"Sir?"
"Come on. We've got something that has to be done."
"You don't mind if I ask what?" Mustafa asked as they walked back toward the main concourse.
"We're under attack," Durant said. "Someone's come to rescue us—maybe Rich Abramowicz got them to come."
"How many ships?"
"I'm not sure. I left my comp behind."
"Because . . ."
"Because if I don't have it on me, the bugs will have to find me the old-fashioned way. Same with you."
"They'll want you to advise them on tactics," Mustafa said. "Okay, what do you plan to do when they find you?"
"Simple." He was walking at speed now; Durant wasn't sure how much time he had before one or another of the bugs on the starbase came looking for him. "We're not going to help them. In fact, we're going to make sure they can't force us to help them."
Just before they entered the concourse Durant turned right, following a section of corridor toward a small extension dock. As soon as they went that way, Mustafa knew where they were heading.
"This is where the First Drone's ship is docked."
"That's right," Durant said. "This is what he will want to use to get his sorry ass out of Adrianople System." He stopped walking and turned to Mustafa, anger in his eyes. "We're not going to let him."
"He can control minds," Mustafa said. "In case you forgot."
"I hadn't." Two-thirds of the way down the access corridor, Durant stopped walking and pulled open a panel. "That's why we're going to take out some insurance."
Durant began to operate a control pad.
"You're going to jettison the dock?"
"Not at once. This is our insurance—if he decides that he's interested in compelling either of us, then we'll blow it into space."
"And us with it."
"There is that." Durant looked away from his work for a moment. "But honestly, Arlen—I've been prepared for that for a while. Haven't you?"
None of the ships accelerating toward Hsien's fleet could match it in firepower or missile throw-weight. He deployed the three Sheng-class ships on the port side of his plane-of-battle, with the two Pride-class zor vessels along with them.
The four Emperor Ian-class ships were to starboard. Gibraltar, Nasser, Canberra and the two carriers formed a wedge in the middle.
No hive-ships rose to meet them. This wasn't about killing ships, of course: It was about recapturing a significant naval base, a victory that didn't involve the destruction of a flagship or the sort of agony they'd just gone through at Josephson.
There was something missing here—Hsien felt it in his bones. It simply wasn't possible that the enemy had thrown everything they had at his fleet at Josephson and left nothing behind here.
It felt like a trap.
"Captain," he said to Dame Alexandra Quinn, the captain of Gibraltar. "Stay the course. But don't fire at any human ships."
"Sir." She frowned at him. "What if they fire on us?"
"Ignore it. That's what your defensive fields are for. I don't want to kill anyone we don't have to. They . . . may not be acting of their own volition."
Dame Alexandra knew exactly what he meant.
"Very good, Admiral."
H'tt stood in the doorway of the commander's office. It took several seconds for the First Drone to look up at him, though it was obvious to both Drones that he was aware of H'tt's presence.
"You have something to report?" H'mr said at last.
"They have not returned fire," H'tt said. "They seem to be headed for this base."
"I see. Have you found the commodore or his second?"
"T'tl has not found either of them, on the main concourse or the inner ring. He's still looking."
"So why are you bothering me?"
"You haven't thought this out, have you?" H'tt stepped into the office and leaned forward on the front side of the desk. H'mr sat back, putting a few extra centimeters between himself and the Second Drone.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"You realize that these ships have come from the direction of the ch'n'n target. How did they defeat five ch'n'n ships with five hive-Queens aboard? Without enough k'th's's power—"
"Well, clearly they have enough k'th's's power," H'mr spit out. "They must have the Harbinger."
"But you said—"
"Things change, Second Drone," H'mr interrupted. "Things change."
"You would turn your back on Great Queen G'en?"
H'mr rose to his feet. This time H'tt stepped back, unsure.
"Things change at First Hive as well. Someone new has her grxto'o planted on the Seat of Majesty—Great Queen K'da. We will find a new configuration when we return to First Hive: P'cn Deathguard instead of N'nr Deathguard."
"You—you're going to abandon this system?"
"I'm not going to stay here and die . . . or worse," he added. "And I'm not going to leave the or*xan'u to be captured by the meat-creatures, either."
H'tt didn't have a response, but he looked quickly from H'mr to the door and back again, as if gauging the distance.
H'mr, however, was H'tt's superior in rank, experience and reflexes. To achieve the status of First Drone—to whom Deathguard warriors and lesser-Queens answered—required intelligence and k'th's's power. H'tt had considerable k'th's's power of his own, but hadn't fought his way through as many intrigues at First Hive.
And no amount of k'th's's power could combat the play of energy from H'mr's concealed pistol. H'tt writhed in an agony that H'mr could feel—but the First Drone didn't show a shred of emotion as he watched his second cross the boundary from dying to dead.
"Weakling," he said, stepping over the body transformed back to its original shape. "Begin destruct sequence," he ordered, walking out of the office.
As Adrianople Starbase grew in the forward screen, Gyes'ru HeKa'an collapsed to the deck on Mauritius' bridge. Seconds before his hsi was overwhelmed, he felt a frightening surge of power in his mind: a mental attack stronger than any he had felt during the attack on Josephson.
There was something more frightening about it, though; it had the feel of the Lord of Despite—like an arc of power, an e'gyu'u that threw him aside.
Owen Garrett caught Gyes'ru as he fell. In his head, Owen could hear buzzing. He assumed that something much more powerful had hit Gyes'ru—hard enough to knock him out.
Barbara MacEwan was kneeling at Gyes'ru's side within a moment. "Medic!" she shouted.
"Skip," Van Micic said, from near the pilot's station. "We're recording a large explosion near the hub of Adrianople Starbase."
Barbara stood up as a medic took her place next to the zor Sensitive. "Did someone drop a missile on it?"
"Not as far as I can tell," Micic answered.
"Then what the hell—?"
"I don't know, ma'am," Micic said. "It didn't take the whole station down. If I were to guess, I'd say someone just blew something up."
"Comm from the flag, ma'am," the comm officer said. "Query on the status of our Sensitives."
"If I were to guess," Barbara said, hands on her hips, "I'd guess someone just blew something up that projected Sensitive power."
H'mr arrived at the extension dock and came face-to-face with Jonathan Durant and Arlen Mustafa. Durant stood next to a wall, leaning casually against it. He appeared unarmed, but showed no sign of fear.
"I would suggest that you step aside," H'mr said.
"Make me." Durant smiled, but didn't move away from the wall.
"Commodore." H'mr smiled slightly. "There is no need for this. I intend to leave this place."
"You seem to forget that we're enemies," Durant said. "You and your lackey—Where is he, by the way?"
H'mr didn't answer for a few seconds, looking away from Durant. Suddenly a huge shudder ran through the station. Alarms began to ring.
"He won't be joining us," H'mr said, turning back to Durant and Mustafa. "Step aside, Commodore . . . unless you'd like to come along."
&n
bsp; "The only place we'll go together is straight to hell," Durant said. He lifted his hand slightly, revealing a mechanism connected to electronics partially exposed by an open panel. "This is a dead man's switch. I'm not sure you're familiar with the term."
"Enlighten me."
"This is the electronic coupling for the extension dock. If the proper signal is sent, the joint blows apart. Explosive decompression—fun for you, for Arlen . . . and for me. This beauty—" He gestured to where his hand lay. "This is the dead man's switch. If I let go, it goes off.
"If you kill me, I let go.
"If you try to use your Sensitive power on me, I let go."
"And if I try to take over your pitiful second-in-command—"
"I let go." Durant didn't look aside; both of them knew the First Drone was trying to get a rise out of the humans.
"I don't understand," H'mr said, after a moment. "Your ships are approaching this station; your rescue is at hand. Why do you wish to die? . . . Why do you wish for all of us to die?"
"You don't get it," Durant said. "You really don't. You vicious alien bastard—you're my enemy. You killed people under my command; you destroyed ships; you've apparently killed your own second without any remorse. Why the hell shouldn't I want you dead?"
H'mr shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Then he turned to face Durant and extended his k'th's's as fiercely and powerfully as he could manage, trying to seize control of the minds of the two pitiful meat-creatures in front of him.
Durant's hand began to move as pain coursed through his head. Suddenly, a sharp brightness made him close his eyes tightly. He heard Arlen cry out, but he held his position, keeping his hand on the switch.
Slowly Durant opened his eyes to see the vuhl body sprawled on the deck before him. A few dozen meters down the concourse he saw an Imperial Marine trooper with a pistol still aimed at where H'mr had stood.
Carefully, he reached up with his other hand to disable the switch. He heard Arlen slowly exhale behind him.
"I didn't want to die today anyway," Durant said at last, lowering his hands to his sides.
Pappenheim was crowded with wounded, but Jackie was able to find a quiet place—Georg Maartens' cabin—to spend a few hours in meditation. The captain of the Pappenheim offered to vacate, to walk around his ship while she communed; but she wanted to have someone keep an eye on her, and asked that he stay.
Maartens had learned to do his office work even in far more chaotic circumstances and settled at his workdesk to catch up on battle reports while Jackie sat in a comfortable armchair with the gyaryu in her lap and closed her eyes.
When she opened them, she was standing on the black surface of the sword.
"Sergei," she said into the dark, "I need to talk to you."
Her predecessor as Gyaryu'har appeared from nearby and walked into her sight range.
"I need to know what happened. I need to understand," she told him.
"I'm glad to help," he answered. "What do you want to know?"
"I tried to contact you before the battle started. Instead, I wound up in Shr'e'a. Not Sharia'a: Shr'e'a, the original name, in the original version of the story.
"Stone tried to get me to give him the sword, and when I wouldn't do it, Shrnu'u HeGa'u tried to kill me. In the meanwhile, you—and a number of others in here—were projected into the World That Is."
"And we returned to aid you in healing when you were attacked."
"Right. While you were out there"—she gestured, as if "out there" were a direction from within the sword—"the vuhls, the esHara'y, couldn't get through. When you came back, the ships you were all protecting were defenseless."
"Not precisely."
"You mean the field modulations and the Sensitives. But they—"
"No, I mean other than that. They were not defenseless: They could Resist." She could almost hear the capitalization in Sergei's voice. "They have begun to learn."
"Not from me."
"No, not directly from you. But from what you have told us about your experiences before obtaining the gyaryu, it is clear that you have begun to learn, as well.
"Let me clarify: When was the first time you faced an attempt to Dominate you?"
"Directly?" Jackie answered. "That was aboard the Cicero orbital station. Noyes."
"How did you defeat him? You had no guide, no sword, no Sensitive talent, si Ch'k'te was under the control of the alien at the time, so he couldn't help you. I was apparently unavailable."
"I don't remember. I came onto the bridge, and Ch'k'te was facing away—and he turned around, tried to reach me—"
As fear crept up in her mind, she felt a rising tide of hatred, directed unilaterally toward whatever sentience was controlling her exec and her friend.
She remembered now. At that moment she had been angry, filled with emotion against the Noyes-creature.
"I was angry. Terribly angry. I hated that thing—the thing that killed Ch'k'te later, on Crossover. But I hated it later, in the garden, when it—"
"You were more unprepared the second time, I think. But later, when it had you captive, you escaped. How?"
"I was angry again. I'd seen Maisel killed, I'd lost my command. I hated the thing that had me . . . had me—"
The gyaryu mental construct seemed to waver. Sergei waited, unmoving, as she mastered herself somehow.
"Are you suggesting that the power of hatred and anger is the way to fight these aliens—and that it doesn't come from the esGa'uYal?" Jackie asked, when she'd composed herself. "That we've had it all along: the idea that hatred can be a basis for Resistance? Then . . . Then why did they go to all the trouble to arrange Owen's escape if he's not the key?" Jackie thought for a moment. "Barbara MacEwan had no hsi-image or Sensitive to protect her. Somehow she kept from being Dominated . . . by being angry."
"Anger is powerful." Sergei smiled. "Especially coming from a MacEwan."
"You knew Barbara?"
"No, I was thinking of her great-grandmother."
"But . . . that's not a viable tactic for space battles. Ór battles anywhere else, for that matter. Soldiers that become 'mad dogs' on the battlefield, wind up as dead mad dogs. We can't give up reason, at least not all the time: I'd never lead an army that fought that way."
Sergei didn't answer.
"But the Destroyer might," she said at last. "The Harbinger—whoever he or she is—couldn't, but the Destroyer might."
"Even if that is true," Sergei asked, "would you wish to follow such a leader?"
For that question, Jackie had no answer.
"It's still my ship," Barbara MacEwan said, leaning on the rail that surrounded the aft end of Fair Damsel's bridge. It had been two days since Mauritius, Canberra and Admiral Hsien's flagship Gibraltar had returned with news of the victory at Adrianople; Barbara had come aboard the merchanter to pay a courtesy call to the Gyaryu'har.
The crippled, half-wrecked Duc d'Enghien took up more than half of Damsel's forward screen. It looked like hell: The gossamer sensor-nets were torn or completely gone; three arms were missing and one hung at an odd angle. Tiny lights that looked like fireflies against the hull showed where repair crews were working.
"We lost . . . three wing hangars: Red, Orange and Green."
"Green Squadron? Owen Garrett's squadron?" Jackie asked.
"Yeah." Barbara looked out at the Duc again. "The command staff were mostly killed, along with the off-duty flyers. The fighter pilots that were deployed survived, of course . . . but Owen would've been killed if he hadn't gotten up to the bridge."
"It might never fight again," Jackie said.
"You underestimate my crew." Barbara didn't look away from the sight. "Ray has them putting in work round-the-clock. If we get any kind of breather—and you seem to think we might—we'll get her shipshape and running again. Mauritius fought well enough at Adrianople, but I'd rather have my own ship back."
"It's a wonder any part of it is running at all."
Barbara straightened
up. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, half scowling at Jackie but not really meaning it. "You're not criticizing my piloting skill, are you, Admiral?"
Dan snorted, but quickly turned in the pilot's chair, busying himself with something else.
"No. Wouldn't dream of it," Jackie answered, smiling.
"How'd the old man take it when you told him you were leaving?"
"He wasn't happy. But he allowed as to how he had no jurisdiction over me and that I should do what I thought best."
"And with the, uh, Great Queen dead, it might actually take a little time for the enemy to regroup. Especially now that we've taken back Adrianople," Barbara said.
"For now."
"They'd better plan to bring their best game if they want it again. But hopefully they'll be busy for a little while, fighting among themselves."
"I hope that's true," Jackie answered.
"So what do you expect to find, where you're going? Aren't you worried that it might be a trap?"
"Of course. I have no idea what I'll find, but I can't afford to ignore it. When I took up the sword"—Jackie touched the hilt, instinctively, with her hand—"Stone helped me escape by walking a rainbow path through jump. If I'd stopped to argue about it, I might not be here to quibble about this.
"He seems to try to trick me and then tries to help me, in turn. I can't read his motivation or figure out his objectives: All I can do is move from spot to spot, trying to make the best decision and not to second-guess myself. Right now, I think this is the correct course."
"Sounds good to me."
"Barbara, I know you have to get back aboard Duc, but there's one more thing I want to know."
"What's that?"
"When the aliens tried to Dominate you, when you were closing with their ship, you were able to resist somehow. I've read the official report but I need to hear it from you directly: What happened during those few minutes?"
"Right. Well." Barbara looked away, as if unwilling to meet Jackie's gaze. "When Alan Howe collapsed, I could—feel them—trying to control me. They wanted me to give the order to turn Duc: They must've known that we were on direct intercept, and whatever else they did, they didn't want us to collide.
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