Some Golden Harbor-ARC

by David Drake

  Adele Mundy too wanted to escape the present, though she'd chosen to leave through the display of her data unit. Elemere hadn't been responsible for creating the slaughterhouse, after all.

  "When are you going to let me loose?" Councilor Waddell said. He'd tried to make the words commanding, but there was a quaver in his voice.

  They glanced at him. They'd left the Councilor seated on the roof and tied to the hinge of the stairwell door.

  Tovera giggled. Though she'd slung a captured sub-machine gun, she was holding a carbine as she prowled about the roof looking for signs of trouble.

  There wasn't likely to be any, of course. The slaves might not've heard the shooting, since the small electromotive pistols which Tovera and Adele'd used didn't make much noise. Everyone for miles around must've noticed when multiple rockets blew down the gun towers and chunks of the nearby wall, but that wasn't the sort of thing that made sensible people want to come rushing closer in the night.

  "You promised you'd let me go!" Waddell said, his voice rising. "Does your honor mean nothing?"

  Elemere picked up the knife he'd dropped on the roof. He stepped toward Waddell. His face was stiff.

  "No!" Adele said.

  Elemere glanced over his shoulder at her; he didn't put the knife down. "No," Adele repeated, bringing the pistol out of her pocket. She had to jerk it free. The lining of her tunic was a synthetic of some sort; it'd melted to the barrel shroud.

  Elemere turned and walked toward the edge of the roof. He stood facing in the direction of Charlestown, though that may've been coincidence. He didn't speak.

  "Councilor," Adele said with the cold anger of a judge sentencing a particularly despicable criminal, "I told you that if you cooperated, we'd do you no further harm. If you misstate me again, I will consider you to have breached our agreement."

  "I'm sorry," Waddell said, licking his lips. "Look, I'm sorry. But you can untie me now. I'm no danger to you, I just want to move my arms and legs."

  Adele went back to her display. The commo module on the Rainha was Fleet standard. If the Duilio was using an identical model—and why shouldn't it be?—then if Adele gained access to the cruiser's systems she'd be able to read the scrambled operating data.

  "Please!" Waddell said.

  Adele looked at him again. Elemere turned to watch, though he remained silent.

  "Councilor," Adele said very distinctly, "be silent. I can't risk you communicating with anyone until we've left Bennaria. You'll remain where you are until someone arrives to release you, which I suspect won't be too long after daybreak."

  "If you leave me like this, they'll kill me!" Waddell said. His eyes were open but they'd gone blank. "You've killed all my guards. If the field hands find me like this they'll, they'll. . . . I don't know what they'll do! I have to get away from the house and hide!"

  "Would you prefer that I kill you instead?" Elemere said. "I'd like that, you know."

  "Mistress, there's a ship coming," Tovera said. "To the southeast, just above the horizon."

  Adele looked in the direction indicated. She saw a hint of plasma like a glowing horsetail cloud. The trembling of the thrusters could be felt through the building though not as yet heard.

  "Councilor," she said, rising carefully to her feet, "I'm not responsible for the way you've treated your slaves. I didn't have that in mind when I made my offer. But I won't pretend I'll regret it if your concerns prove well-founded."

  She slipped the data unit into its pocket. Waddell began by shouting abuse, but his voice quickly choked into a terrified stammer. The Princess Cecile, dropping even closer to the ground as it approached the mansion, drowned him out.

  "Victor One to Ship Six-three," Vesey called, giving Adele's formal call-sign. Daniel never used it, addressing Adele as "Signals" or "Officer Mundy" whenever he chose to be formal. "We'll land just outside the compound and I'll shut down the thrusters. I'd appreciate it if you boarded as soon as the ground has cooled enough for you to cross it, over."

  Adele noted approvingly that Vesey'd used the laser communicator instead of one of the radio options. At low altitude in an atmosphere, the thrusters' exhaust billowed around the antennas. When the ions snatched electrons to change state, they created deafening static across the whole RF spectrum.

  "Victor One, this is Signals," Adele said. "If you'll open the entry hatch as soon as it's convenient, we'll fly our aircar aboard immediately. Over."

  Krychek wouldn't be getting his aircar back; they'd have to pitch it off the ramp rather than block the Sissie's entry hold. That was the sort of waste one got used to in war. Adele had melted a hole in her tunic pocket, and a dozen of Councilor Waddell's guards were cooling to air temperature. . . .

  The corvette settled to the ground just outside the compound, spewing steam from the boggy soil and chunks of dirt baked to stone. Adele could see the Sissie's hull through the barred gate and the hole she'd blown in the masonry. A final bubble of plasma rose and dissipated into rainbow twinklings.

  "Wonderful!" Vesey said, startled out of her careful formality. "Six's already lifted for Dunbar's World, and I want to get to the rendezvous point ASAP. Though without missiles, I don't suppose there's much we can do to help him. Victor One out."

  I want to get there too, Lieutenant, Adele thought. Tovera was already at the controls of the aircar and Elemere was getting in. And I believe we just might be able to do more than you think.

  CHAPTER 26: En route to Dunbar's World

  Daniel cycled the four attack plans through his console, just letting them flash across his display in order to catch the sort of obvious error that sometimes escapes a person who's been poring over details. Nothing struck him, beyond the awareness that there were more variables in what he was attempting than there'd be in trying to handicap the Five Systems Unlimited.

  The Sibyl's Alliance electronics were at least as good as the Kostroman units aboard the Princess Cecile, but they weren't quite what Daniel had grown used to. Simply the fact that images formed from the edges in rather than the other way about caused him barely-perceptible discomfort every time the display changed.

  The destroyer trembled as she slipped from one universe to another, each shift increasing the rate at which she sped toward Dunbar's World. Daniel would've loved to be out on the hull, eyeing the flaring Matrix and directing the riggers with hand signals to get the absolutely best performance out of his new command. You could cut days off a long run—if you'd been trained by Stacey Bergen, the finest astrogator of his age, and if you shared the natural talent that made Uncle Stacey the subject of amazed stories wherever RCN officers gathered.

  Both those things were true of Daniel Leary, but he was on the bridge while Midshipman Blantyre was outside on the hull. It wasn't a long voyage: half an hour was the most the Gods in Assembly could've shaved from the time.

  There was nobody else aboard the destroyer whom Daniel would trust to set up a missile attack, and if there had been he'd have still believed in his heart of hearts that Commander Daniel Leary could have done it better. No few of the Alliance officers who'd been on the receiving end of his missiles would've agreed with that assessment.

  "Command, this is Six," Daniel said. "I'm going to run the plan of operation by you first. When we've got the bugs out, I'll explain to the whole company. Over."

  He'd always felt better about knowing what he was getting into. That was true even when he didn't feel good about it at all.

  Daniel expected a series of Rogers or whatever the Infantans used in its place. Instead he got from Cory, "Sir! Sir, wait, you're broadcasting to everybody! Give me a moment and I'll. . . ."

  Daniel was too startled to object. Which was the correct response, because he saw immediately that there wasn't anything to object to: Cory 'd violated protocol a trifle, but only in order to keep his commander from screwing up due to unfamiliarity with his new ship's commo system.

  Bloody hell! but he needed Adele. Midshipman Cory was taking up more of the sla
ck than anybody would've expected, though.

  "There you go, Channel Twelve, sir!" Cory said proudly. "Five-three out!"

  A series of miniature images at the top of Daniel's display indicated that he, Pasternak, Krychek, Victor—the Infantan navigator seated in the next console—and Cory were connected, and that Blantyre and Woetjans had access to the channel but were out of range. It'd taken all this to get to where they'd have been when Daniel spoke the word "Command" if they'd been aboard the Sissie. . . but the Sissie didn't have missiles.

  "Right," he said aloud. "We'll be reentering sidereal space five light minutes out from Dunbar's World, just a quick in-and-out. That'll give us a real-time, or anyway an almost real-time, location for the Duilio. We'll extract again at ten thousand miles from the cruiser, salvo missiles from all four tubes, and then slip back into the Matrix. Comments? Over."

  "Commander, this cannot be," Victor said heavily. His image scowled in what could as easily've been fury as consternation. "You talk of light minutes when we have not taken a star sight since we entered the Matrix off Bennaria. This is real war, not some test for an award! You cannot cut things so close."

  "Commander Leary doesn't need some pansy to teach him his—"

  "Mister Cory, shut up!" Daniel roared, knowing it was too late.

  "—business!" Cory said. Then he added, "Oh my God."

  "Mister Cory," Daniel said austerely, "pray replace Blantyre on the hull at once. Break. Officer Victor, you may take it as read that all members of the Princess Cecile's crew, myself included, know what war is. My plans have been made on the basis of what I believe we can accomplish in action, so please limit your corrections to matters of which I may not be cognizant, over."

  Listening to himself, Daniel began to grin through his pique. I'm just as angry as Cory was, and I've just been even more insulting than he was. . . though I used words which weren't in themselves impolite.

  Krychek bellowed with laughter, calming the situation as soon as Daniel was sure it really was laughter. "Vasiley, you shut up too. Leary is a nobleman, not some numbskull a peasant fathered on a nanny goat like you are."

  "Yes, Landholder," the navigator said with a degree of humility which surprised Daniel, albeit pleasantly. "My pardon, Lord Daniel."

  "Then I will ask you, Leary," Krychek said, carefully polite. "I do not know missiles, this is true, but I know plasma cannon very well. If we are so close to the cruiser when you launch your missiles, will she not be shooting at us with her guns? And these guns are 15-cm, so I recall."

  "They are indeed," Daniel agreed, "and we'll be coming in close enough to the muzzles to make them a real danger."

  He took a deep breath, nodding as he reviewed the situation before laying it out. This was a very acute question, as was to be expected given the number of years Krychek had survived as a pirate trader.

  "First," Daniel said, "I hope that the Duilio is keeping a bad lookout or at any rate is concentrating on the surface of the planet below. Second, if they do spot us extracting from the Matrix—"

  The process of returning from the Matrix into sidereal space took anything from thirty seconds to a minute. The process created distortions in the optical and RF spectra, though catching them at early stages required either sensitive equipment or a great deal of attention.

  "—I hope that they'll be too concerned with deflecting our missiles to waste bolts on us. I say 'hope', but if they don't make the missiles their priority, I would expect part of our salvo to get home."

  Krychek wouldn't take that as boasting the way an experienced missileer might. Daniel's statement implied that, launching within seconds of returning to sidereal space, he'd be able to target the Pellegrinian cruiser precisely. He did feel confident that one of his preset attack plans would be too accurate for the Duilio to safely ignore, but a missileer who didn't know Daniel well would question the assumption.

  "Finally," Daniel said, "we'll extract wearing a full suit of sails. I'll adjust our angle so that the Duilio has only fabric to shoot at. We may lose many of our sails and some of our spars, but at least for the first time we go in I don't believe the hull is at risk. Now—"

  He took another deep breath. He'd come the risk that they couldn't avoid if the Sibyl were to have a real chance of damaging the cruiser.

  "If the Duilio's crew is very alert, and if they launch at us while we're still in the process of extracting, we'll inevitably be destroyed. They won't have any idea who we are until we're fully in sidereal space—we could be a friendly vessel, even another Pellegrinian warship—but at the point we left the system previously, Captain ap Glynn was already skirting the edges of what I consider rational behavior."

  Daniel grinned brightly. "I offer you this comfort," he said. "We literally won't know what hit us. Are there any questions or suggestions, over?"

  "If the sails are spread, then they will block my guns too, will they not?" Krychek asked.

  "Yes," said Daniel. "If we can shoot, the Pellegrinians can hit our hull. Their bolts are very much heavier than ours, besides their plating being thicker. Over."

  The Landholder's tiny image shrugged. "Another time, perhaps," he said. "Or perhaps as you say, Leary—we won't know what hit us."

  "More questions?" Daniel said. "We'll be extracting very shortly. Over."

  No one spoke. He heard the light hammerblows of the outer airlock dogs disengaging: Woetjans was bringing her riggers inside. It was very close to time.

  "Ship, this is Six," Daniel continued, hoping that the verbal "Ship" did what he meant it to even if "Command" did not. "We're about to make a hit and run attack on a cruiser. We'll extract, launch, and reinsert into the Matrix again as quickly as we can. If we hit her on the first run, well and good."

  He paused, grinning. If Adele were handling commo, his face would've expanded to fill every display. He'd been spoiled during the past two years.

  "Chances are we won't end the business so easily, though," Daniel continued. "Those of you who've served with me before know what that means: we go in again, and we keep going in. We attack till they're either destroyed or they follow us into the Matrix. Either way, we'll have broken the blockade of Dunbar's World and achieved our objective."

  Krychek and his navigator had turned at their consoles to look at Daniel directly; he continued to watch them on his display. The Landholder was grinning.

  "Yesterday some of us were Sissies and others were Infantans," Daniel said, letting his voice rise. "Now we're all Sibyls, and we'll be Sibyls till we've chased these wogs back to Pellegrino. Or blown them to hell!"

  The inner airlock opened; Woetjans, unmistakable because of her height, led a party of hard-suited riggers back aboard. The destroyer had a second lock in the stern ventral position; a faint clanging and an icon on Daniel's display indicated that the rest of the outside crew was returning there. There was no advantage to leaving the riggers on the hull during this attack, and the risk was suicidal.

  "Are you with me, Sibyls?" Daniel said.

  "Urra!" Krychek shouted, grinning like a bearded fiend. "Urra!"

  Spacers, Sissies and Infantans both, cheered enthusiastically. Their voices rattled in the big hull. If Adele'd been aboard, she'd have cut the crew's voices into the PA system, but this was good enough.

  "Extracting into sidereal space in thirty, that is three-zero, seconds," Midshipman Blantyre announced from the Battle Direction Center.

  As the familiar queasy feeling came over Daniel, indicating the ship was about to shift out of the Matrix, Landholder Krychek said over a two-way link, "You are a crazy man, Leary. Almost as crazy as me, I think."

  His laughter boomed in Daniel's ears as the Sibyl dropped into normal space to fight a ship four times her size at knife range.

  * * *

  Above spread glowing beads and clouds of light so subtle that Adele always suspected that she was seeing colors that didn't exist in the sidereal universe. The Matrix touched her with stimuli which an irrational part of her mind in
sisted didn't come through her eyes.

  Adele had intended to use a simple air suit. The Infantan officer who acted as bosun of the Princess Cecile during Woetjans' absence had insisted with scatological determination that if Lady Mundy must go on the hull, she would wear a rigging suit. Tovera quietly explained that the Sissies who'd gone off aboard the destroyer had made it very clear to the Infantans that Adele Mundy was as valuable and delicate as a masterpiece in spun glass.

  Disgruntled but with no way to do anything about it—Tovera merely smiled at her mistress' protest—Adele had let crew members lock her into a hard suit. The limbs and panels were stiffened, and shields overlay the joints to prevent catastrophic decompression in case of a fall. Riggers got used to their suits, but a layman like Adele would be bruised and scraped on the suit's interior by the time she took it off.