Land of the Dead ittotss-3

by Thomas Harlan

  The old woman shook her head. “Wasteful.”

  Then she frowned, indicating the navigational plot on his console. “Do these raiders believe they can pick up the mystery weapon and use it like a shipgun? Every vessel we’ve seen is a warship-have they no scientists along, to analyze these phenomena?”

  “That is an excellent point.” Hadeishi nodded thoughtfully. “Do we have a breakdown of the battle around the science station yet?”

  “Five minutes, Chu-sa.” De Molay yawned and turned back to where Lovelace had continued unraveling the encoded Khaid ’cast logs. “Five minutes.”

  ***

  An hour later, Mitsuharu was sitting on the edge of the uncomfortable chair, wholly engrossed in stepping through the debacle around the science station one more time. The Spear -class light cruiser had gone out of service fifteen years before his old Cornuelle had even been laid down, so it lacked a wide variety of modern innovations. No threatwell, no reconfigurable consoles. But the dedicated v-display built into the side of the captain’s station was enough to show him what he needed to see. To his eye, structure was slowly emerging from the seeming chaos of racing ships and sun-bright detonations. One ship, in particular, stood out amongst the confusion. An Imperial battle cruiser. A brand new one, he guessed, from the drive-flare and the outline the Khaid cameras had captured during the fighting.

  Ah, she is beautiful. And her commander will win himself more than one medal if he sees home again. See how deftly he handles her… so sure in every maneuver, parsimonious in his launch patterns… and if my eye does not deceive, still alive, having fled down this opening in the Barrier wall.

  “ Chu-sa? ” Leaning over from her console, De Molay broke his concentration. “I think our toil is showing fruit. Listen, isn’t this the Khaiden battlecast?”

  “Wait.” Hadeishi signaled Command for quiet. “Please confirm that we are not broadcasting, Sho-i Lovelace. The Khaid have acute hearing.” The old women handed over her earbug-though internal comm was operating again, the Khaid-specific systems were still cut from the main loop. He wiggled the uncomfortable object into his ear, listening closely to the resulting ebb and flow of alien chatter.

  After a few minutes he nodded to himself and signaled for Lovelace to kill the circuit.

  “I think you’re right. Now we need a working real-time translator.” He smiled wanly at the two women. “In about twelve hours?”

  De Molay made a face, looking sideways at Lovelace. The Sho-i shook her head in dismay. “I don’t think that’s possible, Chu-sa. I know they exist-but we don’t have one!”

  Mitsuharu frowned, sitting back in the beetle-chair. Now he was thankful for the rigid armor which kept him from being stabbed in the side every time he moved. “Do we have a lexicon at least? My Khadesh is very poor-is anyone on-board fluent?”

  “You mean besides the four Khaid we’ve captured?” The old woman shook her head. “Can we get a couple hours of shuteye, then try and work a new miracle for you?”

  “Of course, Sencho. There are mats in those rooms down the main corridor. Lovelace- sana can show you where they are.”

  ***

  A full watch later, Hadeishi had coaxed the display into allowing him to zoom in on sections of the battle, even though the Kader ’s shipnet core complained when he used so many computing cycles. De Molay and Lovelace had settled back into their seats, some kind of hot, nasty-smelling beverage in their hands. He rotated the shattered hulk of the Tlemitl, examining the debris field the super-dreadnaught had generated.

  Sure enough, a cloud of evac capsules is huddling behind the wreck. He scratched behind one ear with his stylus.

  The warship had lost two major sections to the Barrier weapon, but had remained largely intact. Whoever remained aboard had managed to cut the engines, contain the reactors, and get the surviving crew away into the evacuation pods. They had not kept the two severed sections from continuing forward, to be diced into ever smaller debris by whatever lay beyond… but the main mass of the hull had halted its rush to destruction. Affording a paltry shelter to the survivors.

  “Here, Sencho, here are the ones who need us most. Their oxygen, water, and food is ebbing away like the outgoing tide. Even the Firearrow ’s corpse will not shield them from the Khaid much longer.”

  He turned to find De Molay regarding him pensively. “You don’t intend to leave a single man behind, do you?” she asked. “Even if this means risking nearly two hundred lives you’ve already saved and this fine ship you’ve taken?”

  “It is not my ship,” Hadeishi replied absently. “I cannot be held to account for its loss. But there are skilled officers and men out there waiting to die in the dark, either by fire or from cold, and their spirits will weigh heavy upon me if I do not try.”

  “Even if they would leave you behind without a second thought?”

  Hadeishi gave her a sidelong look. The rest of the men and women on the bridge had paused in their work and were listening intently-though, out of deference to the two senior officers, not openly. Save Lovelace, of course, who was just staring at the two of them in dismay.

  Mitsuharu tapped the helmet ring of his captured Khaiden armor, which he had not had time to take off since boarding the Kader. “I am already dead,” he said quietly. “While they still live and breathe. I would keep grave-dust from their mouths as long as I can. In this way, even a spirit can serve.”

  De Molay made a disbelieving face. “I do not understand this fatalism, Chu-sa. It is not my way.”

  Hadeishi spared a moment to regard Tocoztic, who had taken the weapons officer’s station. The young man looked pale, trying to escape notice by shrinking down into his seat. “With time and experience, that which was once obscure becomes clear,” Hadeishi said softly. Then he picked up his stylus, eyes again fixed upon the little display, his whole attention focused on the tactical puzzle before him.

  The Naniwa

  In the shadow of the sunflower

  Though proper quarters had been provided for him, Prince Xochitl remained in Secondary Command, staring fixedly at the incomprehensibly large shape of the artifact four thousand kilometers from their bow, and doodling on his console. Doctor Anderssen and a rotating set of sensor techs and weapons officers had been working through all of the data captured by Konev’s shuttle before its destruction, along with everything else flowing into their limited set of radiation-hardened sensors.

  Chu-sa Kosho, who seemed to have taken up permanent residence in Main Command, had directed the technical team to modify one of the remotely controlled bots used for hull repairs and use the resulting “probe” to plumb the convoluted architecture of the structure without loss of life.

  Xochitl found it interesting, in a nasty way, that the Nisei officer was concerned for the life of even the least of her crewmen. Yakka won’t last long in the Fleet, he decided, without someone to sponsor her. I wonder… He paused a moment, half expecting his exo to kick in and present a list of advantages and disadvantages accrued by his patronage. When nothing happened, Xochitl felt the absence as a kind of unquenchable hunger, twisting his stomach into emptiness. He had not realized, having the exo present his entire adult life, how heavily he relied on the device.

  My eyes are flawless, the Prince reminded himself, but how do I see when the world around me is not annotated, described, outlined? It was difficult for him to even navigate the hallways of the ship-no map presented itself, directing his steps, and the kanji -lettered signs and warnings were unreadable. Xochitl was a little stunned to realize that he did not actually know the meanings of all of the rank badges, flashes, and glyphs which informed the knowing observer of all of the hierarchies and authorities within the Fleet. Exo had always been whispering in his mind, guiding his interactions with the military, with the provincial governors, with-with everyone in his life.

  I’m a cripple. The thought was bitter ash in his mouth. While the Hjo remains in my proximity.

  This, Xochitl realized, was both the
core of the problem and the obvious solution. He stood up abruptly and paced over to the xenoarchaeologist at the comm station.

  “Follow me,” he said before turning away, scanning the doors leading off of Secondary Command for a room which would suffice. There! Thank Yacatecuhtli, Guide of the Lost, that someone’s put up a sign in Nahuatl!

  ***

  Xochitl gestured for Anderssen to enter the conference room, and then closed the door lightly behind them. She sat on the edge of a fine-looking red mahogany table which made a hollow circle. The base apparatus for a holocast projector filled the center of the room. Gretchen looked the Prince up and down with open interest, wondering what was on his mind. Something is, for certain. Then she narrowed her eyes, trying to gain a sense of him, wondering if her gift-if it was a gift, and not the product of drugs or the unknown influence of the Adh’atr -would work on a person as well as a potsherd.

  Xochitl said nothing, leaning against a cedar-paneled wall ornamented with recessed watercolor paintings of flowers-they looked like pansies to Anderssen’s eye, but she was no expert on the flora of old Earth-and scowling at her with a disturbingly unblinking gaze.

  This is very strange, Gretchen thought-but she played along, saying nothing, idly kicking her feet and trying not to fidget. She felt the desire to be back at her console, digging through the reams of 3-v data, or the spatial model, or measurements of the enormous structure, as a physical pain. But still, she waited.

  After quite a long time, the door recessed into the wall with a soft chuff and Chu-sa Kosho stepped in, her white dress uniform as immaculate as ever, her fine-boned face perfectly composed.

  Seeing her, the Prince snorted rather rudely in amusement and then lifted his chin at Anderssen.

  “This is the one who led you through the Barrier?”

  Kosho paused at the edge of the conference table, regarding him levelly, and then nodded slightly.

  “Then we have a problem,” he declared. “The Naniwa must leave this area immediately. My noble guest, the sian-fengh, has made his desire to flee very clear. I cannot refuse him. Yakka, I need you to keep a close eye on him for me. He’s truculent, difficult and, as you saw-unexpectedly dangerous, but I don’t think he’ll give you much trouble if you put a nargile and some opium back in his hands.”

  “Where are you going?” Kosho clasped both hands behind her back, falling into an easy parade rest.

  Xochitl smiled, showing a large number of perfectly formed white teeth. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before, about my father-I’m going to do exactly as he asked. I’m taking that little merchant ship in the rear cargo hold and staying behind, while you return to the Barrier wall. I understand she’s well shielded, and won’t cost you something off your manifest if we suffer the same fate as that cargo shuttle.”

  He tapped the side of his head sharply. “Find us a way out, Yakka. We have to get out of here before we starve or are baked inside the shipskin, and there’s no sense in you wasting time here while we poke and pry.”

  “Thus your problem,” Kosho said coolly. “I’ll need Anderssentzin and her comp models to find a way out, but you can’t get inside the artifact without her. She can’t be in both places at once, can she?”

  The Prince nodded, clapping his hands lightly together. “That would seem a puzzle, save I have an answer.” He smiled tightly at the Chu-sa, an expression which made the little hairs on Gretchen’s neck rise.

  “That pale, nervous Anglishman you’ve got stowed away in Engineering-yes, I know where he is-give him the telemetry from your passage through the Pinhole and he can reconfigure your sensors to reveal the spiderweb trapping us.”

  Beyond a slight nostril flare, Kosho showed no reaction. But Gretchen could feel the woman’s entire body stiffen from across the room, and the answering surge of pleasure in the Prince. What a foul dog he is, she thought, watching the two of them as from a great distance.

  “Helsdon is not wholly himself-”

  “All the better,” Xochitl snapped, “near-mad as he is may prove to your advantage! I am taking Anderssen here into the artifact, Chu-sa, while you find us a way out of this hole. Is that perfectly clear?”

  “ Hai, Gensui.”

  Anderssen felt an enormous surge of delight, like golden honey welling up within her, suffusing her arms, legs-even her thoughts-with anticipation.

  ***

  Two hours later, Kosho looked up at a soft tapping at the door to her private office. “Enter.”

  The door slid open and Green Hummingbird stepped in, his feet bare, attired in a simple Fleet undershirt and off-duty trousers. Without his usual cloak and hood, he seemed surprisingly small-until one met his dusky green eyes and then his true stature asserted itself.

  “ Chu-sa Kosho,” he said politely. “A word with you, if I may.”

  “I believe,” she said, rising and stepping to the door, “that you were confined to the brig, by order of the Prince Imperial himself.”

  No one was in the corridor, though Susan was unpleasantly aware that nearly every centimeter of the Naniwa was under surveillance by some kind of recording device.

  The old Nahuatl nodded. “I am. Thank you for your concern for my comfort. Your hospitality has been most adequate, but I am on my way to pay respects to the Esteemed One and shall not keep you further.”

  With that, he made a polite bow and then slipped out the door again. Kosho stared after him, wondering if she should summon the marine ready squad, have the nauallis clapped in chains and then, perhaps, locked in a room for which there was no key. But then, she thought, starting to feel rising amusement at the thought of seeing the Prince’s face when the escape was discovered, he would wrinkle his way out of that, too. I wonder… Another thought brought her up short. Does Hummingbird believe he will cheat death, too, in the end?

  Juggling the possibilities in her mind, Kosho came to the unpleasant conclusion that letting the nauallis go about his business without interference was less dangerous than following the Prince’s orders. Particularly since she was quite certain that Hummingbird knew what he was doing, even if she couldn’t stand him personally. However, she thought, I do need to keep an eye on the future.

  Susan then went to her console and tapped open a channel to the brig. The marine officer on duty responded immediately, his young face intent and dutiful.

  “ Heicho Adamsky, has someone thought to provide the prisoner in cell one with something to eat?”

  Then while she waited for the alarms to sound, most of her attention was on the supply manifests Thai-i Goroemon had forwarded up from Logistics for her review. They were desperately low on every kind of munitions, and only marginally better off for parts, meds, and food. Six months of supplies left, eh? Only if you don’t get a quarter of your stowage vented by a penetrator.

  ***

  Some time later, the tramp freighter Moulins maneuvered out of the rear cargo hold under its own power. The ship had been hurriedly resupplied with water, food, and other perishables. Reaction mass for the engines had been topped off and Prince Xochitl, his remaining Jaguar Knight, Doctor Anderssen, and a handful of marines borrowed from the Naniwa were on board. In the cramped Command space, Captain Locke and his pilot were watching the external cameras and docking control status with a weather eye. The Prince and his bodyguard had appropriated the Navigator and Comm officer’s seats and were glowering at the backs of the Europeans during the delicate maneuver.

  Gretchen watched them all from the hatchway while the ship was decoupling, then left them all to stew and banged downdeck to the cargo area where all of their luggage had been piled by the middies from the Naniwa. Her duffle had disappeared, to her disgust, under an enormous quantity of marine gear.

  And, she thought, rather morosely, here I am again on this damned tiny ship with these fanatics.

  Locke had accepted this new commission without protest, having apparently spent his time in the brig playing cards and smoking a succession of foul Novo French ciga
rettes. Now free of the battle-cruiser and at the helm of his own ship again, his hostility towards the Prince and the Fleet marines cluttering up his decks was banked, but simmering. Lojtnant Piet was doing less well at hiding his antipathy, but Xochitl apparently did not care, showing not the slightest awareness of their anger.

  They’ll find a way to get along, Anderssen thought cheerfully, dragging olive-gray duffels aside. “There’s my-oh, what the hell are you doing in there?”

  Beneath the pile of luggage, with his head resting on Gretchen’s field pack, Green Hummingbird had made himself a bit of a nest using a pair of folding kitchen tables. As she moved aside the last of the ammunition crates with a grunt, his lips fluttered with a soft snore.

  “Does the Prince know you’ve come along, Crow?” Anderssen pinched his brown old ear as hard as she could. The old Nahuatl opened one eye, squinting at her, then sat up carefully and eased out of the tiny space under the tables.

  Briskly chafing his wrists and ankles, he observed: “ Tlatocapilli Xochitl is noted for his admirable qualities in battle, not for his legendary acumen. Chu-sa Kosho, on the other hand, is beginning to understand how to operate in the wide world, as befits a gifted student with an excellent master.”

  Gretchen shook her head, retrieving her pack. She began digging through the compartments, confirming that everything she’d stowed was still in place and undamaged. “Why did they send him then? They knew what was out here, right?”

  Hummingbird shrugged. “I believe he was judged the most expendable of the Emperor’s sons.”

  “More so than the one that’s always on the 3-v? Tezozomoc the Glorious?” Anderssen was appalled.

  “Not all stone flakes the right way,” the old man replied, pulling on a pair of boots he’d lifted from one of the other duffels. “What use is a pretty piece of flint if it cannot take an edge?”