In Fury Born (ARC)

by David Weber

  "My God."

  Ben Belkassem's words hung in the sickbay air, and he wondered if they were a curse or a prayer. He sank back into his chair, as nauseated as Tannis Cateau had been as she came down from the tick.

  Sir Arthur Keita said nothing, only stared down at the woman in the hospital bed. Tannis's fire had sliced away her legs like a jagged scalpel, but no one pitied her. She lay there, smiling a bemused, cheerful smile, and Keita wanted to strangle her with his bare hands.

  Rachel Shu was the only member of the renegades' field staff to be taken alive. He knew he should be grateful, that no one except James Howell himself could have given them more information, but simply listening to her fouled him somehow. She carried an invisible rot with her, a gangrene of the soul all the more terrible for how ordinary she looked, and she'd explained it all with appalling cheerfulness under the influence of Ben Belkassem's drugs.

  Under normal circumstances, no imperial subject could be subjected to truth drugs outside a court of law—which, Keita knew, wouldn't have stopped Ben Belkassem or Hector Suares for a moment. For himself, the brigadier was just as happy that no laws had been broken. Bent, perhaps, but not broken. Shu had been taken in the act of piracy; as such, she had no rights. Keita could have had her shot out of hand, and he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to! But she was far too valuable for that. His medicos would cosset and pamper her as they would the Emperor himself, for her testimony would put Subrahmanyan Treadwell and Sir Amos Brinkman in front of a firing squad.

  He stepped back from the bed as from a plague carrier and folded himself into a chair opposite Ben Belkassem. Tannis Cateau was a white-faced ghost at his side, and silence hung heavy until the inspector broke it.

  "I can't—" He shook his head. "I heard it all, and I still can't believe it," he said almost wonderingly. "All these months hunting for the cold-blooded bastards behind it, only to find this at the end of them."

  "I know." Keita's lips worked as if he wanted to spit on the deck. "I know," he repeated, "but we've got it all. Or enough, anyway." He turned to Inspector Suares, standing at Ben Belkassem's shoulder. "We won't need Clean Sweep after all, Inspector."

  "I can't say I'm sorry," Suares said, "but this is almost worse. I don't think any sector governor's ever been convicted of treason."

  "There's always a first time," Keita said grimly. "Even for this, I suppose." He shook himself. "I'll speak to Admiral Leibniz myself; I don't want this going any further than the people in this room until we reach Soissons."

  He inhaled deeply, then summoned a sad smile.

  "This may even help, in a way." The others looked at him in astonishment, and his smile grew a bit wider. "We'd never have gotten this far without Alley, Tannis." He nodded at Ben Belkassem. "Add it to what the Inspector has to say, and we may get that shoot on sight order dropped."

  Tannis's face lit with sudden, fragile hope, but Ben Belkassem sucked in air as if he'd been punched in the belly. Keita turned at the sound, and his eyes narrowed as he saw the inspector's face.

  "What?" he asked sharply

  "Alicia," Ben Belkassem whispered. "My God, Alicia!"

  "What about her?"

  "She knows. Dear God in heaven, she knows about Treadwell!"

  Keita twitched in surprise. "That's ridiculous! How could she?"

  "The computers." Ben Belkassem's hands gestured in frustration as they eyed him blankly and he tried to put his racing thoughts into words. "Procyon's computers! When Megaira took out the AI, Alicia tapped into the net along with her!"

  "What are you talking about?" Tannis demanded. "That's—I don't think that would be possible for a trained alpha-synth pilot, much less Alley! Even if she could, Shu just told us Treadwell wasn't in the computers."

  "Don't you understand yet?" Ben Belkassem snarled so fiercely Tannis stepped back. "She's not crazy—not the way you thought! Tisiphone is real!"

  Tannis and Keita exchanged quick glances, then turned wary eyes upon the inspector, as if they expected him to begin gibbering any moment, and he forced his anger and frustration back down.

  "You weren't listening to me earlier," he said urgently. "I told you what she did to Alexsov. She didn't question him, she read his mind. Call it telepathy, call it rogue psi talents, call it any damned thing you want, but she did it!"

  Keita sank back in his chair, Tannis drove her hands deep into her pockets and hunched her shoulders, and Ben Belkassem nodded slowly.

  "Exactly. You may think Tisiphone is a product of Alicia's own mind—I don't. I sat across a dinner table and talked to her, for God's sake! I don't know what she is, but she's real, and she really can read minds . . . among other things. Think about how Alicia broke out of the hospital and stole Megaira. Think about how she tracked down the 'pirates,' damn it!"

  "All right," Keita said at last. "All right, let's grant that Alicia—or this Tisiphone—can read minds. If she didn't get it from Alexsov, where could she have gotten it since?"

  "From Rendlemann." Ben Belkassem pointed at Shu. "Remember what she said about what happened to him when Megaira took out Procyon's AI? That was Tisiphone. It had to be."

  "Oh, come on!" Keita protested. "The man was linked to a crashed AI!"

  "Oh?" Ben Belkassem turned to Tannis. "What normally happens to a cyber-synth operator when that happens, Major?"

  "Catatonia," Tannis said promptly. "He goes out like a light."

  "Then why did they have to sedate Rendlemann to hold him down?"

  "Crap!" Tannis breathed. "He's right, Uncle Arthur—that's totally outside the profile. If Alley really can read minds now . . ."

  There was a long moment of silence, and then Keita sighed.

  "All right. Suppose she can—and did. Why the sudden concern?"

  "If she knows about Treadwell, she's going to go for him," Ben Belkassem said flatly.

  "Wait—just wait a minute!" Tannis protested. "What do you mean 'go for him'?"

  "I mean she and Megaira—and Tisiphone—will try to kill him. She doesn't know we got any of Howell's staff alive. As far as she knows, she's the only person who knows the whole truth, and everyone thinks she's crazy. She thinks no one would believe her—that she has to get him herself."

  "But she can't," Tannis said reasonably. "Treadwell's on the Soissons command fortress—she knows that."

  "And she doesn't care. My God, it was all I could do to stop her from going after Howell by herself!"

  "But it would be suicide. Alley would never do anything like that. I know her."

  "You knew her," Ben Belkassem corrected grimly. He folded his hands tightly and stared down at them, choosing his words with care. "She's not crazy the way you thought she was, but—" He paused and inhaled deeply. "Major Cateau, Sir Arthur, there's something else going on inside her now. It wasn't there at Soissons. There's a . . . fanaticism. I saw it after Wyvern. She was fine before she found out about Alexsov and Brinkman, but then—"

  "What are you saying, Ferhat?" Keita asked quietly.

  "I'm saying she doesn't care about anything but destroying the 'pirates.' Nothing else is real to her anymore. She'll kill herself to get them . . . and she'll kill anyone else who stands in her way."

  "Not Alley," Tannis whispered, but it wasn't a protest. She was pleading, and Ben Belkassem hated himself as he nodded. Keita stared at the inspector, and his mouth tightened.

  "If you're right—I'm not certain you are, but if you're right—there are nine thousand other people on that fortress."

  "I know."

  "But could she even get through the defenses?" Suares asked.

  "She already got through them once," Ben Belkassem said. "She cut right through the middle of Howell's entire squadron. I don't know if she can get through the forts again. I wouldn't bet against it . . . but I doubt she could get back out alive."

  "She wouldn't want to." Tears sounded in Tannis's voice. "Not Alley. Not after killing nine thousand innocent people." A sob caught in her throat. "If she could do that, she's turne
d into something she wouldn't want to live."

  "She'll ram," Keita said softly. "She'll take the fort out with her Fasset drive. It's all she's got that could do the job."

  "We have to warn them," Suares said. "If we have Treadwell taken into custody, removed from the fortress, and tell her so—"

  "We can't." Ben Belkassem smiled bitterly. "We don't have a starcom, and nothing we've got is as fast as Megaira."

  "No," Keita said slowly, "but . . ." His voice trailed off, then he nodded decisively and stood. "We do have a dispatch boat. That's almost as fast, and she wormholed out of here almost directly away from Franconia. I doubt she had time to pre-plot it, either, so God only knows where she'll come out. I'll have Admiral Leibniz run the figures, but she's got to decelerate and reorient herself before she can even start for Soissons. If we leave immediately, we should beat her there with time to spare."

  "And do what, Uncle Arthur?" Tannis asked in a tiny voice.

  "I don't know, Tannis." He sighed. "I just don't know."

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  The shrill bell jarred her sleeping brain. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, then glared at the chronometer and punched the com button.

  "Horth. What is it, damn it?!"

  "Sorry to disturb you, Admiral," her chief of staff said, "but Perimeter Tracking's just picked up two incoming drive signatures."

  "So?" Vice Admiral Horth managed not to snarl. "We've got thirty, forty arrivals a day in this system."

  "Yes, Ma'am, but these two both look like Fleet drives. Neither is scheduled, and they're coming in very, very fast on reciprocal bearings. If they're headed for rendezvous here, they must be planning crash turnovers."

  "Crash turnovers?" Horth swung her feet out of bed and fumbled for her slippers with them. "What sort of vectors are we talking about?"

  "The more distant bogey's turning just over fourteen hundred lights and bears roughly oh-seven-three by three-five-oh, Ma'am; the closer one is making twelve-sixty lights from two-five-five by oh-oh-three. Unless they change heading after they break sublight, they'll meet right at Soissons."

  Horth frowned in surprise. Two Fleet units headed for rendezvous here and no one had even mentioned them to Traffic Control? But then the speeds registered. Twelve hundred times light-speed was moving it even for a dispatch boat, but nothing moved at fourteen hundred lights except —

  She forgot her slippers and reached for her uniform.

  "ETAs?" she snapped.

  "If they both go for minimum distance turnover from Franconia's Powell limit, Bogey One—the closer one—will drop sublight at approximately ten-forty-one hours, Ma'am. Bogey Two will do the same at eleven-forty-six."

  "Um." Horth slid out of her nightgown and started climbing into clothes. "All right. Alert all fortress commanders. We've got time, but I want all forts on standby by ten hundred hours. Then get hold of Admiral Marat. See if he's completed that estimate of the alpha-synth's capabilities and get it to me ASAP." She zipped her blouse and reached for her tunic. "Is Admiral Gomez back from Ithuriel with the Capital Squadron?"

  "No, Ma'am. The maneuvers aren't due to end until late tomorrow."

  "Damn. Admiral Brinkman?"

  "He's already aboard Orbit One for your morning conference, Ma'am."

  "Ask him to join me in PriCon immediately, but I don't see any reason to wake the Governor General so soon."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  Horth grunted and cut the circuit, and her face was worried. They hadn't managed to keep that lunatic from stealing the alpha-synth. Somehow, even after all the fire control upgrades since, she didn't think they'd do a lot better keeping her out.

  The ponderous orbital forts of the Franconia System lumbered to life and began their equipment tests. People were people, and the crazy drop commando had been the butt of tasteless jokes for months; now she was coming back, and Alicia DeVries' madness was no longer an amusing subject.

  A half-crippled starship sped through wormhole space, vibrating to the harsh music of a damaged Fasset drive far too long on emergency overboost. One sleek flank was battered and broken. Splintered structural members and shattered weapons gaped through rent plating, the slagged remnants of a cargo shuttle were fused to a twisted shuttle rack, and there was silence on its flight deck. Its AI hugged her wordless sorrow, and a bodiless spirit four thousand years out of her own time brooded in mute anguish over the evil she had wrought. Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say. The arguments had been exhausted long ago, and the woman in the command chair no longer even heard them. Her uniform was stained and sour, her skin oily, her hair unwashed and lank, and her red-rimmed eyes blazed with fixed, emerald fire.

  The starship Megaira hurtled onward, and madness sat at her controls.

  "Hoo, boy! Look at that sucker," Lieutenant Anders muttered at his post in Tracking. Bogey One had timed its turnover perfectly; now it was sublight, ninety-three light-minutes from Orbit One and decelerating at thirteen hundred gravities. Whoever that was, he must have been in one hell of a hurry to get here. He was going to overshoot Soissons by almost a light-hour before he could kill his velocity, even at that deceleration.

  The dispatch boat was crowded.

  Keita hadn't even asked Tannis to stay behind—he recognized the impossible when he saw it—and Inspector Suares had been almost as insistent. Keita didn't really need him, for his own legal authority was more than sufficient for the distasteful task in hand, but having a Criminal Branch chief inspector in the background couldn't hurt. Ben Belkassem hadn't insisted on anything; he'd simply arrived aboard with an expression even Keita wouldn't have cared to cross.

  All of which meant they'd been living in one another's pockets for almost a week now, since the eight-man craft had designed accommodations for only two passengers. They'd packed themselves in somehow—and, at the moment, it seemed everyone aboard was crowded onto the flight deck.

  "How do I play the com angle, Sir Arthur?" the lieutenant commanding the dispatch boat asked. "They won't expect anything from us for thirty minutes or so, but the way we're coming in has to've made them curious."

  "You've got urgent dispatches," Keita rumbled. "Don't say a word about who's on board. If anyone asks, lie. I don't want anyone knowing we're here—or why—until I'm actually aboard that fortress."

  "Yes, Sir. I—"

  The lieutenant paused and pressed his synth-link headset to his temple, then gestured at a screen. Unarmed dispatch boats had neither the need nor the room for a warship's elaborate displays, but the view screen doubled as a plot when required. Now it flashed to life with a small-scale display of the Franconia System. The blue star of their Fasset drive moved only slowly on the display's scale, but a second star rushed to meet them at an incredible supralight velocity. Numbers scrolled across the bottom of the screen, then stopped and blinked with the computers' best guess.

  If that other ship executed a crash turnover of its own, it would drop sublight in sixty-four minutes at a range of two-point-eight light-hours.

  "Well, Bogey One's a dispatch boat, all right," Lieutenant Anders announced as Perimeter Tracking's light-speed sensors finally confirmed the gravity signature analysis.

  The watch officer nodded and turned to pass the information in-system to Orbit One, and Anders swung his attention back to Bogey Two. He had no idea why that dispatch boat had arrived just now, yet he couldn't shake the conviction that it had to have something to do with Bogey Two—and he knew what Bogey Two had to be.

  "Jesus!" he muttered to the woman at the next console as Bogey Two streaked towards Franconia's stellar Powell limit. "If she doesn't flip in about fifteen seconds, she's gonna have fried Fasset drive for lunch."

  "Are we ready, Admiral?"

  "As we can be, Governor." Vice Admiral Horth sat in her command chair, already wearing her headset, and studied her plot. "I wish I knew what she's up to this time around."

  "It doesn't really matter, does it, Becky?" Sir Amos Brinkman asked, and Horth shook h
er head with a sigh.

  "No, Amos. I don't suppose it does," she said softly.

  Megaira murmured hopelessly.

  "No!" Alicia DeVries' contralto was as harsh and gaunt as her face. Cords showed in her throat, and somewhere deep inside she wept for her cruelty to Megaira, but the tears were far away and lost. "Just do it!" she snarled.

  "It's got to be Alley. But how did she get here so soon?"

  "I don't know, Tannis," Keita replied. "Coming in on that vector after the way she wormholed out. . . . It just doesn't seem possible. She must have had her drive redlined all the way here."

  "Should we warn Orbit One?" Ben Belkassem asked quietly.

  Keita stood silent for a moment, then shook his head.

  "No. They already have her course plotted. Nothing we can tell them could change their defensive responses, and the truth would only disorganize their command structure at the critical moment." He glanced at the lieutenant. "Continue your deceleration, Captain, but have your com section ready. We'll just barely have the range to reach her when she breaks sublight."

  Ben Belkassem looked up sharply, then glanced at Tannis. The major hunched forward, staring at the plot, and the inspector moved even closer to Keita, pitching his voice too low for her to overhear.

  "Do you really think you can talk her out of this, Sir Arthur?"

  "Honestly?" Ben Belkassem nodded, and Keita sighed. "Not really. She's got a damned low opinion of imperial justice—God knows she has a right to it—and from what you've told me about her mental state—"

  He exhaled sharply.

  "No, I don't think I can talk her out of it, but that doesn't mean I don't have to try."

  "Here . . . she . . . comes," Lieutenant Anders whispered. Then, "Turnover! Christ! Look at that decel!"