Warrior-Woman

by Mary Ann Steele

  So! A shrill cackle raised the hair on the back of Galt's neck. Eyes glittering with demented cunning stared piercingly into his. "Secret! You think I'd tell these damned jailers my business? Or blab to my conniving relations? I've buried all sorts of secrets, over the Earthyears. Mine…and yours. Yes. These fools don't believe me when I tell them the time of day. Say I'm…daft! Crazy! Oh, I know what they claim! That's their pitiful excuse for locking me up and plundering me in my own home! Bastards!

  "But you're no fool, Galt. You're as canny at protecting your back as I once knew how to be. But…I've slipped. Let these accursed nuisances invade… Grown old…feeble…" The harsh voice turned querulous, and softened to a whine.

  But not senile, my murderous pawn. "You're not too old to help me, Reinwald. Let me explain. I need a device built: a remote controlling device, capable of aiming and activating the Earth-built weaponry aboard a military ship, from without. A device I can install in a lock, program, and initiate from a distance of two hundred meters. The initiator would have to be small enough to fit into my pocket, and be capable of activating the main mechanism from a similar distance. Could you build me such?"

  The narrow, seamed face puckered into a grimace of frowning appraisal as Reinwald studied the man sitting relaxed, seemingly wholly at ease. "I could have, once. You know where I used to build such things…test them. I can't get in there now, and I couldn't test what you want. Earth-built weaponry. Challenge, that. No specs in the bank. I never have seen such a device…not that I'd need to, if I knew certain details. Do you know anything about electronics?"

  "I majored in ship-systems technology, and minored in electronics, Reinwald. Yes, I know a good bit. Not a patch on what you do, but enough to clear a few hurdles. As for your not being able to get into your old retreat…I could. From below--you know how. I could bring you what you need."

  "And you could lever Marlenn out of my life, if you chose." Indispensable, my talent. Worth a price--ehhhhh, you slippery conniver?

  Watch yourself, Galt . "So I could, if I supplant my rival, old friend. Not before, but I reward those who serve me, Reinwald--generously. On the day I take control of our world, I'll house you royally, and honor you publicly. You'll be free to live as you please. My word on it." Eyes glued to his prey, Galt smelled a musty odor. A surge of revulsion assaulted him when he realized that it issued from the rumpled, food-spotted suit, obviously out of adjustment, which hung loosely from the scrawny frame of his senescent host.

  Promises. Words. So much stale air, most men's bleating, but Galt dares to act, while other men spout drivel. This bastard doesn't scruple to kill … or to abet an avenger bent on exterminating an oppressor. Why not? What have I got to lose? My canny ally maneuvered me close in … Got me out unseen … Marlenn's next! "I'll do what you ask, Galt. Trust your word." Spittle dribbled from one side of the old man's mouth, as he flicked a wet tongue over a wizened upper lip.

  He's visualizing a death. I saw the same mad light in those eyes when he dropped Leon. My death? By all the … No. Marlenn's. Got to be. Chance it, Galt. "You'll find that trust repaid, never fear, Reinwald. But we'll have to out-plot your jailers. Outfox them. Let them think you're merely tinkering, and that I'm simply humoring you."

  A second cackle set Galt's teeth on edge. "I'm your man, old friend. I'll build what you need. Yes. Right under the damned noses of my jailers. Spin them a tale--tell them I'm building an oven-starter for your corps, ehhhhh, Commander?"

  "That would form a most plausible pretext, Reinwald, but time's short. I'll need the device finished within ten days." Don't croak before then, you moldering bag of bones!

  "Come back in three. I'll know what I need from below, then." For you--and for me!

  Rising with fluid grace, Galt extended a hand. "I owe you now, Reinwald, and I'll owe you far more, shortly. I won't forget my debt to a man whose genius few of his contemporaries appreciate."

  "No new thing historically, that. Well! Let's march out there and toss dust in the eyes of my enemies."

  Knowing better than to slip behind the madman, Galt strolled out ahead of him. Despite his relaxed attitude, he walked with every sense alert, every reflex battle-ready. The practiced conspirator knew better than any man alive just how murderous this lunatic could be. He also knew with exactness that Reinwald was never more dangerous than when seeming to employ valid if sinister logic.

  Jamison rose abruptly from a chair, relief written large on his face, when he saw Galt stride through the door. "Ah, there you are, sir. I was beginning to worry."

  "No need, Jamison. I told you, your charge and I are old friends. He's been complaining to me that you've curtailed his workspace--says he lacks components he needs. I promised I'd bring him a few items. After all, better a renowned inventor stays occupied, eh?" The high-ranking caller winked at the man whose eyes widened in surprise.

  "That's so, sir. Well. I'll see you out. Norris, start supper."

  The medical technician accompanied Galt to the exit. "He did remember you," he admitted in wonder, "although his memory's not badly affected. He tends to see enemies everywhere, though. Don't ever think that you're perfectly safe around him, sir. He's unpredictable. Some chance bland word could set him raving. Turn him against you."

  "I fully realize that. What a pity, this worsening of his condition. I'll drop in again, shortly. He's enthusiastically talking about building me a device similar to your oven-starter, but on a grander scale. I humored him. If the practical side of his mind stays occupied, perhaps the aberrant part might lie more quiescent. I expect you have your hands full with him, at times."

  "We do, sir--and so does Marlenn. I appreciate your kindness in visiting our patient."

  "Marlenn's a man I value, Jamison."

  Striding away to an autocab post, Galt smiled his wintry smile to himself. But Reinwald's a man I value equally , he ruminated. Stark, staring mad as he is. A most useful tool, Reinwald. Quite as useful as Marlenn. Oh, yes.

  Watching Sean and Yuri take leave of their crew and comrades, Signe battled an onslaught of nagging doubts. Sean seems so confident , she reflected bleakly. He trusts his former friend's assurance that Arlen hasn't closed his mind against the idea of negotiating a peace. Well … if there's a chance, I can scarcely turn my back on it, without so much as a try--but I wonder. Would a military dictator believe that peace would benefit him? Arlen still holds the edge in military might: twelve Earth-armed ships to our eight, and countless second-class vessels, plus an impregnable defense around his world, and limitless fuel. Damn! Would you negotiate, if you stood in his boots?

  Yes. I would--in order to redirect the incredible output of human energy and staggering wealth of resources being squandered in both worlds by this continuing, futile struggle. Perhaps Arlen deplores that waste, as well.

  Or would he? His captains are career-minded military men, as is he. Scientist, inventor, physician…why would a man of his brilliance take up a military career, if not because he craved unbridled dominance? Could he stay in power, if the war ended? Would those subordinates lusting after new conquest tamely accept peace, or would some new tyrant rise to depose or assassinate Arlen?

  Hard for me to judge. Well. We'll see.

  Morgan, Wong, and Jassy patrolled space, far out beyond the orbital forts, as the envoys stood poised to make the transit to their destination. Theo's vessel guarded the environs of Gaea. Wyatt, Eric's lieutenant, and Jess, commanding Conor's crew, did the same, in the two black ships. Conor stood by, prepared to transport Signe and Eric close in, to the perimeter of Columbia, to wait and listen while Sean and Yuri descended.

  Concealing her doubts, the Commander held out her hands to the two men approaching to bid her farewell. His handsome face wreathed in a smile, Sean eagerly gripped her hand. "Well, we're ready, Signe. We'll do our best. Both of us will study Arlen's reactions, although he's noted, evidently, for being able to hide what he thinks. We'll see if we can't at least arrange for the two of you to meet at some in
termediate safe place. You'd match his skill at diplomacy, I've no doubt whatsoever." Just as you've checkmated him in war, you peerless spacer-fighter!

  "That you would, Signe. Peace. After twelve Earthyears!" Yuri's voice breathed yearning.

  "I'd welcome the chance to try, at any rate. Sean, Yuri, take care. Keep your tempers firmly under control. Don't allow anyone to goad you into speaking impulsively. Don't act too eager, or give the impression that I want peace at any price."

  Sean met his superior's eyes squarely. "I'm not your oldest captain, Signe, nor your most experienced officer, but I know exactly how you think. I'll bear myself so as to reflect credit on you, and on Gaea--as will Yuri. We'll do all in our power to open the way to a lasting peace we can accept with honor."

  I believe you, Sean . Signe gripped the patriot's hand. Her vibrant face expressed fierce pride, as she simultaneously squeezed Yuri's. "Take care," she urged again.

  The youthful envoys lifted their ship, and set out on their quest.

  Twenty-one hours later, Signe sat the board between Conor and Eric, aboard Conor's vessel. Boldly, the premier fighter had flown farther in than had been the wont of the Gaeans patrolling. At a peremptory demand from the orbital fort that he approach no closer, he had acquiesced, after coldly informing the challenger that he intended only to observe the envoys' descent. Signe watched Conor maneuver so as be able to pick up the communications emissions from both Sean's ship and the board manned by the men controlling the traffic in the space above the capital of Columbia. Her body taut, she observed as the operator balanced the ship on its exhaust.

  "Sean here. Captain, Signe's Fleet. Come in, you men manning the orbital forts. I request permission to dock under a symbolic flag of truce. Your Commander-in-Chief expects us."

  "Amin here: Acting Commander of the Special Force. Permission granted. I'll transmit the data you'll need to program a descent sequence that will allow you to dock on a military lock of the capital. Stand by."

  Conor jotted the data as well.

  Sean replied, "I've got that. What arrangements have been made to receive us?"

  "Arlen here, gentlemen. You'll be docking on Lock Eight of those reserved for Fifth Corps. You'll be met by a guard of honor headed by the Commander of Third Corps: the body traditionally entrusted with insuring the safety of both civil and military officials on the surface of Columbia. While you may not regard Norman in the light of protector of the persons of those important to the welfare of our world, that duty now constitutes his chief responsibility. Since you come seeking a route to peace, I trust that you'll not find it difficult to look ahead, not back. Your escort will accompany you to Fifth Corps' Headquarters, where you'll be met by myself; Fulke, Acting Commander of Fifth Corps; Orloff, Commander of Fourth; Galt, Commander of Second; Paige, the intermediary who contacted me; and Hoffmann, my aide. I look forward to meeting with you, gentlemen."

  Shocked to her core, Signe expostulated, "Norman!"

  Conor hissed, "Butcher turned protector. Arlen's gall I find incredible!"

  Eric alone protested. "But he's right, Signe! Third Corps traditionally did provide guards of honor, and protect the persons of officials. If Norman still commands that corps, he'd be the officer in charge!"

  Sean's voice, level, unemotional, reached the listeners. "We'll accept the escort of whomever you charge with our safety, Arlen. I'm Sean. Yuri and I will step out of our ship unarmed, trusting to your word that you receive us under a symbolic flag of truce--that we'll be allowed to dock, meet with you, and leave again."

  "You have my word, Sean and Yuri. I look forward to meeting you both."

  "Signe…" Conor riveted eyes glinting with anger on his superior.

  "He passed his word, Conor."

  "He enjoys an unsullied reputation as a man of honor," Eric observed evenly.

  "He did before he assumed dictatorial power, four Earthyears ago! That might have changed!"

  "Gentlemen!" Signe's peremptory exclamation silenced both men. "Sean accepted the danger. So did Yuri. I don't like the arrangement, but I won't countermand the joint decision of two brave patriots willing to risk their lives to try for peace. Conor, if I order them back now, I'll be broadcasting on a wide band to Arlen and his entire military establishment that the mere mention of Norman's name scared us off. Surely if Arlen contemplated harm to our envoys, he wouldn't have said publicly what he did, both to his own men and to us. And if he truly intended merely to put Sean's and Yuri's ability to look ahead, not back, to a test, they passed. Every man of his Special Force just heard him give his word. Could he break that word, and stay in command?"

  Conor pondered that shrewd question. "Damned if I know," he growled.

  "I doubt it," Eric maintained stoutly.

  "So do I." Having deliberated with lightflash speed, Signe voiced her belief.

  On the surface, Arlen stood behind the men manning the main board in Fifth Corps' Headquarters, flanked by Fulke, Orloff and Galt. Galt had gained admittance to the group receiving the envoys, by calculated maneuvering. The ruthless political infighter harbored no illusions regarding Arlen's ability to see through any attempt on his part to act a lie.

  Confronting the Commander-in-Chief a day earlier, the Commander of Second Corps had offered blunt objections to the idea of entertaining any overture from the Gaean envoys. "Signe started the war in space," he pointed out. "She employed daring, unconventional tactics to gain a strategic advantage, and fought in the forefront of every battle herself. Wily strategist, she has proved herself to be. This request may constitute a devious method of concealing some new tactical ploy. If she genuinely wants to negotiate, I'd expect that she'd come herself. She's sending two captains: young men. Strange, that. Well. The decision to meet with them, of course, is yours to make, but I formally request that I be allowed to form part of the group receiving them, sir--that I be granted a chance personally to assess their sincerity."

  Pausing, Galt smiled his frosty smile. "Not that I'd mind a situation which rendered highly questionable your need to employ eleven-twelfths of our Earth-armed ships in a passive defense rather than the apprehension of renegades. Should peace become a reality, I'd hope that a less top-heavy distribution could be effected." That last remark bore the unmistakable ring of truth.

  Arlen assessed his rival's motives. Could this bastard plan some overt act of hostility towards Signe's envoys? In my presence, and that of Fulke and Orloff? Hardly. He'd be mad to offer me so welcome a means of sending him to stand trial for treason. He's spoken no lies. On that last score, he's right. I'll find it difficult to offer a plausible pretext for denying Second Corps the use of more first-class ships, if I succeed in negotiating a peace. Perhaps that factor actually does form Galt's main interest.

  Or might he hope to catch me making some blunder he can later exploit to undermine my authority? That could be. Well, what harm can his presence do? If I refuse, he'll charge that I'm maintaining a suspicious degree of secrecy. He might even align himself with Dexter, who's already letting the fact be known that he thinks I'm going soft--losing my will to win. Dexter's setting the stage for some future augmentation of his own power. Damn them both! Should they join forces, they could together cause me endless trouble.

  Eyes cold as interstellar space raked the Commander of Second Corps. "Time enough to consider the re-disposition of our forces when a breakthrough has been made, Galt. I'll conduct the negotiations with these envoys exactly as I see fit, but warily. Of that you can rest certain. I've no objection to your forming an observer along with Fulke and Orloff. I'll welcome your sharing your impressions with me afterwards."

  "I'll do that, sir." Hurriedly, Galt forced from his mind his potent satisfaction at having gained what he sought, well aware that face, eyes and body could combine to betray him.

  Arlen detected satisfaction, but failed to plumb the full depth of an emotion he assumed to arise from Galt's having secured a concession he sought for some devious reason. Now, faced with receiving th
e envoys from his enemy, he recalled that conversation. What harm can result from Galt's witnessing our meeting? he asked himself again . None--and I'll forestall any accusations of conducting negotiations crucial to the national interest, in secrecy. Well. Interesting encounter, this discussion promises to be.

  Staring into the vid, Signe watched the descent while Conor balanced on his exhaust. She heard the routine comments passed by the men manning the board in Fifth Corps' Headquarters. "Ship descending on Lock Eight," a clipped voice droned. "Two minutes from touching down. Guard of Honor, take note."

  "We've sealed to the lock." Sean's words fell clearly on his comrades' ears. "We're preparing to…"

  The envoy's communication abruptly broke off in mid-sentence, even as an incandescent eruption of blinding visible light appeared on the screen. A strangled gasp escaped Signe. "That's… Arlen's blown them! That's a blast from Earth-built weaponry! Eric! Did you see…"

  "Yes! Damn his treacherous soul!"

  Amin, in synchronous orbit just above the ship bearing the envoys, saw as well, but placed a totally different interpretation on the evidence erupting across the screen. A sphere of light! No elongation! Those thrice-damned envoys just fired their weaponry either straight downwards, or very nearly so! They've likely annihilated Fifth Corps' Headquarters! Damn the perfidious … "Men of the Special Force! Blast that Gaean ship that's nearest!"

  Conor found himself the target of three military vessels that suddenly maneuvered out of orbit with evident intent to destroy him. Acting with the habitual, unflappable presence of mind that never deserted the legendary warrior in the face of the most appalling danger, conscious that Signe's survival depended now on his skill, Conor handled his ship manually, with surpassing dexterity. Lightning reflexes, slowed no whit by age, enabled him to maneuver swiftly enough to dodge the pulse launched at him from the vessel closest to his. Mind at a white heat of concentration, he dodged again, and saw a chance. "Fire at that…"