The Iron Altar Series Box Set One: Books 1 to 3

by Casey Lea

  “Many thanks, DS,” Gull rasped as he swung to face Clear. “Get to work on fix-figures. I want repair estimates soon-as. Get people moving, Data Senior.”

  “Ye, sah,” she responded, and turned back to her work, her fingers and mind flying through her console display.

  Gull continued issuing orders to the rest of the crew, until everyone was busy. The sad silence was replaced by industry and Free abruptly moved.

  He pushed from his chair with enough force to hurtle straight across the vast nest toward his quarters. He threw a curt thanks over his shoulder while he shot toward his cabin. “Good work, all and most specially you, Gull. You’ve nest-charge. I’m off-watch and I’ll take no guests. None, Senior.”

  Free reached his room with the last word and passed his security field with indescribable relief. At least in his quarters he was finally free from scrutiny. However, he had scarcely been reclaimed by gravity before a peremptory whistle sounded from his door, demanding entry.

  “Drak.” He ignored the summons and buried his face in his hands, driving his fingers back through his hair. He was in no mood to see anyone, but his door whistled again and then its field wavered. A priority pulse pushed straight through it, followed by Lady Grace. She tottered into the room and her com resealed the door behind her. Free looked up in fury when his uninvited guest tapped her way across the unadorned cabin floor.

  “I told Gull no guests,” he snarled, but the old lady just sniffed.

  She halted stiffly and bent toward Freefall, leaning on her cane to stand as close as she could. She invaded his personal space as if his anger was of no concern and then craned her neck to look up and answer his glare with a wicked grin.

  “I know. Your poor Senior wasn't sure whether to hit me or force me into stasis. Fortunately for him, he did neither. Perhaps he knew I was here to tell you to stop feeling sorrow for yourself.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t look so outraged, boy. Yes, you’ve lost crew, young crew too, but you didn't kill them.”

  Free’s hands twitched, but he managed to keep them from Grace’s scrawny throat. “I know that, Lady. The sorrow I feel is for good people and the lives they lost, not for myself.”

  “Nonsense.” She turned away with an artful flip of her dark skirts, seemingly oblivious to the outraged young leader. He closed his mouth against a curse and folded his arms, holding himself tightly in check while Grace settled on his bed like a weathered vulture.

  “Nonsense, Free. Yes, yes, there is truth in what you say, but only a part. You don’t just feel sad for the loss of your crew, you feel responsible. The emotion that has its claws in you isn't grief, boy. It’s guilt. You should have tried harder, you should have thought faster, you should have known sooner. You should have saved them.”

  Free couldn’t hide a start of recognition at the train of thought and Grace snorted. “Do you think your guilt satisfies the souls that you lost? Does it help them or bring them peace? Does it help your surviving crew or bring you the peace you need to be a leader?”

  Free jerked as though shot and the old lady’s voice cracked across the darkened room. “Self-indulgence. You are bringing more harm where you should bring help.”

  He swallowed hard and Grace’s voice softened. “Perhaps you failed to do all you could for your crew, but knowing you, I doubt such. If so or not, it’s no matter. You must carry the responsibilities you still have. To your crew and to your people, Freefall.” She watched him intently, lips puckered, while fresh anger gripped him and he clutched his elbows convulsively. His fingers twitched anyway, but he managed to keep them from her throat.

  “If you’re here to press your deal for the necessary, be warned. This is certain-sure not the time.”

  “I know how it hurts to wrong-move,” Grace offered more gently. “Truly I do. More than you will ever know.”

  Free drew a harsh breath, thrown by her sudden sympathy and made no effort to deny the accusation. Instead his shoulders sagged and his fronds slumped with them. His anger was swamped by grief and regret. He sighed and took two strides to the bed, sinking onto his knees at Grace’s side. She tutted once at the strength of his sorrow, but her hand rose to touch his hair. She patted the disconsolate young leader twice and then awkwardly brushed a dark lock back from his forehead.

  “Mistakes get made, Free.” She gulped and her voice caught. “That’s a guarantee in every life.”

  He looked up miserably and her hand fell away from its attempt at comfort. “I hesitated,” he whispered. “I just… stopped.”

  “I was in-link. I saw no pause, Leader.”

  He pushed away from her, rocking back on his heels. “Don’t call me such. I’m no such. Thirty more people are dead because I failed to lead sooner. They were on my ship, not lost out-ship like the others, but they died too. They’re gone, because I stopped.”

  “How long?” Grace demanded harshly. “How long did you wait?”

  Free blanched, but his jaw set as he forced himself to remember. “At least four…no, truly, a full five seconds. I was ice. Just watching that wave grow…” He had to halt, disconsolate again.

  “Ah,” Grace breathed softly. “Five seconds, eh? Full five seconds in the instant it happened. And why was that?”

  Free opened his mouth to reply, but Grace answered her own question. “Because you took time to assess your options. You needed a moment to decide what hope there was. You wouldn't just abandon your out-walk crew.”

  “Yes,” he gulped, but then shook a hand in angry denial. “No. I was too slow. I should have chosen more-quick. Those twenty were already dead, but my hesitation killed thirty more.”

  Grace hissed and her cane struck the floor. “Such pride,” she rasped while her fronds snapped forward in reproach. “To hold your acts the sole cause of life or death. The pirates who attacked us killed your crew, boy. That life-weight lies with them. You did well to save the rest of us. You did,” she insisted in response to his fronds’ denial. “That attack was set for a total kill, but you were too quick.”

  Free frowned, distracted by Grace’s interpretation of his failure, and she dipped her head toward his. One of her thin fronds flew forward with surprising speed to connect with one of his. He froze at the intimate contact and her words dropped into his head. I swear no other in all-fleet could have acted so fast. None-such.

  Free pulled his frond back in stiff affront, but not before Grace sensed the single word that was still crowding his mind. “Ah.” She straightened carefully and her lips pursed like a crinkled, volcanic peak. “Nightwing.”

  Free looked away, but his mind underlined his assessment. Wing would’ve moved faster.

  “Truly,” Grace agreed without hesitation. “He would have swung for passage more-quick.”

  Free looked up sharply and the old lady barked in amusement at his sense of hurt.

  “Did you think I’d lie, boy? Wing would have reacted in the instant and we both know it. But Nightwing is exceptional. It’s his true gift, the one thing he really does have over you. He can choose a path in the time it takes others just to register danger. And he all-times chooses right, even with no time for thought. I’ve never seen such before and I’ve seen much, Free. Enough to be certain-sure you acted near as fast as could be. Don’t guilt because you found it hard to abandon your crew. To be a true leader, compassion is needed. That, and your conscience, will hold you to duties more easily ignored.”

  Grace paused with a meaningful look and Free’s heart sank.

  “Our deal,” he sighed, and the opening was enough for her to push on.

  “Ye, the deal where all win. Let me finalise with the Arck and the hunt will stop. He can rein in the BackBeaks if we make it worthwhile for him.”

  Free’s brow furrowed in surprise at the mental emphasis to Grace’s request. “You mean more than our deal,” he realized, and a seamed finger twitched in agreement.

  “Certain-sure. The Arck is near five hundred years old. With each day, t
he Safe Successioners gain power at his expense. His rule grows increasingly unsure with no clear heir. He refuses to name Goldown, but he would be willing to favor her children.”

  Free slapped his thigh impatiently. “As you said. So offer to get the princess with chick.”

  The old lady hissed in apparent annoyance at his stupidity. “She needs more than one babe. She needs a husband. A husband the Successioners will accept.”

  Free tried to interrupt, but she forced words over his protest. “There must be a marriage. A union that offers commitment and stability. The Arck requires it and so do our people. There’s no need to bed her, Free. No talk of such. Your life remains your own, but your name must serve the empire. We need you. The kres people need you.”

  Grace’s plea rang around the cabin and then her mouth snapped shut. She had been leaning forward, holding Free’s gaze, but she abruptly sat back and clasped her hands in her lap. Her fronds twitched, but only to settle meekly against the folds of her neck. The tip of one rose to idly brush the amber jewel at her throat, and she made no more effort to influence Free.

  He suddenly stood and turned away, pacing angrily across the room, before stopping by an illusory window and staring into the darkness it showed. He wanted to scream and rail at the universe, but had always hated gestures of self-pity.

  Instead, he made a decision, looking back over his shoulder at Grace.

  “Such a union would free my crew from this hunt? All of them?”

  “Ye,” the head of the BGP agreed simply.

  Free hesitated again, but only briefly. His hands abruptly fell, to hang limp and empty at his sides. The emotions he sent to Grace were grim, but resolved. “Marry the royal gat? Ye, why the hail not?”

  Grace’s only response was a brief lowering of her lids to show agreement. If she felt joy or triumph she kept them locked tight within her mind. She rose stiffly from the bed, leaning on her cane, and managed to rustle as close to upright as her body now came. “I’ll contact the Arck for you,” she offered, and Free snorted with bitter humour.

  “Not for me,” he pointed out. “For you. And not yet. We’ve a trap to re-set. I’ll not disHonor my lost crew. We stay and we stay silent until the mission they died for is done. No coms ‘til we make a pirate kill.”

  28

  Ships That Pass in the Night

  Darsey opened her eyes to a familiar view of tousled dark hair and made no effort to stifle a curse. Waking this close to Nightwing had never been more unwelcome. His eyelids flickered to show brief crescents of gold, but before she could frown in response their amber light disappeared. His eyes vanished, lost in a white glare.

  Darsey stiffened and her own eyes opened fully to look past the last images from her sleep. Her dreams disappeared and she was alone, in the cell that Greon had delightedly escorted her to when she was returned to the Bandit. She was staring at a blank, white wall and her pulse slowed when she realized she would never wake beside Nightwing again. Instead she was held in full view of the entire crew. Her cell was the only occupied chamber on the inner wall of the nest, where prisoners could be easily watched and taunted.

  Darsey shut her eyes once more, avoiding the bleak sight of that freshly lit wall. She ignored the signal to start a new day and ignored the crew beginning their shift behind her. She put particular effort into ignoring Nightwing, who should be settling into his usual seat. She hoped that he noticed and that it hurt, before realising she was being foolish. The creep didn’t give a damn about her. And she was equally oblivious to him. He could crash and burn, while she toasted marshmallows over the wreckage.

  ***

  Wing tried very hard to ignore Darsey, but it was proving impossible. Her brightly lit cell was straight across the nest from his station and she was still trying to sleep, in total view of the mainshift crew. He chewed his lips, before turning away. He had to admit that he was irritable and increasingly moody, before he could force himself to look back to his work. He sat straight and tense in his nest seat, but the stream of data directed to his eyes vanished. It was replaced by a blade-stiff back, half covered in soft waves of red hair. Was she really still sleeping, or much worse, trapped in a listless depression?

  “Nightwing!” Leader Greon’s curt tone penetrated his abstraction. “Do something about it.”

  “What, sah?” asked Wing, cursing his inattention, and his Leader snarled, showing a sharp canine.

  “I’ve seen that look in kres before. You’ve met the female you wish to breed to, so do something about it. Do the marriage, or mating, or whatever your damned monogamous race does. I won't have you distracted by this. Understood?”

  “Understood, sah,” Wing answered crisply, relieved that Greon had mistaken the cause of his vagueness.

  “Good. Now, while I’m privileged to have your attention, a freighter convoy awaits us.” He paused in response to Wing’s blank look. “Did you see any-all of what you just scanned? Most especially that automated convoy of kres riches? Hmmm? Lay in a course and make it fast. I want to snatch them all in a single pass and loop straight for point. This is too in-system for my comfort.”

  Wing swung back to his console and considered the unexpected theft with growing excitement. The logistics of successfully snagging even one freighter at speed were daunting and not many nav seniors could have handled it. The control needed to tractor an entire convoy would demand his full concentration. Perfect. Darsey is out of my thoughts from now-

  Wing abruptly realized that he was again staring at her cell and made another effort to focus his attention. A rising vector at point seven warp, mmm… He belatedly settled to his task, making the train of automated freighters leap closer with startling speed.

  “Concentrate,” snarled Greon, but the word and the blow accompanying it were for Hazleean, who had been newly promoted to Data Senior. She whimpered and the leader cursed half-mutt mermaridian in scathing terms. She threw Wing a panicked look, but for once he was too busy to distract the leader. He just hoped she’d manage to remember Jileea’s briefing for inner system defense scans.

  “Sah,” Wing finally interrupted and the DS hiccupped with relief when Greon turned away. “Snatch in ten seconds. Everyone sharp. I want pick-up and stasis on my mark, with a full power burn at these settings. Coming in... nice and steady. It’s looking well. Here we go, people. Three, two, one, now.’

  His hands and mind flew through the images his console projected and the ship responded smoothly. The Bandit burned along the length of the convoy frighteningly fast and so close that even at its suicidal speed the tractor field could envelop the line of merchant haulers.

  The DS whimpered again, her eyes locked to the projected ships that filled the weightless globe and seemed to stream through it. Those images dwarfed the crew and dominated the nest. A series of silver cylinders flashed past, twisting wildly in the tractor field.

  They hooked the last ship and Hazleean screamed when Wing’s course swung the freighters wide beneath them and drove every console into the red. That warning glare lit the nest while the Bandit bucked so hard they could feel it despite the damping, and its metallic shrieks drowned Hazleean’s scream. A tremor ran through the hull to shake everyone aboard like dolls. They flopped helplessly until the strain activated the ship’s restraint fields.

  The forces on the crew were instantly distanced, while feather-down invisibly coated every seat. Wing relaxed his muscles and whooped with delight. The engines howled, but everything held. Stars wheeled around them in exactly the pattern he had programmed. The Bandit had seized its prey in a single pass and hardly paused while doing it.

  Wing slipped deeper into his seat when its protective field disappeared and a post-adrenaline slump claimed him. The engine grew quieter and the ship returned to nearly silent running, but Greon’s usual manic chuckle was overlaid by Hazleean's thin wail.

  The Leader sighed and pushed himself from his chair once the automatic restraints eased. A casual kick of his foot floated him across t
he nest to his new Data Senior. He watched Hazleean scream with his head on one side, as though bemused by the sight. The novelty palled and he slapped her with brutal force. She stopped shrieking instantly. The sound vanished as though her throat had been cut. She stared at Greon blankly, but he simply hummed and nodded once before turning back to his Senior.

  Wing held himself expressionless, but his jaw clenched, along with every muscle of his body, in an effort to stay silent and still.

  “Much better,” Greon observed brightly in the sudden quiet. “Decent job, Nightwing. Remind me not to hit you for a time. I’m sure I’ll be tempted soon-”

  “Ship,” yelled Wing, and Greon spun to the scan.

  “Kres,” the Leader gasped, and ground his teeth. “It’s a drakking fleet trap. Dump the freighters, they’re useless.”

  However, Wing had already released the decoys and the Bandit leapt forward under full power. Greon leaned over his DS and spat words in her face. “What is it?”

  Hazleean struggled to analyse her scan and looked up at him helplessly. “Big?”

  The Leader’s hand flicked to point his com at Jileea’s hapless replacement. The hum of blast function charging carried clearly across the nest and the quivering girl looked desperately to her Senior for help.

  “Sah!”

  Greon’s head snapped around at Wing’s imperative cry.

  “Orders, sah? It’s closing fast – true fast, over point eight. It looks like an old Noble class ship, but they were never that quick. I’m not certain-sure what it is, but scans show us out-powered and out-gunned.”

  Greon lowered his com and threw himself back into his chair. He chewed his lip until purple showed and glared at the alarming data in the air around them.

  “It’s too late to reverse and go for back-point. No,” Greon finally decided, “we’re committed now. We’ll have to run deeper into kres territory and risk meeting more of their ships. Push hard for point, Nightwing, and I mean super hard. Let’s make that passage. Power plus to propulsion. Plot it as close as we can take, Senior.”