Warrior-Woman

by Mary Ann Steele

  "They'd have married, in another few fourweeks." Pain showed nakedly in the eyes unflinchingly viewing the results of the raid. "We lost seventeen men and women of our specially trained assault force. Over a quarter, Eric."

  "But no captains. No irreplaceable leaders."

  "No. Sean's unhurt¾as is Wong. Conor's not badly damaged, but Morgan's out of action for now. You and I came off better."

  "We'd have lost Teeny, if it weren't for Talley, Conor said."

  "Talley will be a while recovering, I'd guess. As will Inigo. Cool head on that cousin of Wong's."

  "Damned right!"

  "We need to strike again, Eric, and soon. Time's running out. That officer in charge of the base betrayed dire fear of our blasting that facility."

  "We'd have slaughtered two or three hundred of his men."

  "True, but that's their shipworks. Not a single partially completed vessel lay moored on those construction locks. They've lost enough ships that you'd expect they'd be turning out replacements, but they're not. Besides, they had all three of the passenger vessels docked nearby."

  "At a distance, on locks not part of the base."

  "That's so…but Arlen's preparing some sort of countermove. The longer we wait to strike again, the more likely it'll be that we'll meet with disaster. That cargo vessel we remodeled into a fuel ship contains a full load of water. One more stolen prize wrested from them, and we'll have our own back: the eight original ships that rode from Earth on the Gaea . Far better odds, eight to twelve, than none to twenty."

  "We could have lowered the odds, if we'd blown those four vessels that converged. Our chivalrous restraint will cost us lives, in the end." Sorrow rather than anger freighted that observation.

  "Arlen could have hurled his whole force at us in the beginning, and invaded a world still reeling from ten Earthyears of losses, and precipitated a bloodbath," Signe reminded him. "He refrained from taking that course. If he's developing a countermeasure, it'll most likely be a defensive one, but if we blew those four ships public outrage would force him to launch an all-out offensive, if he even stayed in power. No, Eric, I won't risk initiating a war neither side will win. One more strike, and then we'll reassess where we stand. I'm going to interrogate under truth compeller that captain we captured."

  "Not a bad idea."

  Strapped into a chair in Signe's office, Simon glared at the woman impaling him with icy eyes, as a slim, dark-eyed physician injected the high-ranking prisoner with the drug. Well aware that what she would learn would depend solely on her skill at asking the right questions, Signe reviewed what her eavesdropping sessions over Columbia had revealed. Relieved to see the telltale flush and the perspiration denoting that the captive was not dosed with the antidote, she glanced at the physician, who nodded. Eric, standing beside her, listened intently.

  "Who commanded the base at Dunn?"

  "Amin."

  "One of Arlen's captains?"

  "Yes."

  "What other captains are stationed there?"

  "Ford. And…I was."

  "Is the shipworks now rushing to build new second-class military ships?"

  "No. Not…now." Nausea threatened to overcome the captive fighting daunting giddiness. Determined to preserve what dignity he could, Simon fought the urge to vomit.

  "When did that effort cease?"

  "The last ship…came off…right after your first raid. When you killed Gelett, Lambert, and Marcel…blew Carey's ship. That last new second-class ship went to Second Corps. No more have been started…let alone finished."

  "Why the order to cease producing replacements?"

  "I…don't know. Something's in the works…not ships."

  "Arlen doesn't confide his plans to his captains?"

  Bitterness infused the halting voice of the man retching with disconcerting frequency. In the grip of the irresistible compulsion produced by the potent drug, Simon could do no other than to reply with perfect honesty. "Not…to Ford…or me."

  "Why not?"

  "Arlen doesn't…trust Ford. Or even…me."

  "Has he valid reasons for not trusting either of you?"

  "Not…for not trusting…me. I've served him as best I know how…though he passed me over for promotion, as well as Ford. I never…let Ford…sway me. Ford…would sell Arlen out…if he saw a chance to profit by it. He's…jealous of men like Amin…men the Commander-in-Chief trusts to the hilt."

  "What use does Arlen intend for the three passenger vessels?"

  Surprise showed plainly in the eyes meeting squarely those of the interrogator. "None…that I know of. Those three ships have been mounted with crude beam weaponry…but I figured…for defense. They'd not stand a chance against an Earth-armed vessel, even now…"

  Signe and Eric exchanged frowning glances. "Chemen serves as Arlen's headquarters?"

  "Yes."

  "He operates out of there, himself?"

  "Yes."

  "Which captain hauls Arlen, when he travels?"

  "None. He operates his personal first-class vessel himself."

  Raising a sardonic eyebrow in response to information that struck both Gaeans as proof that the Columbian autocrat high-handedly disregarded the best interests of his world in order to insure his own immunity from a military coup similar to that which he himself staged so as to seize absolute power, Signe unconsciously let her lip curl. "Which captains are stationed at Chemen?" she demanded of the captive a shade puzzled on beholding evidence that she regarded her archfoe with contempt.

  "Lacey. And Dahl."

  "Dahl!" To Simon's astonishment, his captor's face broke into a wide, if grim, smile. "Indeed. Arlen values cool daring, I see. Do you know of any plan to nullify the advantage my black ships confer on us?"

  "No."

  "Does Arlen have such a plan?"

  "I don't know."

  Shrugging, Signe impaled her captive with agate eyes. "Well, Simon, I'll be detaining you and Cantrell for the duration of the hostilities, unless some unforeseen chance permits an exchange. Right now, Arlen holds none of my people. That could change. You'll be treated considerately. You needn't fear suffering any abuse. You'll be allowed to bear each other company on a daily basis."

  Relief mingled with chagrin in the mind of the prisoner of war now afflicted by debilitating weakness as well as nausea and lightheadedness. Having unstrapped him, Eric assisted him to gain his feet, and exerted a steadying hold. "Give me your word that you won't do anything silly--like offering useless resistance--and I won't use restraints."

  "You have it."

  Upon returning from seeing to the prisoners, Eric complained disgustedly to the woman pondering her options, "We nabbed the wrong captain. Arlen won't give a damn whether or not he gets Simon back."

  "Oh, yes, he will. If he allowed a man to whom he refrains from confiding his plans to captain an Earth-armed ship, he must value his both his ability and his experience. Arlen's likely highly secretive. He probably plays his hand close to his chest, while trusting very few of his followers. For the sake of his men's morale, if for no other reason, he'll strive to get Simon exchanged. We're holding a valuable bargaining chip we might need badly at some point."

  "He must be hard up for captains, to employ one actively fomenting dissent."

  "We've taken out five, and captured one. Heavy toll."

  "If he's using the shipworks to produce his countermeasure, why in hell would he station two captains he doesn't trust at the most crucial location?"

  "Good question, that. I'll wager that he spread his preparations over all of his bases, though--decentralized, as we've done. He himself operates out of Chemen. I wonder just how much of the work of building whatever's--in the works, as Simon said--he'll do there."

  "Hard to say, but he stationed fewer ships at Chemen than at either Rochester or the Ice World."

  "We drew a blank with Simon, I'll admit. Well…we'll give our spacers a break for a day or two. I need to plan."

  "You need to lie abed,
for a day! Rest up!"

  Signe clapped the Senior Captain on the shoulder. "Will you take your own advice, spacer-captain?"

  "I'm not hurt as badly!"

  The smile the Commander flashed the man hurling that retort uncannily reminded him of a far younger Signe. "Hard-headedness ran in the family, Uncle Eric. We inherited most of it, between us. If any new notions strike you, let me know."

  Even as he emitted a short, sharp, monosyllabic grunt, Eric conceded defeat.

  Seated next to Levi at a table in his office, Arlen strove to absorb the esoteric explanation of the breakthrough the mathematician came to report. "I think I grasp what this will allow…through a glass, darkly," the erudite aristocrat muttered, falling into Amin's habit of passing an obscure allusion gleaned from wide and voracious reading of ancient works. "I don't need fully to understand your proof…only your astounding result."

  "You see how we can detect the undetectable? By what isn't there ?"

  "That I do see, Levi--a way to reduce this superb but abstruse theoretical breakthrough into a practical application. Relatively simple, the device itself will be--as is that austerely elegant, symbolic expression of a profound insight into the immutable laws governing the universe!" A long forefinger pointed to an equation on the datapad resting before the Commander-in-Chief.

  "Euclid wasn't the only man to look on beauty bare," the mathematician responded softly, his eyes dancing.

  "Touché! Well, Levi, I've gone as far as…" A brisk knock on the door startled both men. Frowning, Arlen called, "Come in!"

  Dahl's apologetic face appeared in the doorway. "I realize you didn't wish to be disturbed, sir, but your wife's on the vid. She seemed unwilling to sign off without speaking to you. She said it's 2230 at night, sir. Long past the hour when you should be engaged in work. I felt I should tell you."

  Rising from his chair, Arlen nodded wearily. "Thank you, Dahl. I'll take the call in here."

  Tactfully, the mathematician strode out in the wake of his fellow captain. After transferring the call, Dahl bestowed a warm if wry smile on his cabinmate. "I'm sure as hell glad that you take the time to raise your wife once a day, Levi."

  "I bounce my ideas off Rachel. Sounding board, she is. I miss her dreadfully. It isn't hard to remember to call one's alter self."

  Shock reverberated through the unmarried spacer-captain's consciousness. He said that in the same tone one would use in mentioning calling one's tailor! Can a woman really mean to a man what this genius says Rachel means to him? I can't imagine … "I'd surely like to meet your wife."

  "Once Arlen's defense is complete, we'll invite you for dinner, Dahl. Steaks¾spiced with conversation."

  "I'll look forward to that!"

  Arlen emerged from his office ten minutes later, pain shadowing a face lined with fatigue. "I've been reminded of the lateness of the hour, gentlemen. Let's call it a day. Dahl, I'll be working aboard my ship, tomorrow, and for most of my waking hours, for a while. You'll be in space, as will Rafael. I want the guard doubled in the corridors before the locks, and a pair of trustworthy men on my bridge. Two of your crewmen."

  "Yes, sir." A pause ensued. Dahl added worriedly, "Your lone vessel will form a prime target for a raid, sir. Perhaps we should arrange to have three second-class ships dock, so as to keep all the locks occupied."

  "That would cause you and Rafael a major headache, in addition to those afflicting you now. No--that infernal woman isn't invulnerable, Dahl! Ninety-six men patrolling the corridor surely ought to be guard enough. Four ships side by side might just tempt Signe to destroy the base--or at least, to blow all four vessels--if we thwart any attempt on her part to dock. Her luck can't hold forever. She'll fall, in one of her raids. The odds against her surviving grow longer with every coup she manages."

  "She spent ten Earthyears fighting hand-to-hand during the surface war, sir, and prevailed," Dahl reminded his superior, unable to quell his urge to point out that truth.

  "Against an invader. Here, the psychological advantage belongs to us. She's now the invader."

  "Yes, sir." A vivid vision of a tall martial figure smiling down at her pinioned captive while wishing him luck with his countrymen rose on the screen of Dahl's mind. His gut clenched as his imagination painted a lurid picture of that same decidedly feminine body lying broken, still, amid the corpses of those the dying warrior took into eternity with her at the end. Fragments of the legend as related by Norman's spacers surfaced with chilling clarity. No man ever wounded Signe, and lived, Dahl reminded himself . A wound turns her savage … lethal. She'd never surrender. Never! Damn …

  A fraction of Dahl's being doesn't want to see Signe fall , Arlen conceded a shade enviously, raking his subordinate with eyes that…unerringly read the man's body language. Incredible, the impact she makes on the men she encounters! On Danner, who can't forget the way she smiled as the door shut in his face. On Lacey, whose admiration grows steadily less grudging as his wound heals.

  Standing by the hard metal bunk identical to those of his subordinates, in quarters as severely utilitarian as theirs, Arlen stripped off his elegantly tailored uniform, grateful on some subconscious level for the sole privilege he assumed due to his rank: that of privacy. Bleakly, he addressed his alter ego. Go to bed, you strung-out excuse for an inventor. Rest. Karyn's lonelier than you. Almost … accusatory, she seemed, tonight. Unlike herself. You've got to call her oftener. Got to …

  From somewhere deep inside, an overwhelming wave of discouragement surged up, constricting Arlen's breathing, and causing his throat to burn. Galt's making headway with the militant among our civilian officials! he railed inwardly. He's keeping Roylott under his thumb--insinuating himself into the operations plainly the province of the Ministry of Internal Security--widening his sphere of influence. Second Corps hasn't put that archrenegade Chapell out of business, or even Kent, who just got clean away with a cargo of medical supplies priceless to outlaws. Galt needs to tend to his proper business!

  He's charging that he's understaffed. Well, he is, but damn it, so am I. And so is Dexter, who's guarding our facilities for the manufacture of electronic weapons and parts for ships. A strike on the plants operated by the Ministry of Public Manufacturing at New London and Bessemer would be catastrophic! Perhaps Signe hasn't tumbled to the strategic importance of those manufacturing sites yet. I fervently hope not!

  Well … she'll know I'm based here. Thank the Powers Simon's the man she holds, and not Amin. Poor bastard. Amin emphasized that Simon seemed proof against Ford's subtle feelers. I'll have to try to arrange an exchange. Too bad it wasn't Ford she captured. She'd get a poor impression, though, interrogating Ford, rot me if she wouldn't. She won't learn much from Simon, except that I'm forced to employ men I don't trust. Dust of my ancestors! Signe generates fanatical devotion. Damned if I don't envy her that charismatic appeal. Go to sleep, Arlen. You've a daunting chore facing you.

  Three days of intense concentration followed: twenty-hour spans, at the end of which Arlen achieved a breakthrough. That night, he skipped sleep entirely, his mind at an incandescent peak of concentration, his body running on a formidable adrenaline high. On the fourth day, he came down from the heights. Savoring intense satisfaction, he grabbed five hours of sleep, and attacked the work engrossing him, anew.

  Late in the afternoon of the fifth day, the Commander-in-Chief left the command center of the base, and mounted the stairs leading to the cavernous corridor stretching the long distance spanned by the locks. Dahl, returning from his ship docked on Lock Two, snapped a salute to the superior he spied emerging from the stairwell.

  Arlen habitually disdains to use an elevator , the shrewd analyst reminded himself, intrigued by that observation. Does that quirk represent impatience with the slowness? A touch of claustrophobia? Or merely an instinctive revolt against slothful ease … a preference for exerting an athletic body instead of passively riding a mechanical contrivance? He has neglected to exercise, lately. Perhaps he's compensating. I ca
n't imagine why. He looks exhausted.

  Halting in his tracks, the concerned observer watched the athletic figure proceed with long, swinging strides down the expanse swarming with guards. He's heading for his ship. He'll put in eight straight hours, now, at the least . Shaking his head, the chief coordinator of the defenses aloft stepped into the elevator, and returned to his post.

  An hour later, Dahl raised his lieutenant, whom he had lent to his superior, and ordered Miles to summon Arlen to the board. When the Commander-in-Chief appeared on his screen, the aide, quailing inwardly, managed to preserve both a phlegmatic tone of voice and an impassive face. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but Karyn and your son just docked in a lifeboat. Oliver flew them here. They're disembarking at Lifeboat Lock Two."

  Incredulity registered for the mere fraction of a second it took for the mobile features to become completely expressionless. "Thank you, Dahl. I'll meet her there." Karen! Here! Risking her neck, and Tiryll's! How dare she violate my express command! What in hell has come over the woman? Brazen, this defiance! I'll …

  Burgeoning wrath blended indescribably with longing, as Arlen crossed the corridor fronting Lock Six, and strode down the narrower passageway giving access to the lifeboat locks. Karyn. When did we last made love? Weeks ago … no, fourweeks. Damn, but I need … No! I can't allow … can't let my wife … Damn this inexplicable disregard for my orders … this crass gall!

  A most enticing recollection danced on the periphery of Arlen's awareness: a curvaceous nude body melting against his, as an elusive fragrance ensconced itself unforgettably in the most primordial archive of his memory. A piquant face radiated provocation. Wide-set, memorable eyes shot a sidelong glance from under lids heavily fringed with dark lashes. Soft, questing hands slid down the curve of his spine to offer an intimate, electrifying caress. That vision superimposed itself over the one consciously summoned and tenaciously entertained: of an autocrat imperiously issuing commands to the wife culturally programmed to defer to the wishes of any husband, but especially one who held absolute power over his world.