleet would split and double back, attacking the disorganized humans from two directions at once.
The humans had rarely fought a pitched fleet battle in space. The S’sinn had been doing it for a century. She intended to show the humans exactly how it was done—and destroy them in the process.
Sudden movement at one of the control consoles caught her peripheral vision. She glanced to her left, Ukkarr following her gaze. “Communications, report!”
“Your Altitude, we’ve just sent an uncoded, unguarded hypercompressed databurst to all ships.”
“I ordered communications silence!”
“Yes, Your Altitude, I know, but—Your Altitude, it went out over your personal channel. It will be automatically broadcast to all crews!”
“Countermand it!” In her fury Kitillikk lifted from her shikk and flew the few steps to the communications console.
“I can’t, from here—it’s being sent from the main communications—”
The planet and the fleet’s trajectory vanished from half of the vidscreens. In their place appeared the familiar, grizzled face of the High Priest of the Hunter of Worlds, and her voice boomed out. “All S’sinn, hear my words,” she said. “We have discovered that the plot to kill Supreme Flight Leader Akkanndikk was instigated, not by the Guild of Translators, as you have been told, but by Acting Supreme Flight Leader Kitillikk, in conjunction with a renegade human Translator. For this transgression of the Laws of the Hunter, Acting Supreme Flight Leader Kitillikk is hereby renounced by the Priests of the Hunter. She is stripped of all rank and privilege, and her life is forfeit upon her return to S’sinndikk. All those who serve her are called upon to renounce that service, on pain of death. You will—”
Kitillikk slapped the communications officer away from the console with her right wing and slashed her hand down over the controls, blanking all the comm vidscreens—but even as she did so, she knew she could not stop the damning message from reaching the eyes and ears of every Hunter in the fleet. Even with the bridge screens silenced, she could hear a faint echo of the High Priest’s voice from the interior of her own ship.
The bridge crew stared at her. The officer she had knocked to the floor scrambled away from her, clutching his arm. She turned and looked at Ukkarr. He shook his head slightly and pointed at one of the screens that still showed the Fleet.
Most of the ships were still on course, still hurtling toward the planet and the waiting human Fleet: a fleet, she thought angrily, which must have received the open tra
nsmission as readily as her own had, if they had a probe anywhere above the horizon of the planet. But a few of the Hunterships had broken formation. More followed. Slowly at first, but faster and faster, the Fleet was unraveling.
If any ships continued on, the humans would devour them like ripe fruit. The Hunter Fleet would be destroyed and with it all hope of ever salvaging S’sinn honor.
Despite the burning fury in her hearts, she managed to keep her voice calm and businesslike as she spoke to the cowering communications officer. “Send this message to the fleet: abort attack. Break formation. Return to S’sinndikk.” She growled something that wasn’t really a laugh. “You’d better not put my name on that. Sign it, Acting Fleet Commander Tikkivv.” She turned and looked at the Bloodfeud’s captain. He bowed to her slightly. Then, as the communications officer, after a glance at Tikkivv, warily approached his station again, she looked at Ukkarr. “I think you and I should go down to communications,” she snarled.
“An excellent suggestion,” he replied, and in his tone she heard the same suppressed rage that burned inside her.
One of the security guards at the door made a half-hearted attempt to block their way, but Captain Tikkivv snapped, “Let them go,” and he fell aside, offering no resistance even when Ukkarr reached out and took his firelance from him.
Everyone in the ship was still battened down in battle stations: the corridors and zero-G flight tube were empty. Kitillikk and Ukkarr said nothing as they flew down to the communications deck, taking a brief side trip to confirm what she already knew: the cell where she had locked the two meddling Translators stood empty, one dead guard inside and no sign of the other one. Ukkarr looked at the guard. “Firelance,” he said.
“I underestimated our supposedly non-violent friends,” Kitillikk growled. “I should have executed them the moment I had them in my claws. This way.”
In communications, they found more of the same: four dead S’sinn, including, judging by his insignia, the missing guard from the cell, his head blown off. Ukkarr looked around in amazement. “I don’t understand how they did it.”
“Does it matter?” Kitillikk strode to the console that had broadcast the High Priest’s message, ripped out the vidchip and smashed it against the floor, then pulled the dead guard’s firelance from his death-grip and fired it point-blank into the console. The blast ripped open its cover: sparks flew and acrid black smoke began to pour out.
Ukkarr watched silently. When Kitillikk turned back to him, he said, “The Unity?”
“The Unity.” Leaving behind the wreckage of the room, matching the wreckage of her dreams, they stalked toward the docking bay.
As screens in the communications room began to play the High Priest’s message, Jarrikk crossed over to Kathryn and took her hand. That’s it? she asked.
That’s it.
How will we know . . . ?
What effect it’s having? We can’t, from here. But we can’t stay here anyway. I think we should go back to the Unity.
Won’t it be guarded?
Depends on how much confusion we’ve managed to sow. But there’s nowhere else to go.
They proceeded cautiously through the ship, but saw no S’sinn until they reached the docking bay itself. From the observation deck they watched three Hunters arguing heatedly among themselves beside the hatch that opened into the docking tunnel linking the Bloodfeud and the Unity. One of them shouted something and turned to go; when one of the others grabbed him he lashed out, ripping a chunk of flesh from his attacker’s arm and breaking free, then flung himself into the air toward one of the upper entrances.
The remaining, uninjured S’sinn raised his firelance, but the wounded one shoved the weapon down with his good arm and gesticulated. Together they went out, leaving the hatch unguarded. Kathryn started toward the door.
There will still be cameras watching, Jarrikk cautioned her.
But will anyone be watching what the cameras are watching? It looks to me like we’ve sowed confusion pretty well.
Maybe. Maybe not.
The ship shuddered beneath their feet. Another violent maneuver, Kathryn thought. Were they attacking the Earth Fleet despite the broadcast? Had all their efforts failed?
Had they destroyed that poor S’sinn’s mind for nothing?
They had to get into the Unity and find out.
Inside the docking bay, empty now of all scoutships, Kathryn glanced up at the observation deck from which they’d watched the S’sinn guards scuffle. Was that movement up there, behind the half-silvered glass? But nobody tried to stop them. She also felt nervous about the huge hatch to their right, which must open directly into space, but if someone decided to open it, she supposed they’d know little enough about it.
When they got to the docking tunnel’s hatch, it opened easily. They passed through the airlock, then the gravlock, feeling their weight shift slightly to match the Unity’s Earth-normal, and then they were back inside the Guildship.
Captain Hall met them. “Security told me you were coming in,” he said in Guildtalk. “I couldn’t believe you were still alive.”
“I have a little trouble believing it myself,” Kathryn said. “What’s happening?”
“A S’sinn transmission came on, the two S’sinn on board—there were only a couple, they seemed confident we couldn’t break free of their flagship anyway—listened to it, and then they left, just like that.”
“Has the Hunter Fleet attacked the human Fleet?”
“My sensors aren’t operating. They’re being suppressed by the flagship.”
Kathryn felt Jarrikk’s frustration. “Maybe you should try to bring them online again,” he said. “There should be a lot of confusion on board the flagship right now. You might get away with it.”
“Then that transmission—”
“Was what we came out here to send. Captain Hall, please, the sensors?”
“Of course.” Kathryn and Jarrikk followed him out of the lock. Just at the door, Kathryn glanced over her shoulder as an odd popping noise from down the open docking tunnel caught her attention, but seeing nothing, she dismissed it as the ping of contracting metal and put it out of her mind.
“Safety locks disabled,” Ukkarr said. “Along with the drive enslavement. The umbilicals will hold the Unity through ordinary maneuvers, but a sharp outward boost should easily tear her free.”
“Excellent.” Kitillikk raised her borrowed firelance and inspected it with a practiced eye. “Well-kept,” she said approvingly. “Come on, Ukkarr.”
“At your service, Flight Leader.”
On the bridge, a young woman now sat in the charred chair in front of the communications console. She didn’t glance up as the captain entered with the Translators, but others did, and exchanged surprised looks among themselves. The captain went at once to the sensor console. “Initiate restart,” he said.
“But, Captain . . .”
“Just do it, Ensign!”
“Yes, sir!” The young woman bent to her controls. Blank blue screens flickered, went white, then black, then suddenly started scrolling reams of numbers. Intent now, the ensign sent her fingers dancing over the console. The numbers gave way to visuals, and with a triumphant flick of a final switch, the ensign brought the main vidscreens to life. “Sensors back on line, Captain!”
Kathryn leaned forward eagerly, trying to make sense out of the cryptically-notated dots and multicolored vector lines, with little success. “Captain, what’s happening?”
He turned to her with fierce glee. “The Hunter Fleet has broken off the attack! It’s breaking up and heading for home!”
Kathryn let out a whoop that startled even herself, and turned and flung her arms around Jarrikk, never mind how the bridge crew stared. We did it!
So it would appear.
Kathryn drew back. You don’t seem too certain.
Kitillikk, he reminded her. We don’t know what she is doing. He nodded at the screens. And we don’t know what the Earth Fleet will do.<
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Kathryn looked over her shoulder. “Captain, what about the Earth Fleet?”
“It’s not doing anything. If it were going to attack the Hunter ships, I’d have expected it to do so by now. If they wait much longer, they won’t be able to catch any of them before they jump.”
Kathryn sensed faint disappointment from him; well-hidden, probably subconscious, but there nonetheless. Well, she supposed she couldn’t blame him. She put her cheek against Jarrikk’s furry chest again. You see? she said. We did it!
But Jarrikk stiffened. Wait! Wait, I sense—
Kathryn sensed it, too, with their jointly heightened empathy. Two S’sinn, moving toward them fast, purposefully, two S’sinn—
Wait, she knew that one, it was—
Jarrikk spun around. “Kitillikk!” he growled out loud, as the deposed Flight Leader burst through the door to the bridge and snapped her black wings wide, firelance aimed right at the two Translators.
Chapter 23
Kitillikk took in the bridge of the Unity with a single glance around, then focused on the two Translators and the captain. Behind her she heard Ukkarr, and knew he would make sure none of the other bridge crew did anything stupid. “I should kill you now, Jarrikk, and your human mate,” she snarled. “But I need both of you. I know you and your pet can Translate without all that rigmarole of the Guild. Do it. I have orders for the captain, and I refuse to speak your pidgin Guildtalk.”
“Kitillikk, this won’t accomplish anything,” Jarrikk said quietly. “Your scheme is over. You will never be Supreme Flight Leader. You will never lead the S’sinn Fleet in battle.”
“I didn’t come here to discuss my future. Translate!”
“I already am.”
“Good.” Kitillikk shifted her gaze to the human captain, who stood stiffly to one side of Jarrikk. “Cap tain, I have disabled the systems holding the Unity to my flagship.” Kathryn Bircher began speaking along with her. Just as she’d thought: the two could provide Full Translation without the Guild’s symbiotes. “You will initiate a full-power boost at a right angle to the long axis of the Bloodfeud, and continue this full-power boost until you are out of range of the flagship’s weapons, though I do not believe she will fire on you—Captain Tikkivv is, by this time, fully aware of my presence on this ship, and he is not like the rest of these milk-spewing younglings who call themselves Hunters, to be led by that hag of a High Priest. He will allow us to escape.”
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