Lacey, whose vessel orbited, awaited the outcome of a rather heated discussion between Marcel and Lindsay, Captain of the cargo ship moored overhead, regarding Marcel's demand that Lindsay not lift before completing certain burdensome new administrative forms--a duty required of captains docking on the Ice World ever since the creation of the Special Force. Six of Lindsay's crewmen stood in a tight grouping nearby, listening as their captain scathingly declared that he could as easily transmit the blasted busywork from his board after he commenced free flight, as to waste an hour needlessly.
Charged with the duty of guarding the precious shipment of ice during the transit to Columbia, Lacey glanced impatiently at his watch, knowing that it would take him twenty minutes to rendezvous with his orbiting vessel by lifeboat. When Marcel held the irate Fifth Corps Cargo Captain to the letter of the new administrative directives, Lacey's slash of a mouth tightened. Dourly, he weighed whether or not to go aboard now, thereby shaving the edge of non-compliance with his own orders.
The corridors joining the three locks formed an equilateral triangle. That unusual layout permitted Signe's swift, silent, lethal attack on the four spacers guarding the outer lock below Marcel's vessel to go unnoticed. Having possessed herself of Marcel's ship without triggering any alarm, the Gaean Commander left four raiders to man the prize. Geared for action, she raced at the head of her sixteen-member assault force, bent on attacking the men at the cargo vessel.
Lacey determined on taking his leave. Purposefully, he strode across the outer lock towards the door leading to the corridor, to behold his world's archfoe--supposedly in transit back to Gaea--charge through the entry at the head of a force fully as large as his. Drawing his sword with lightflash speed, Arlen's trusted veteran met the rush of the ruddy-haired raider singling him out for attack, even as Signe engaged Marcel, and Conor crossed swords with Lindsay, a tall, spare man who swiftly proved himself no middling swordsman.
As raiders engaged all of the foes within the huge circular enclosure, five other Gaeans forged straight through to enter the inner lock, and mount the ladder. The Columbians fighting in the open space of the outer lock, taken by surprise, but outraged by the news of Signe's earlier attack, fought with savage fury.
Wasting no energy on speech, Lacey fenced with all his superb force, seeking an opening. He heard Marcel shriek, and drop to sprawl on the deck now slippery with blood, but nowise let the implication distract him. Focused on his opponent, the Columbian Captain fought with his usual cool nerve.
Morgan swiftly discovered that he engaged an opponent whose skill all but equaled his own. Taller than this coppery-skinned antagonist, boasting a longer reach, the redhead fenced with deadly effect. "That'll do for you," the veteran of countless battles waged through corridors and locks rasped in an undertone as he drove his blade slantwise between two of Lacey's ribs.
To the Gaean champion's astonishment, his adversary failed to go down. His side soaked in blood, the enemy Captain stayed on his feet, and fought on with fanatical determination.
Signe swiftly transfixed the opponent who appeared in Marcel's place. Pivoting, she saw Madelyn fall, run through by a burly lieutenant. Suppressing all emotion but icily controlled, feral rage, the Commander engaged the blade of the girl's assailant. Fighting with savage ferocity, she made short work of him.
Having swiftly sheathed her crimson sword, Signe's chief medical technician lifted the inert, blood-soaked casualty in strong arms. Bearing her dying comrade, Rhea vanished through the door to the inner lock.
Backing to act as rear guards, Signe, Conor and Morgan filled the steadily lessening space of the closing door at the entry to the inner lock. Exhibiting grim purposefulness, the three premier swordsmen battled the few surviving Columbians hampered by the need to maneuver above the bodies of their own dead.
Anguished by the sight of his cousin's taking what he unerringly judged to be a fatal thrust, Morgan yet found himself forced to admire the tenacious opponent still on his feet, still fighting, after sustaining a wound the Gaean knew beyond doubt should have dropped the man. As the aperture inexorably narrowed, Signe imperiously waved back the two swordsmen flanking her. A few seconds after taking the blood-drenched Columbian's last slashing cut on the forte of her blade, the silver-haired warrior whirled, raced through the door ominously close to shutting, and hurled herself at the ladder.
In the outer lock, the last man standing glared through dimming eyes at the door that now sealed off the inner lock. Lacey's knees buckled. His sword slipped from his nerveless hand to clang on the deck as he collapsed on the pile of Columbian dead.
Safe aboard, Signe activated the transceiver. In a tone breathing menace, she addressed those manning the orbiting vessel and that on the lock on the far side of the planetoid, via the military channel.
"Signe here, gentlemen. As you realize by now, I command two ships invisible to you. One tails the vessel now in orbit, its weaponry manually aimed. The other stands ready to blast the ship docked on the far lock, if you attempt to lift. We'll serve both of you as we did the vessel we annihilated earlier, if either captain proves so foolish as to try to prevent our departing with the two ships you can detect."
Shock reverberated through the mind of Lacey's lieutenant. Staring in disbelief at his screens, Rafael saw absolutely nothing. Fear for the Captain he held in high esteem contended with black anger. "Danner!" he snarled. "Signe hasn't got two ships!"
Arlen's voice intervened. "Assume that she does, Rafael, Danner," he commanded in a tone cold as frozen methane. "Let her prizes go."
"I commend your concern for your men, Arlen," Signe declared evenly. "As I leave, I'll refrain from blowing both vessels we've got targeted, if the one stays docked, and I hear you issue the Captain of the other an order forbidding him to launch a pulse at my prizes."
"Rafael, hold your fire. Danner, stay put. My compliments on a daring double strike, Signe. You may find that you've initiated a war that costs you all you've gained."
"If you contemplate an assault on Gaea, Arlen, take warning. Escalate this conflict by annihilating Gaean municipal units with Earth-built weaponry, and we'll retaliate in kind. I could have reduced your capital to slag, today, and escaped unscathed. I still could! Better think well before you decide on committing mass murder of civilians."
"As had you!"
Signe smiled contemptuously, but made no reply. Her captured vessels lifted. Escorted by a ghostly guardian, each flew a trajectory back to Gaea.
Rising from the board, the Commander stalked into the cabin where Rhea, the blonde medical technician who had carried the dying girl aboard, stood sadly regarding the corpse of her comrade.
Still holding his cousin's hand, Morgan knelt, his face a mask of bitter grief. Looking up, he rasped hoarsely, "Madelyn never regained consciousness, Signe. I didn't even get to say good-bye. Nor did Sean."
"Nor did I, Morgan. Heavy price we paid, today. We lost three others: Byng, Kunio, and Janella. I share your sorrow…and Sean's." And Sean's parents' desolation, she railed inwardly. What agonies of worry they've endured! And now this. Bad enough, but our four-fold loss today represents only the beginning.
Kneeling beside her bereaved comrade, Rhea thrust an arm in comradely sympathy around the man still holding Madelyn's cold hand. Dry-eyed, Morgan suffered silently, inwardly, consumed with his own sorrow, and with pity for the surviving brother and parents of the vivacious girl so easy to love. After resting a hand for a few seconds on the grieving warrior's shoulder, Signe silently withdrew. What can I say? she agonized. What comfort can I offer?
Having redistributed her spacer-fighters by lifeboat transfers so as to relieve the dire overloading of the captured cargo vessel, Signe, once again aboard a black ship, glanced through narrowed eyes at Theo's white face and taut body. Noting that the historian stared unseeing at the screens, his gray eyes remote, the Commander laid a hand on his. "They would have blasted us, Theo," she reminded him gently. "You heard their captain give the or
der."
"I know that. I had no choice but to fire, and I've killed far more than twelve men over the past ten Earthyears. But still--twelve at once--a priceless ship destroyed…" The Captain's voice trailed off. The concerned witness to his pain saw that his eyes still focused far out into the void.
"I know how you feel." Signe's hand squeezed his. "Truly, Theo, I do, and I admire your ability to fight out of conviction, while hating the necessity. That captain--those twelve spacers--freely chose military careers. They were professional killers, who knew what they risked. Try to put the memory behind you."
"I'll put it where I've stored other memories, Signe--below the surface--but I can't seem ever to forget completely."
"Nor can I, Theo. Nor can I."
The bleakness in the warrior's voice, the depth of despondency in her eyes, startled the sensitive officer. Theo found himself squeezing her hand, offering comfort in his turn. No rejoicing, no exultant gloating over the spectacular success of the venture, animated the men and women mourning the loss of valued comrades while reflecting that they now faced even riskier ventures. Signe sat as if cast in bronze, brooding. Forcing her mind out of the past, she dwelt on new strategies, more strongly convinced than ever that her approach formed the only viable course either for herself, or for Gaea.
Chapter Six
Promptly at 0700 of the morning following the assault that renewed the conflict between Gaea and Columbia, a throng of Gaean spacers sorted themselves into the order prescribed by custom, in an antechamber fronting wide double doors. Walking with measured, stately tread, Signe and Sean each preceded a single line of people advancing down two side aisles of the severely unadorned hall used solely for memorial gatherings.
Smooth walls rose without seam to the apex of the dome. Woven deckcovering muted the sound of footfalls. Immovable benches, rising from the deck as if growing from the plates, epitomized austerity of design so as to distract no attention from thoughts focused on the intangible. Upon a matching, immovable low table rested four delicately wrought, gracefully shaped, but starkly undecorated urns crafted of a lustrous, silvery alloy.
Moving in unison, the two leaders--Commander and bereaved brother--heading the procession of participants in the ceremony, turned, and walked to the center of the first bench in the rectangular array. Having closed the distance separating them, they faced the ashes of the dead. When the seat filled to capacity, the entire row of people sat down, simultaneously with those occupying the benches behind them. Silence as deep as that enshrouding the crypt beneath the deck enveloped the chamber.
Upon a dais rising behind the table, a man of scholarly aspect faced the assemblage. An expressive, deeply lined countenance framed in silvery hair proclaimed the venerable figure a centenarian. Clad in a severely plain suit tailored from fabric of somber gray, he studied the faces of those come to pay homage to the first casualties of the war in space. Erect, solemn of mien, he yet projected warmth: reverence for the fallen, sympathy for those who mourned. Lively dark eyes scanned familiar faces, and rested on the youthful woman whose hair so uncannily matched the hue of his. Wordlessly, silently, he saluted her without moving a muscle. As if his mind touched hers directly, bypassing the usual route channeling input via the senses, he managed to convey pride, understanding, condolence. His glance shifted to Sean, sitting ramrod straight on the hard accommodation, his hazel eyes dry, his comely countenance set in lines of unalterable determination. Admiration blended with pity, as the man asked by the next of kin to take the role of Friend, and preside during the ceremony, beheld the youthful warrior's demeanor.
Aaron, you've seen so much of death, and yet your whole existence seems a celebration of life , Signe commended the aged gentleman, as sadness swirled through a mind racked with grief--for the bereft, as much as for the fallen. Intently, she listened as the ringing voice of the Friend carried vibrantly to the last row, and beyond.
"On this day we honor four Gaean patriots: Kunio, Byng, Madelyn, and Janella. These exemplary men and women laid down their lives in defense of ancient and hallowed principles. In so doing, they demonstrated their belief that worthy life, not life at any price, constitutes the greatest good. These dedicated spacer-fighters made the ultimate sacrifice for Gaeans upholding our traditions today, and for generations of Gaeans yet unborn. They died to assure the continuity of a strong, cohesive world-family. They live on in our memories: heroes and heroines forever inscribed on our roll of martyred dead.
"In the altered state in which our departed comrades now exist, they grow in understanding of the universe, as they grew while alive, in character: possession of the virtues so prized by a society that upholds, instills, and venerates virtue. They displayed wisdom: recognized their duty, and performed it valiantly. They practiced civic cooperativeness: placed the welfare of others above their own. They exhibited fortitude: pursued the right with high courage. They demonstrated self-control: governed even their primal desire to hang on to life at any cost.
"They abode in honor: excelled in personal integrity. They offered loyalty: rendered full allegiance to their family-heads, kinfolk, leaders, and comrades. They felt compassion: respect for humanity as a whole. In death, they affirm life. They fought for freedom against oppression by invaders contemptuous of our national dedication to peace, harmony, brotherhood, and sisterhood. They died to preserve and perpetuate their culture. Let us recall the details of their lives, and praise their admirable accomplishments."
From a trained memory, Aaron eulogized each of the fallen, without referring to any notes. His clear, cultured voice, speaking in Gaean-accented Earth-Standard, fell sonorously, comfortingly, on the ears of the listeners.
Well aware of the content of the tributes, Signe found her mind traveling dual tracks¾hearing the words of the Friend, even as related impressions flashed across a consciousness preoccupied with strategic problems dimly foreseen within a clouded future.
Morgan's brawny shoulder all but touched hers. Sorrow radiated from the man as it did from the youth on her right, but the face so like Sean's reflected equally unshakable commitment to the cause. On the screen of the Commander's interior awareness, well-known visages appeared: a father and mother unable to leave their distant rock to place the dust of their daughter in the tomb, and other members of a closely knit family--old and dear friends of hers--shattered by searing loss.
We're crippled, without our rock-hopper fleet! Signe railed bitterly. Our outlying stations remain almost as isolated as before. How Norman ever managed to make off with those twelve ships never designed for transits across so vast a distance, I can't imagine, but he did. They orbit Columbia, unused. Stored. He couldn't dock them there. No lock in Columbia fits them ¾ now, as ten Earthyears ago. Evidently Leon balked at further escalating the cost of a war far more draining on the national finances than he expected. So did Arlen. Bargaining chip, those vessels form. A nation's life-blood, held hostage to political expediency and greed. Damn the Columbians' crass souls to everlasting perdition! Damn their murderous militancy!
Banishing those images fleetingly entertained, suppressing virulent emotion unsuited to the occasion, Signe concentrated single-mindedly on the oration of the Friend.
Sean thought of his parents. My hands will place Madelyn's ashes in the tomb , he promised them. Don't let grief overwhelm you. Mother … I know. I know how you feel. I know.
Morgan mentally bid his cousin a final, gentle farewell.
Conor found this too-oft-repeated ritual blurring with visualizations fogging a psyche as scarred as his face. A ghostly company took form in his inner vision. Wraithlike figures marched in ranked order across a gray expanse of mist. One smiled, and seemed to beckon. While I live, so will Ione, Conor mused. But after?
Altered state. We can't know for certain. Disembodied spirit … one with the infinite? Growing in knowledge? Do I want to remember forever? Remember a laugh … the touch of a hand … the closeness of that hard, slim body against my own? Her mouth on mine? Damned
if I know. But if we could somehow exist as a team … united … together … forever wouldn't be long enough. Not nearly. Ione …
Across the void, Arlen sat at his desk as if carven of stone. Eyes remote, he mastered the sudden upsurge of fury generated as he allowed his mind to dwell on the consequences of Signe's raid. Three irreplaceable vessels gone--one annihilated with all hands! Five Earth-armed ships now at the command of that infernal woman. Two--undetectable! Incredible. I'd say impossible, but for the indisputable eyewitness accounts of highly trained observers like Brant. How in hell …!
Think, Arlen. What can you deduce? Easy to guess that Signe resurrected one of those vessels of Norman's that she sabotaged on the locks. But how … Never mind how. Accept the obvious fact: somehow she equipped her ships with a shielding that absorbs every wavelength of scanning radiation striking them.
Useless to rant that no such substance exists! Those thirty-nine inhabited planetoids differ markedly in composition from this one, and from the core of the Ice World. That latter core we know to be similar in mineral content to the rocky sphere of Columbia, and to the seven insignificant bodies clustered with Columbia and the Ice World about the L-5 libration point in Dyson's orbit. The Gaeans must mine some naturally occurring substance similar to pigments such as rhodopsin, or retinyl Schiff base salts--some mineral that absorbs electromagnetic radiation at the wavelengths normally used for scanning.
Wouldn't such a coating cause an untenable increase in the mass of the ship? Evidently not. Likely it's a microlayer only a few molecules thick. Whatever the shielding is, a shift through all wavelengths normally employed produced none at which her vessel could be detected. And to top off her exploit, she avoided running short of fuel! Surely she knew exactly how much she'd need for the transit back to Gaea, and for the descent. Impossible, her entire operation! Impossible--but she pulled it off! Damn her insufferable gall--her phenomenal ability! Damn her cool nerve!
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