She felt hands fumbling at her own helmet, lifting it away. Then the man spoke again, this time in Galcenian. “Happy meeting, gentlelady. I will escort you to your quarters.”
Beka drew herself up to her full height. “I am Domina Beka Rosselin-Metadi,” she said. “Domina of Lost Entibor, of Entibor-in-Exile, and of the Colonies Beyond. And I wish to speak with your commander.”
“You shall,” the man said. “Come and refresh yourself first. You will meet with the Grand Admiral soon.”
Beka nodded.
“Come,” the man said again, and walked away.
After a moment, she followed. The squad of troopers remained behind—apparently a single Mage was considered as roughly equivalent for escort purposes. This one didn’t look dangerous, but Beka knew better than to believe in appearances.
“You are our guest,” the man said, without turning his head. “While you remain our guest, no harm shall come to you if we can prevent it.”
“I see. What happens if someone decides I’m not your guest any longer?”
“The Grand Admiral can tell you more than I.”
They turned right down a narrow passageway. The Mage faced her and pushed a lockplate. A door slid open.
“Here are your quarters. When you are ready, the Grand Admiral will see you. He waits on your pleasure.”
“I suppose the door will be locked from the outside?”
“With regret—yes,” the man said. “It is for your own safety aboard ship, my lady, that you will need an escort at all times. Should you desire anything, I am Mid-Commander Mael Taleion. Speak my name, and I shall appear.”
“Very well. I’ll take the opportunity to rest for a moment, but I still want to speak with your admiral as soon as possible.”
“So it shall be.”
The man bowed. Beka turned and walked into the room. The door slid shut behind her.
She looked about her new quarters. I don’t know where they’ve put me, she thought, but it sure isn’t the detention level. Looks more like officer’s country, in fact.
The room was large for a ship’s cabin, brightly lit and well ventilated, but with a distinct alien flavor to it, as if all the dimensions and angles differed subtly from those that were standard on the Republic side of the Net. Water poured down one wall and vanished into a hole in the floor after running diagonally across the space in a small watercourse filled with rounded stones. When Beka checked, she found that the stones were permanently fastened in place.
No accounting for taste, she thought. I wonder if the personal waterfall is standard equipment in all the cabins, or a special treat for important guests and honored prisoners?
Beka pulled off the gauntlets of her p-suit and threw them onto the low, flat bed that filled one corner of the room. With her hands free, it was easy to strip off the rest of the bulky garment. She pulled her blaster from the cargo pocket and belted it around her waist. That was one advantage to “guest” status, she reflected; no search and seizure.
She pulled up a double handful of water from the waterfall—the temperature was just on the cold side of lukewarm, another reminder that these quarters had been designed according to an alien aesthetic—and splashed it onto her face. She shook the excess water from her hands and started back toward the door.
Time to see about calling for the mid-commander, she thought. The more of the Mages’ attention I can take up, the more of a chance Owen and Klea will have.
She found what looked like a comm speaker set into the bulkhead near the door, with a button beside it. She lifted a hand, thinking to push the button and await results—but she never got the chance. Instead, a strong arm came from behind to grab her shoulders and pull her away to one side.
Her hand fell to her blaster. Before she could pull it free another hand pressed down on hers, keeping the weapon holstered.
“Silence,” a voice whispered in Galcenian. “Be still.”
In the ’Hammer’s common room, after Beka had left, the silence stretched out for some time.
“When my people come here,” syn-Tavaite said finally, “my position will be very, very bad.”
Jessan looked up from his contemplation of the tabletop. “Remember what the Domina said.”
“How can I forget? But what is there we can do?”
LeSoit shrugged. “I’ve always said that when my time came I’d like it to find me playing at cards.”
“If you don’t stop dealing off the bottom,” Jessan said, “it probably will.”
LeSoit pulled a deck of cards out of his jacket pocket. “If that’s an invitation, I accept.”
“I must be insane to agree to play with your deck,” Jessan said. “But any diversion is preferable to terrorized monotony. Let’s see, you’re up three thousand at the moment, right?”
“Three thousand, two hundred and nine,” LeSoit said. “Want to continue, or start a new series?”
“Continue, I think.” Jessan took some chips from their storage space under the table.
“It is unbelievable,” syn-Tavaite said. “To play cards at such a time—”
“Reconcile yourself to it,” Jessan said. “My deal.”
“Want to join?” LeSoit asked.
syn-Tavaite stood up. “I will go now and check on the stasis box. That, at least, will make me of some use.”
She left the common room. At the table, Jessan dealt out the hands and picked up his cards.
“Something I’ve wondered,” he said, laying down the three of trefoils. “Where did a Magebuilt warship come from, out this far from anywhere?”
“There’s a war on,” LeSoit said, covering the three with a three of forges. He drew a new card from the pack and nodded to Jessan. “Over to you.”
“Sure, but this is an out-of-the-way place for a major unit to be patrolling. And having a battleship show up on the direct jump run from the middle of nowhere to Pleyver snaps the suspenders of my disbelief.” Jessan laid down a five of forges and replenished his hand from the deck.
“We’re dealing with Mages,” LeSoit said. He covered the five of forges with a two of forges from his hand.
“That’s an all-purpose explanation which I find rather unsatisfactory,” Jessan said. “Got any forges?”
“It’s true as far as it goes,” Ignac’ said. “Draw one.”
“Beka thought that Tarveet did it,” Jessan said, reaching out to Ignac’s fan of cards. “She said he must have gotten the base coordinates out of her under drugs, then told the Mages about it. You say he didn’t. Why?”
“Common sense,” LeSoit said, as Jessan took one of his cards. The former gunfighter took another card from his hand, the two of tors this time, and added it to the pile growing on the table. “Tarveet’s the sort who’d keep that info himself in case he could turn it to his own advantage later. Sell it to the Mages, maybe. Tell them flat out? I doubt it.”
Jessan laid down the two of flasks on the two of forges. “All right, I can go with that,” he said. “I suppose it’s also unlikely—even if the Mages did learn about the coordinates—that they’d assign a unit here just on the off chance that we might someday decide to show up. Nevertheless, here they are.”
“Here they are,” LeSoit agreed. “But Tarveet isn’t the one you’re looking for.” He laid down the scepter of flasks on the two. “I’m the one who sent them the message to come. Last night.”
“You son of a bitch,” Jessan said. He had his blaster out and aimed. “I told Beka months ago that we ought to shoot you, but she said no.”
“Maybe she’ll change her mind after she comes back,” LeSoit said. “You’ll have plenty of time to shoot me then. Meanwhile, it’s your turn.”
From the outer skin of the Magebuilt battleship, the stars looked bright and cold. Klea had never seen so many, all glowing steadily without any atmosphere around her to blur them, and seeming to hang over her like a suspended waterfall of light.
They’re not going to fall down on me, she told herself, a
nd clutched with pressure-gauntleted hands at the ringbolt on the metal hull beneath her. They’re not.
She touched her p-suit’s helmet against Owen’s—“Don’t use the comm link,” he’d told her, back in the airlock; “somebody might be listening”—and said, “They’ve shut the bay doors. How are we going to get in?”
“Don’t worry. A warship this size always has small craft coming and going—fighters, couriers, whatever. All we have to do is be there when one of them heads out.”
“Someone will see us.”
“People see what they expect to see. Even Mages.”
“Right,” said Klea. She fell silent again. The stars were not going to fall on her … they were not moving … they were moving …“Owen!”
“We’re accelerating,” he said. “Snap the safety line of your p-suit around that bolt and hold on.”
“Owen …”
Klea felt inertia pulling her backward. Her staff tugged at the clip on her belt. Then, all at once, the stars blazed up and went out.
A swirling greyness surrounded the battleship, relieved only where the exterior of the hull showed before Klea’s face when she pressed her helmet against it. She squirmed over until her helmet once more touched Owen’s.
“What is this?”
“This,” Owen replied, “is what hyperspace looks like. We’re in it.”
Beka said nothing and let herself be dragged farther aside into a cubicle off the main cabin—a cleaning-gear locker of some kind, from the racks and shelves. The locker extended back into darkness down a service tunnel. Up front near the overhead, an incandescent globe cast a yellow glare down on the two men facing her.
“Hello, Beka,” said the one who had demanded silence. He was dirty, ragged, and unshaven, but the clothes he wore were an Adept’s formal blacks. In one hand, for a staff, he held a piece of plastic pipe as tall as he was. The other man, also thin and ragged, wore what had clearly once been a Space Force general’s uniform; he was unarmed.
Beka stared at the Adept. “Master Ransome. Owen said you were—”
“Captured. Yes. But no longer.”
“If you’re trying to escape, I can’t help you. They gave me the guest bedroom, but I’m still a prisoner.”
“I had another kind of help in mind,” Ransome said. “The Mages will be coming back for you soon. They’ll be taking you to Lord sus-Airaalin.”
“How did you know that?”
Ransome’s haggard features took on a distant expression. “I have been … watching, for a long while. The currents of power flow strongly here, and there is strong Magework pulling and corrupting them. Someone who is patient, and has the time to wait and watch, can see many things. And I have had a great deal of time, since Galcen fell.”
“I see,” said Beka. “What is it that you want me to do?”
“You need to kill the Mage commander,” the man in the general’s uniform said.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Why haven’t the two of you done the deed yourselves?”
“sus-Airaalin is a Great Magelord,” Ransome said. “He protects himself constantly against me—even though he believes that I am no longer aboard his ship, he never lets down his guard. But you are still armed. sus-Airaalin himself wishes to speak with you; his death is necessary for the civilized galaxy to have peace.”
“You’re sure about that? Or is it just wishful thinking?”
Ransome smiled thinly. “Wishful thinking isn’t something I’ve been indulging in much lately. I have seen it, and it is so. Any other path leads to a Mage victory. Kill him.”
With that the man in the general’s uniform opened the closet door and nodded Beka through it. The closet door shut again, its outline vanishing into the wall as soon as it had closed. Beka went back to the comm speaker and pushed the button. A few seconds later the main door to the compartment opened to admit Mid-Commander Taleion.
“Domina, I have come to escort you to the commander of Sword-of-the-Dawn, Grand Admiral Theio syn-Ricte sus-Airaalin.”
III. GYFFERAN SYSTEM SPACE: RSF KARIPAVO DEEP SPACE: SWORD-OF-THE-DAWN
“MESSAGE COMING in, Commodore,” said Karipavo’s communications tech. “From the Infabede Fleet. Text follows: ‘You are entering Infabede Hegemony Area. This planet is under the protection of Admiral Vallant. Prepare to turn over your vessels to Infabede Command. Come dead in space, go dark. Prepare to be boarded.’”
“My, my,” Gil said. “Personal message to Admiral Vallant: ‘From Commodore Gil, RSF. You are in a state of rebellion and mutiny. Order your vessels to depart Gyfferan space at once. You are under arrest. Transfer yourself to my flagship to be placed in custody pending trial.’”
“That doesn’t leave much negotiating room,” the TAO said.
“I don’t have much time for negotiations,” Gil said. “There’s a war with the Mages going on. Get me a location on Vallant’s flagship.”
“Fezrisond?”
“That’s the one.”
“One of our vessels under attack,” the comptech at the main tank called out. The red dot of a hostile unit in orbit over Gyffer showed the location. “Identify attacker as RSF Wraynim. Attacking Claw Hard, armed merchant.”
“Return fire,” Gil said. He highlighted two other units in the TF nearby to come to assist, then looked up. “Where’s the Fezzy?”
“Got her located,” the comptech said, rotating the display in the tank to show it to Gil.
“He’s kept himself well out of harm’s way,” the TAO said.
“Let’s bring some harm over to him, then,” Gil said. “Get me eight ships, cruisers or better—Captain Lingor’s division would do it, I think. Get them to an intercept point and a blocking ring. I’m going to go in there myself.”
Gil turned to his aide. “Jhunnei, what do you think? Give him a chance to surrender?”
“Why bother?” she replied. “Save the Republic the trouble, and make him an example to his troops.”
“I thought so,” Gil said. “Put a fighter group on top of the Fezzy. And plot a minimum-time course to kinetic range on him.”
“Captain Lingor reports her division en route,” the comms tech called out. “Requests instructions.”
“Tell her to take the Fezzy under fire with missiles. Break off the attack when I get there.”
“RSF Wraynim has been hit,” the comptech said. “Appears to be unable to maneuver, no longer firing. Shields flickering.”
“Pass to Claw Hard, weapons tight.”
“Fezrisond under attack with missiles,” the comptech said. “Appears to be putting on speed and turning. Reports of attacks by Infabede vessels all over the system.”
“Stay with Fezrisond,” Gil said. “I want to pass under his stern in kinetic range. Pass to all units, condition red, weapons free. Designate Infabede units hostile. Increase main battle display magnification.”
The picture in the battle tank grew in size until it showed Captain Lingor’s group as blue shapes at the outer edges, surrounding the red triangle that represented Admiral Vallant’s flagship.
“Send to Captain Lingor: ‘Cease-fire missiles,’” Gil said. “That son of a bitch is mine.”
“Cease-fire aye,” the comm talkers tech said. “Captain Lingor rogers for cease-fire.”
“Get me under his tubes,” Gil said, “and we’ll shoot straight up his rear. I want all the kinetic weapons ganged to my control panel.”
In the main battle tank, the blue triangle that was Karipavo drove inward toward the red triangle that was Fezrisond, closer and closer until the shapes appeared to merge. The comptech increased magnification again so that the two triangles were alone in the tank, with the fighter squadrons flickering in and out of the display like tiny motes of luminescent dust.
“Fire.” Gil closed the contact on his master panel. The great ship shuddered, the lights dimmed, and the CIC was full of the silence of tense, suspended breath.
“Fire.” Again the ship shuddered.
“Fir
e.”
“Registering hits to Fezrisond,” called out the sensor tech. “Damage is light.”
“Prepare to come around,” Gil ordered. “We’re going to do it again.”
“Wait a minute, Commodore,” said Jhunnei, from where she’d been watching the sensor readouts over the technician’s shoulder. “Movement on Fezrisond. Appears to be a shuttle.”
“Tell the fighters to bring it in,” Gil said.
“Message receipt,” reported the comms tech. “From Fezrisond. They request we cease attack. Claim Admiral Vallant has departed.”
“That shuttle,” said Gil. “Is it headed in our direction?”
“Negative, sir. Heading away.”
“Belay my last,” Gil said. “Destroy that shuttle. I say again, destroy it. Make a general broadcast to all units, Infabede Fleet: ‘Come dead in space, go dark, prepare to be boarded.’ Give them twenty seconds to comply.”
“Shuttle destroyed, sir,” reported the sensor tech. “More units dropping out of hyper, just above the system, edge of active sensor range. Not SF or Gyfferan. Tentative ID Mage.”
“Commodore, we’re losing hi-comms again,” said the comms tech, just before the main battle tank flickered and went dark.
“It’s the Mages, all right,” Jhunnei said. “They’re here.”
Mid-Commander Taleion escorted Beka through the passageways of Sword-of-the-Dawn. Most of them looked like ship’s passageways anywhere, narrow and labyrinthine, but with the same alien twist to everything that she’d noted back in the cabin. After walking for some time they came to a sealed door guarded by a pair of black-robed Mages.
Just like the holovids, thought Beka nervously. Remember, they’re not immortal. You saw the Prof kill one back on Darvell.
The door opened, admitting Beka and Taleion to what she could only think of as an audience chamber: a huge room, as large as the docking bay had been, with a raised portion at one end where a crowd of people stood clustered together.
Don’t be too impressed; for all you know they could have rigged this place out of a cargo hold for your benefit.
By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3 Page 34