The Dark Ascent

by Walter H Hunt

  "I—Hell, I'm no good at this. Look, the Sultan's gone. He's been gone a long time—long before yesterday. So I'm going to do something I don't do often: God knows I don't like to do it—I'm going to tell you I was wrong and that I owe you an apology.

  "Whoever you are, whatever you are, you're all right by me. Dan is right: In this whole crappy business, there may not be a safer place than right next to you. Even though that doesn't seem to be that safe." He came around to the head of the bed and extended a hand. "If the chance comes, I'd like to buy you a drink."

  It seemed an odd way to end the speech, but Jackie realized it was a sincere gesture. She took his hand in both of hers, feeling a sharp twinge in her shoulder.

  She ignored it. "You're on," she said. "In fact, I want to get absolutely plastered with both of you. If the chance comes."

  She let his hand go. Satisfied, his expression went back to its usual semi-scowl, but he favored her with a wink.

  "Thank God that's over," Dan said. "He's been talking about that for hours. Ever since—"

  "Yeah . . . Ever since I killed 'it.' How long has it been?"

  "A day and a half. This is the first time that we've been let on board to talk to you. Most of the fleet—"

  "Adrianople. Arthur Callison told me. Dan, that's suicide."

  "Admiral Hsien didn't think so. He left us behind—most of the small ships, including Damsel and Pappenheim, thank God. His command is going to take its best shot: The admiral thinks that this battle knocked the vuhls back on their, er, back legs."

  "I hope he's right." She shifted position and found it painful. She arranged herself the best she could. "I know we destroyed all five hive-ships. How were the casualties on our side?"

  "We lost several ships, and what's left isn't in the greatest shape. Xian Chuan lost its flight deck, and Duc d'Enghien—"

  "Lost?" An image of Barbara MacEwan flashed across her mind.

  "No, but it's pretty badly mauled. It took out the last bogey on its own, though I wouldn't think her captain will be writing the battle up in a manual of tactics."

  "I can't wait to hear about this."

  "You will. Meanwhile, I want to know the significance of that." He gestured toward the 3-V of the solar system, still slowly orbiting half a meter above Jackie's lap.

  "I don't know." She looked carefully at the display: an F8 star, white bordering on green; six planets, including two gas giants and a single habitable planet with two small companion moons. From its coordinates it was somewhere near the home system of the otran, the warlike, feline species that had not achieved interstellar travel when it was first contacted.

  The system was unremarkable, except that she'd seen a rainbow flash when she picked up the comp. This was some sort of hint from Stone, but it could also be a trap.

  "Could," my ass, she thought. Of course it's a trap. But he's trying to tell me something.

  She checked the absolute magnitude of the star: about 2.5—it was bright, clearly visible from Earth.

  Or Zor'a, for that matter.

  She tapped the comp. "Is this static or smart?"

  "Smart. Maartens cleared it to connect to Pappenheim main comp."

  "Good." She touched the comp: "Display the location of this star in the Terran sky."

  The system display was replaced by a pattern of line-bordered constellations. The star blinked at a point in the southeast corner of Sagittarius, the Archer.

  "Mean anything to you?"

  "Nothing definitive," Dan answered. "Try Dieron."

  "That's an idea." She touched the comp again: "Display the location of this star in the Dieron sky."

  The display changed to show more familiar constellations to Jackie, who had looked up at them since she was too young to remember. The star was almost dead center in the cluster of stars the Dieroni called the Lost Ones, commemorating the many colonists who had died during the cold-sleep trip to Epsilon Indi, Dieron's double-suns.

  "A hunter and the Lost Ones. All right." She took a deep breath. "Display the location of this star in the Zor'a sky," she said to the comp.

  This time, the constellations were completely unfamiliar, but the annotations appeared.

  "It's just outside of Qu'u," she said. "It's in the companion—in Hyos." She looked up at Dan: pain, or perhaps anger, in her eyes. ". . . A hunter; the Lost Ones; Hyos. It can't be."

  "What can't be?"

  "Hyos. If I'm Qu'u, then Hyos is the companion. My companion. But that was . . ."

  "Ch'k'te," Dan said, understanding.

  "Yes. Ch'k'te. But he's dead, Dan—I watched an alien turn his aura off on Crossover Station a few months ago. I gave his and Th'an'ya's hsi back to esLi when I got this." She touched the sword that lay next to her.

  "So—"

  "So, I don't know. I have no idea. It's some damn solar system, and Stone wants me to go there, and it has something to do with Hyos. With . . . with Ch'k'te."

  "So we'll be going there," Pyotr said. It was a question, but sounded more like a statement of fact.

  "I'd guess," Dan answered. "Jay?"

  "I don't think I can ignore this. Whatever it is."

  "Told you," Pyotr said to Dan, scowling. "But I guess it makes sense."

  "No it doesn't," Dan said. "Nothing about this makes any sense, but I don't think we should be surprised." He reached over and picked up the comp. "Take your time and get your rest, Jay. I have a feeling things are only going to get hotter around here."

  Laura Ibarra's report, and news of the battle at Josephson, arrived at Langley only hours apart. M'm'e'e Sha'kan, Third Deputy Director, was pondering the meaning of the first, when a comprehensive account of the second was downloaded into his office comp.

  Intrigued and as excited as he was, he forced himself to take his time with the analysis. It was almost a Standard day later when he finally permitted comp access to the director of Imperial Intelligence. As requested, he holoed himself into the director's office while remaining at his own desk, flimsy printouts of intel reports scattered in front of him.

  "Director will the report from field agent Ibarra read have," he said, with little preamble. He could not keep the fatigue out of his voice; he hadn't had sleep or immersion since the first reports had arrived.

  "I can't say I like it much," the director answered. "What do you make of it?"

  "Full thinkings not yet complete are," M'm'e'e answered, letting his arms wave, though not energetically. "With results battle evidence of power of Admiral Laperriere showing, we in danger are, if she us an enemy considers."

  "Surely that's a bit of an overreaction by Commander Ibarra."

  "Director . . . Director, named specifically was I."

  "Laperriere also suggested that you'd understand.—Do you?"

  "Full thinkings not complete are," M'm'e'e repeated. "No. M'm'e'e not completely understanding is: Conjecture, Laperriere me believes, source of request for gyaryu is, thinking you, Director?"

  "Lucky guess. Or insightful."

  "Insightful. Assertion, whatever skill required is, sword to employ, learned it well has she. Underestimate her again, shall M'm'e'e not, for powerful, powerful now she is."

  "Powerful enough to—"

  "To do what, M'm'e'e say cannot. But in the sea, small one does not wait to measure large one's teeth, to know that dangerous he is. Item: MacEwan's report—image of zor holding sword, aliens from mind control kept. This, interplanetary distance from Laperriere was, while battle raging was." His four arms hung nearly limp at his sides, making him devoid of expression even if the director could have understood it. "By the Three, Laperriere powerful is."

  "Laperriere? Or that damn sword?"

  "Director—" M'm'e'e's hands folded across his bulky chest, two pairs, one above the other. "—Gyaryu'har Torrijos knew we well. Do this, he could not. Even if he as sacrifice to Cicero was sent, why necessary was this, then, if he this do could?

  "Indeed, Director, image of Torrijos aboard starship Emperor Ian seen w
as. Image of Admiral Marais, Gyaryu'har also, aboard fleet flagship seen was. Conjecture, probably likely, under control of Laperriere these images were.

  "Totally different order of dangerous, is this. Sword powerful is, but in Laperriere's hands, even more."

  "I will have to advise His Imperial Majesty in a few Standard hours. Must I tell him that the best weapon we have against the aliens is someone who considers the Solar Empire the enemy?"

  "Not Empire, certainly," M'm'e'e said. "Scheming of Agency dislikes Admiral Laperriere. Presented at court was she: Majesty will not easily believe, she an enemy of Empire has become. But more to this must there be."

  "So . . . you plan to do what?"

  "M'm'e'e must have many thinkings," he answered. "And, with Director's permission, research must M'm'e'e do—on Shr'e'a, and other things."

  "I thought Ibarra said that there was no information on this legend, except for some poem fragment."

  "In Imperial records," M'm'e'e answered. "Obviously, closer to the source M'm'e'e looking must be. Time it is, for M'm'e'e to Zor'a to go."

  Jackie stood at the door to Pappenheim's observation deck. Alan Howe sat alone, gazing into the deep darkness, filled with unfamiliar star patterns. He had been left behind along with many of the crew of the crippled carrier, Duc d'Enghien. Barbara MacEwan had been assigned to command another vessel in the assault on Adrianople.

  Jackie didn't want to disturb him; she also loved to look at the stars, regardless of their configuration. In any case, she'd recently seen things darker than star-filled space—and perhaps that was true also of the Sensitive across the deck from her.

  He seemed finally to notice she was there. He turned a bland face to take her in, though there was the slightest hint of panic in his eyes. He did not rise, or speak, as if this might be some chance encounter—but she knew he knew better. She crossed to the place he was sitting and took a seat next to him: on his left, so that her body was between him and the gyaryu. A Sensitive's talents wouldn't be affected by so little physical distance, but she didn't want to throw it in his face.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked, eventually, not looking at him.

  "Admiral, I'm sorry, but I—"

  "Wait." She turned to face him. "I don't think that our first actual conversation should start with some sort of apology. Unless it comes from me." She extended her hand. "Jackie Laperriere—Admiral, Retired."

  "Alan Howe." He took her hand carefully, and quickly let go of it. "Specialist—Third Class, I think." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't think about ranks much."

  "Good thing I don't want a salute."

  "Yeah." He smiled faintly, as if it pained him to do so. "I was trying to tell you, a minute ago, that I didn't mean anything a few days ago—I was just curious about . . . about that!" He gestured vaguely toward her sword-belt.

  "You could've asked . . . Of course, I probably wouldn't have answered. Even if I knew the answer.

  "Barbara's report says that you hung in pretty well out there," Jackie continued.

  "I passed out. They didn't even take me along to Adrianople."

  "Still, you didn't let them get you." She tapped her temple. "They can. That's their power—Domination. They didn't expect to have any trouble with us, and we've given them more than they bargained for."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I was told. Do you want more details?"

  "Not if you're going to—"

  "No. I'm not 'going to.' I have—Well, there are enemies. Not the aliens that we just fought, but other enemies. They've been manipulating things from behind the scenes for at least a century, and likely, even longer. One of them tried to take the sword away from me during the battle and almost distracted me long enough for another one to kill me."

  "That's when the image disappeared. When we lost our protection."

  "Yes. I'm sorry. If I'd known—"

  "No apology necessary," he interrupted. "Not to me, anyway." He looked out at the stars again, and was silent for a long time. "Can I tell you something in confidence, Admiral?"

  "Only if you stop calling me 'Admiral.'"

  "Jackie." He smiled; again, only for a moment. "I'm rated a T4 Sensitive, which is pretty good by human standards— good enough to get you on a 3-V talk show, write a column for a tabloidcast, or make a little extra money as a spy."

  Jackie felt her stomach jump at this last word.

  "But I'm out of my league here. I can't handle something like this."

  "Meaning—?"

  "I think it's time I went home."

  "Disability? Sorry, Alan, I can't accept that. We're in it up to our asses here, and you're in it with us. We can't spare you."

  "But I can't—"

  "Can't what? What makes you think I can? Four months ago I was a base commander at the edge of the Solar Empire, with no pretensions to heroism. Three months ago, I was being court-martialed for running away from a fight. And, two months ago, I watched my best friend kill—and be killed by—an alien, right in front of my eyes.

  "Three days ago I did something I didn't know I could do, and nearly got the entire fleet killed—or worse."

  "And saved a lot of lives."

  "And saved a lot of lives. But think about what you did."

  "Pass out?"

  "You survived a battle with the vuhls. Come on, T4 Sensitive! What you learned will help you survive the next time. Lives are depending on it. My old friend Barbara MacEwan is depending on it. You don't want her angry at you, do you?"

  Howe smiled again, and it seemed to stay for a few seconds longer. "No. No, I guess I don't."

  "Good. Now that we've got that out of the way, let me ask you some questions about what happened aboard Duc—before you passed out."

  Chapter 23

  LET YOUR PLANS BE DARK AND IMPENETRABLE AS NIGHT,

  AND WHEN YOU MOVE, FALL LIKE A THUNDERBOLT.

  —Sun Tzu,

  The Art of War, VII: 19

  When the jump-echoes began to register, Jonathan Durant was walking along the main concourse, largely unoccupied since the vuhls had taken over Adrianople System. His comp signaled at once; H'mr was summoning him to the starbase's flight deck.

  "Locate Commander Mustafa," he said to his comp. A holo appeared above it, showing Mustafa to be in Engineering Section a few bulkheads farther along on the station's rim.

  Durant thought about it for a moment, then walked to the side of the deck and opened a maintenance panel. He removed his ID badge and placed it and his comp on a small shelf, then closed the panel and walked briskly away in search of his exec.

  Ships continued to emerge from jump transition, appearing on Gibraltar's pilot's board. Admiral Hsien was watching the board intently as his ships assumed their formations; the battle-plan had been put together in just a few hours, with two basic contingencies:

  If Adrianople System was too hard to take, he'd ordered ships to jump on their own for a default location—likely Brady Point, the unpopulated system used for refueling.

  If Hsien thought it was possible, though, then his command would proceed to take Adrianople.

  There wasn't really any middle ground.

  Hsien was focusing on the enemy deployment. None of the bogeys in the system had the mass-signature of a hive-ship: there were IDs for Imperial and merchant ships along with some unidentified small craft—but no hive-ships.

  "Comm to all ships," Hsien said. "Condition green. Proceed as planned. Flag sends."

  Descending into the gravity well: Sheng Long, Sheng Feng and Sheng Jian; Gibraltar and Nasser; the carriers Xian Chuan and Mauritius; Canberra, Pride of esCha 'ar and Pride of esNa 'u, Emperor Ian, Emperor Alexander, Empress Louise and Empress Patrice. The fourteen capital ships had crew and staff from a dozen more ships damaged at Josephson. On several bridges a cheer rang out when Hsien's comm arrived: They wanted this one.

  "Find him," H'mr said. He squinted at the pilot's board, which recorded the incoming ships with the usual meat-creature i
nefficiency. The First Drone had all he could do to keep human form.

  H'tt could feel the anger that he made no effort to conceal. He gestured at a comp console. "His comp shows him to be in Section Twelve on the outer ring, but continues to ignore signals."

  "Send T'tl and two meat-creatures. Bring Durant here— I'm sure he will be most insightful on the tactics of this invading fleet."

  H'tt gave the order. H'mr turned away from the display and stood straight, closing his eyes, to communicate with the Ór.

  "They outnumber us, but will not expect their own kind to attack them," H'mr said after a moment. He opened his eyes and smiled in a way that usually disturbed the humans on the station.

  Barbara MacEwan paced the bridge of Mauritius. She would have preferred the familiar surroundings of Duc— her ship—but it was scarcely able to fly after the maneuver she'd put it through at the end of the Josephson battle.

  It could've been worse, she thought. Not much worse, but we all could've died instead.

  "They're deploying from the station." Owen Garrett was sitting in the helmsman's seat. "Six smaller ships, with several bug ships following them."

  "Are they pursuing?"

  "It looks that way. But I don't trust the bastards."

  "You're not in charge of deciding that, mister," Barbara said. "Admiral Hsien is. He gets the nice uniform, he decides the tactics."

  "What are your orders, ma'am?"

  "Keep your course."

  "Arlen." Durant beckoned to his second, who was bent over a piece of equipment that was being repaired. Arlen Mustafa pointed to some part, nodded to the tech, and picked up his jacket and walked toward Durant.

  "What can I do for you, sir?"

  "Comp," he said, holding out his hand to Mustafa. Mustafa looked curious for a moment and then pulled the comp out of his pocket. Durant unhooked Mustafa's ID and took both pieces of equipment over to a high shelf in the repair bay and left them there.