Theo took this newest challenge one step at a time. Gifted with a logical, analytical faculty, the historian applied his talents to the task of mastering a new technique with single-minded effort, and improved steadily. Danger he regarded as an unavoidable side effect accompanying the acquisition of a profoundly necessary skill. Theo ignored the danger, as he had long ago trained himself to do. The warrior-by-necessity grew to be a capable operator.
In Sean, Signe found a kindred soul. From the first time the youthful swordsman handled the controls, he experienced a transcendent joy that matched hers. Handsome boyish face alight, he reveled in the explosive expansion of his brain and sensory system into a heady new plane of existence. Intuitively, Sean avoided the mistakes the others all made to one degree or another. He became an artist, an aficionado, a master. His mind and Signe's met on an ethereal high reach of unparalleled dual experience. She not so much taught him, as launched him through a drab barrier, freeing him to explore a new and dazzling realm. In his instructor's imagination, Sean seemed to spread wings for which he only now divined the purpose: to soar into the limitless splendor of the ether. Signe returned from those lessons rapt.
Jassy took an intense dislike to the machine. That reaction he overcame with stubborn, unfailing courage. He fought his way to mastery out of his certainty that acquiring this essential skill formed his only route to fighting the war to the finish. Even as Signe's admiration of a man whose talents she valued increased tenfold, she harbored a definite relief that she had not launched her career as a flight-instructor by taking Jassy on as her first pupil. I'd have begun and ended with him, vaporized against this rock, she decided, moved to wry amusement. He constituted the acid test of my evolving skill at turning middle-aged landsmen into spacers. No doubt about that!
Yuri, fast becoming indispensable to the Commander in his engineering capacity, she taught along with her captains. The scholarly youth's uncomplaining acceptance of whatever nasty breaks life dealt him, and his self-effacing shyness that so often resulted in his talents' being overshadowed by Morgan's dash or Conor's fearlessness, hid a wealth of courage. Absorbing instruction with the ease of one to whom study formed a way of life, Yuri skirted death with calm detachment, flashing his mentor a self-deprecating smile of apology each time. Signe's regard for her engineer increased immeasurably.
Wong displayed the same cool nerve in this endeavor as he had facing his commander across foils. His experience of flying the ship he had helped to build served him well, and his wiry, slight body seemed unaffected by motion sickness. Signe found the task of teaching him a pleasure. When he embarked on his first solo flight, she acknowledged that her respect for his ability just took a quantum leap.
Wondering vaguely why she had instinctively left the business of instructing the Senior Captain until last, the Commander prepared to offer Eric the introductory lesson. Having harnessed herself into her couch, she glanced at her companion, and perceived that he had made no move to fasten his. Studying the bleak face he turned to her, she noted the tautness in the muscles of his jaw, observed the lines angling from the corners of his eyes, and beheld the look in those eyes.
"Signe," Eric rasped, "has the thought occurred to you that I may be too old to take on this chore?"
The warrior-woman's gut constricted as she grasped the magnitude of the veteran warrior's fear. In a flash of insight, she realized that Eric dreaded not death, but the act of venturing into an alien element--of leaving behind all that he had fought to preserve, and starting over at sixty-six as a pioneer in a vast, harsh, wholly forbidding realm.
Throwing off her harness, Signe slipped to her knees next to her companion's couch. Laying a hand on his arm, she spoke, her voice thrilling with passion. "Eric…old comrade…for most of my life, you've been teacher…mentor…friend…a second father. I've unthinkingly taken you for granted--I see that now! Eric, listen to me. Don't be ashamed of feeling afraid. So was I. Never more so in the totality of my experience, than when I first soared into space in this lifeboat. I understand. I know !"
You don't know. You can't! I'm sixty-six, girl. My body's still supple, my reflexes swift, but I can't flog a mind programmed fifty Earthyears ago for teaching Earth-Standard grammar to children raised in an age that's ancient history, into mastering what you'll demand of that mind now. I can't. I'm too old mentally ! Fossilized … rigidified! Unable to cope with so radical a change--fighting with my brain instead of my body! I can't!
That cry from the heart resounding within Eric's stressed psyche found no utterance. Mutely, he stared into eyes that exhorted, pleaded, commanded--and silently shook his head.
Quivering with emotion, Signe confronted defeat. Stubbornly, she refused to accept it. Two faces again sprang into uncanny likeness: the younger faithfully reproducing the classic oval shape of the older, its perfect symmetry defined by a straight nose, arching brows, smooth planes of cheeks finely sculpted, and full, wide, delicately bowed lips, their corners upturned during repose. That latter attribute derived from the habitual projection of serene self-confidence on countenances handsome rather than beautiful. The older, overlain by a network of fine lines lightly penciled on rather than furrowed, presaged what age and experience held in store for the younger--the more readily, owing to that extraordinary juxtaposition of golden hair with silver.
Staring at the unwontedly agonized set of a familiar, well-loved face, Signe saw with chilling clarity that despair showed nakedly beneath the fear. Desperately, she ordered turbulent thoughts, and voiced an irresistible appeal. "Eric. Do you remember when your teaching first lifted me into achieving skill with the sword to equal yours? How we'd fight…how you taught me to stand outside myself, a spectator, watching my own technique? How we'd duel, neither able to touch the other, each knowing both performances to be flawless? You know that thrill?
"Eric…on that first flight, I expected to die. I knew what odds I bucked. But when I felt that vessel lift…and soar…saw the stars sweep across the screen…no other thrill I've ever known matched that one. Believe me! Eric. You've been my teacher for so long…let me be yours now. You don't want to stay behind, bound to the narrow world we've known, free though it finally is. Come with me. More than ever before…more than anyone else…I need you ."
Signe's voice vibrated with strong emotion as she confided, "Eric. Much as I honored my father…much as I learned from Sigurd, respected him, admired him…I never was able to feel for him the unreserved wealth of affection I found myself giving you. You've been my ideal, ever since you returned from Columbia a swordsman, when I was eight, and I discovered that I loved my uncle more deeply than I could my father. Eric, I'll carry you with me, when I leap off. I'll teach you , now. Hear? Trust me, Eric. Please, trust me!"
Pierced to the heart by that impassioned exhortation, stirred to the depths of his soul by Signe's final admission, Eric winced as agony mingled with fierce pride. Fleetingly, he allowed himself to dwell on the shameful truth he habitually scourged from his consciousness. I am your father! he cried in the depths of his pain-racked psyche. You're the product of my utterly dishonorable affair with my brother's wife! No one alive knows, but we're kindred souls, girl.
Searing guilt blended with ineffable love, as Eric realized with luminous clarity that neither death nor dread of the task at hand would ever generate the terror the thought of failing this woman at this moment of time produced. Broad shoulders straightened. Unshakable resolution flooded the mind suddenly grown surreally calm. "What can I say, Signe, except yes? I won't let you down--or myself," the Senior Captain declared forcefully. "Now, show me how to operate this damned outfit."
Signe caught her breath. A sound between a sob and a laugh escaped her, before her face broke into a glorious, transfiguring smile. "I surely will," she fervently assured him. "Spacer!"
Chapter Four
Awakened an hour before the time he normally arose by the raucous buzzer signaling a call on the video network, Dahl sprang instantly out of bed. Arlen'
s face appeared on the screen, in response to the fumbling, sleep-drugged movements of the nude spacer's fingers on the keyboard of his terminal.
Rearing abruptly to a sitting position in the next bunk, Dahl's cabinmate ripped out a lurid obscenity. On beholding who issued the summons that woke him, he subsided into silence, quailing inwardly.
"Dress, eat breakfast, and present yourself in my office as quickly as possible," Arlen commanded his bleary-eyed aide. "I need you."
"Yes, sir. I'll be there in ten minutes, sir." Now what in hell … He said he needs me … told me to eat, so he isn't about to light in the middle of me for something I did that pissed him off. But that look in his eyes tells me he's got it in for some poor bastard. I'll leave the bunk unmade--risk one of Fulke's officers' pulling an unscheduled inspection. Better hustle, spacer. Bitter pain boiled up to sear the aide's mind. Ex-spacer, Dahl. Skip breakfast.
Striding into the bathcabin, the officer now a member of the Corps personally commanded by the dictator washed with precipitate haste, combed short dark hair, relieved himself, and groped in the adjuster set into the wall, for the uniform left overnight to regain its ability to repel dirt and moisture. Hurriedly, he donned tunic and pants, and pulled on his boots. Thrusting his face into the contoured hollow of the shaving cabinet, he touched a switch. Stoically, he ignored the sharp sting generated as a shadow of beard burned away. Casting a fleeting glance in the mirror, he judged himself presentable. Get moving! he admonished his alter ego as he dashed out.
Having crossed the Rubicon, Arlen sat at his desk as if carven of stone. Musingly, he reviewed the merits, or lack thereof, of the captains he planned to employ in a bold bid to render his hold on power unassailable. You can count absolutely on Amin, Lacey, Danner, and Evan , he assured himself. Those four Fifth Corps veterans provide a host in themselves.
Dahl's wholly loyal, and desperate to prove his worth.
Ford's as superbly able as his peers, and possessed of the same cool daring, but should you meet with stiff opposition, he won't hesitate to shift sides in mid-struggle, if he suspects that you'll lose. Gordon might be tempted to throw in with one of your rivals, should any of them gain the upper hand during the crisis you're about to precipitate, but he lacks Ford's talent for conspiracy. He also lacks the resourcefulness in action displayed by the captains meriting your trust.
Carey possesses the least experience of the lot, but he'll stick by you stoutly.
Simon won't actively maneuver to emerge on the side of one of your enemies if the going gets rough, but he's capable of delaying crucial action until he feels certain that you'll come out on top. He has aged, lately--added an excess of caution to a lifelong unimaginativeness. Hard to fathom why your predecessor raised those latter four men to the rank of captain, but thus far, none of them has offered you solid grounds for demoting him. When you rose to the rank of Commander of Fifth Corps, you inherited some far more pressing problems in the line of personnel--such as those thrice-damned aides who spied for Galt. You've dealt with those bastards, but you could face a dangerous crisis shortly, if even one of your captains fails to follow your orders promptly and exactly. You need to play this hand with infinite care, Arlen.
Arriving a bit breathless from avoiding the slow-moving elevator in Ministry Main Habitat to take the stairs two at a time, Dahl awaited orders, certain that the Commander-in-Chief's expressionless face boded no good for some unfortunate offender.
Crisply, Arlen issued orders. "Two ships--second-class military--occupy Military Locks Sixteen and Nineteen. Raise Carey at Fifth Corps' Headquarters. Issue a command that he fuel both and ready them for flight, and then report to me here. When Amin and Danner call at 0600, direct them to report here immediately. Show them into the conference cabin, and instruct them to wait. Order Ford to turn the fueling installation over to the man Fulke will send, and proceed promptly to my office. Rouse Simon and Gordon, who're on sleep-shift, and tell both men to report here in an hour."
"Yes, sir." So Arlen's readying for some crucial ploy designed to shaft the Commanders maneuvering for a chance to overthrow him! Dahl surmised nervously as he placed a call to Carey. I hope to hell whatever plan he hatched last night succeeds. Thrusting black forebodings regarding both his own future and that of his world from his mind, the aide obeyed the orders issued him.
From his office, the Commander-in-Chief raised Evan on the Ice World. When the rugged face of a subordinate he trusted to the hilt appeared on his screen, Arlen announced, "I'm summoning you and Lacey back here to the capital. You'll leave as soon as Simon and Gordon, who'll arrive in second-class military ships, relieve you. Tell no one I sent for you. Come in person to my office as soon as you're back."
Evincing no surprise, Evan automatically responded, "Yes, sir," and kept his emotion off his face. The world leader staring into the image on his screen nonetheless divined the depth of the delight occasioned by the imminence of action, from subtle changes visible in guarded granite features.
Arlen next raised Lacey, and repeated his commands to the coppery-skinned, black-eyed, equally trustworthy officer who took no pains to conceal his satisfaction at hearing the summons.
Rising from his terminal, the inveterate observer of nonverbal evidence placed himself in a position from which he could study the slim man of medium height whom Dahl announced. "Ah, Ford. Sit down."
Ford evaluated the import of Arlen's total lack of expression more accurately than did the aide who admitted him. Light brown hair framed a keen face dominated by tawny eyes that betrayed no hint of their owner's thoughts. Seating himself with his back held ramrod straight, upon the edge of the chair facing the military dictator, the Captain listened.
"For reasons that do not concern you, I'm relieving Demetrius of his ship, without Dexter's knowledge. Avoid undue harshness when you inform Demetrius that you'll employ force to carry out my orders, if his response compels you to go to that extreme, but don't hesitate to use force. You'll dock on First Corps' Headquarters in Bessemer Municipal Unit at 1045 this morning, where Demetrius will have just descended. Dexter will be in space, accompanying Lambert back here to the capital. Make sure no hint of your intent slips out ahead of time, or you may find yourself in a wholly untenable position. Marcel's based in New London, but he could reach Bessemer in twenty minutes.
"Once you've seized the ship, you'll divide your crew in half, and order your lieutenant to dock your vessel on Ministry Lock Five. I'm issuing you a startup-code bypass. You'll convey Demetrius' ship, and himself, back to the capital. You'll dock on Ministry Lock Six, and personally escort your charges to Fifth Corps' Headquarters, where you'll detain Demetrius separately from his crewmen until I relieve you of the duty. I'll expect instant compliance with any additional orders I issue you today." The Commander-in-Chief's eyes, cold as the heart of a comet, bored into those of the self-serving officer who sought to conceal his shock even as his mind raced.
Arlen's anticipating both Courtney's and Galt's moves. Will he win this round? If he doesn't … "Yes, sir. You can count on me, sir." Rising, Ford took his departure, subtle movements of his slim body--reactions occurring without conscious volition--having confirmed Arlen's estimate of the rush of speculative excitement engendered by his orders.
I can count on you just as long as you think your interests and mine coincide , the Commander-in-Chief silently, disdainfully, castigated his subordinate. Ford now knows that I'm moving against Dexter, but he realizes that I control six Earth-armed ships close at hand, and two others an hour away, to Dexter's three, Courtney's three, Norman's one, and the two of Galt's not currently on duty in the O'Neill Group. So my conniving captain won't be likely to risk throwing his support to one of my rivals, when the odds rest in my favor. No, he'll make the snatch smoothly and successfully.
The sound of the door sliding aside prompted a galvanic change from pensiveness to action-readiness: a reaction that registered on Dahl's senses, sparking a corresponding tautness in the man informing his superior
that Amin and Danner awaited him in the conference cabin, having arrived together at 0555.
Striding down the corridor to meet with two spacer-captains whom he unreservedly trusted, Arlen reflected that Amin must shrewdly have guessed on the prior evening that action would follow directly upon information. "My thanks for your coming in person, gentlemen, and early to boot," he greeted them.
Eager expectancy radiated from Danner's handsome face. About time! the bluff man of action chortled inwardly. A chance to distinguish myself--to kick my stalled career back into gear. I figured the chief meditated a preemptive strike. No way will Arlen tolerate a rival's shafting his grasp on power. Right on, Commander!
Chafing at the proverbial bit, this inveterate careerist, for all that he behaves with admirable cool-headedness in a crisis, Arlen reflected, amused rather than worried by the man's transparency. "Action at last, you're thinking, eh, Danner? Quite so. Well, gentlemen. I'm depriving my colleagues of all but two of their Earth-armed military ships--today, without delay. At 1120, Amin, Dexter will dock on one of three military locks reserved for First Corps here in the capital--aboard Lambert's ship. You'll relieve the pair of the vessel. You and your crewmen will then escort Dexter and Lambert to Fifth Corps' Headquarters. Detain them separately from each other and from the crew, until I arrive. Treat them with the utmost politeness, but emphasize that you'll employ force, if necessary, to carry out your orders."
His hawk-profiled face projecting serene self-confidence, Amin nodded. "Rest assured that I'll handle them both with glass-silk gloves, sir." No qualms arising from his cognizance of Dexter's superb talent for infighting--skill that characterized both his swordplay and his political machinations--attended the Captain's acceptance of what he knew to be a challenging order.
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