Starpilot's Grave: Book Two of Mageworlds

by Doyle, Debra; Macdonald, James D.

  “‘Cosmic daylight break authenticate one five echo.’”

  “You got it,” Jessan said. “Now transmit and let me know how they respond.”

  “What was that?” Beka asked.

  “Remember I told you that getting through the Net wouldn’t be a problem? Assuming the skipper of whoever’s out here has the clearance, what I just told him should bounce him right out of bed.”

  “Fine,” said Beka. “Now test pad three.”

  “Test pad three, aye.”

  Ari reached the starboard sensor nacelle exactly twenty Standard minutes, by his chronometer, from the time his unexpected visitor had passed him the cryptic note.

  He wasn’t particularly surprised to meet the same JG coming down the passageway from the opposite direction. The young officer nodded to Ari without speaking and gestured to him to follow. In silence, they made their way back along the outboard passage into “fighter country,” the part of the Fezzy that was reserved for the fighter detachment.

  They halted at the door of the pilots’ ready room. Ari palmed the lockplate, but nothing happened. He looked at the JG. The younger officer reached past him and touched the lockplate. The door slid open, and Ari followed the JG inside before it could close again.

  In theory, as head of the Fezzy’s medical department, Ari should have had his ID scan on file in ship’s memory with override access to all spaces—but in theory, the head medic’s office shouldn’t have had snoop-buttons planted in it, and junior officers shouldn’t be inviting him to mysterious private meetings.

  Somebody jury-rigged a new ID filter on that lockplate, Ari thought as the door slid shut behind him. I hope they remember to switch it back before the next time one of them needs a medic in a hurry.

  The ready room was packed with what looked like all of the pilots and other ranks from the fighter detachment, crammed in so tightly that the ventilation systems were having trouble clearing the air. The senior officer of the det, another lieutenant commander, stood by the forward bulkhead.

  “That’s it,” he said. “I believe that’s everyone. All doors secure?”

  “Secure, aye,” said another one of the fighter pilots.

  “Listening device disabled?”

  “Disabled.”

  “Great.” He turned to Ari. “Whatever you decide to do, Commander, please don’t do anything foolish. You won’t leave this space without my permission.”

  Ari nodded, slowly. “I can see that. Do you mind telling me what this is all about?”

  “We’re having a mutiny, and you’re part of it,” the lieutenant commander replied. “You’ll have a chance to join us; but be assured that you won’t be allowed to hinder us.”

  Ari forced himself to relax. He was too far away from the lieutenant commander, the JG, and the door to get to any one of them in a single stride; better to wait until he knew who was involved and how they were armed. Judging by the growls and muttered exclamations that arose from the rest of the group, he wasn’t the only one hearing the news for the first time.

  The JG who’d slipped him the note spoke next, addressing not just Ari but the room in general. “It is my belief that Admiral Vallant is in open rebellion against the Republic.”

  More exclamations and noises of disbelief came from the crowd, but the JG kept on talking.

  “At the moment, we are underway for an unknown location—but getting underway at this time is entirely against the mission of this vessel. Further, Admiral Vallant has placed personal friends or those who owe him favors in command of every vessel in this sector. In addition, hi-comms are down, and I have reason to believe that Valiant knew in advance that they would be. The bulkheads to senior-officer country are sealed, and no one other than Vallant’s handpicked few are in the engine room, in Combat, or on the bridge.”

  The JG paused for a moment. When the general buzz of comment died down, he went on.

  “We had been ordered to deliver messages, hardcopy, across the fleet. As it happens, I know what those messages contained: ultimate for every planet in this sector, directing them to swear loyalty to Vallant personally or face destruction by his fleet. The ultimata are being delivered at this time. Also at this time, Lieutenant Commander Rosselin-Metadi was to be arrested and held as hostage against the actions of his father, the Commanding General.”

  “And that,” said the commander of the fighter det, turning to address Ari directly, “is why we arrested you. If you’re going to be a bargaining chip, we’d like you to be ours.”

  “Believe me, I understand your position,” said Ari. He could tell from the way the JG and the det commander were watching him that they had expected something far more explosive by way of response. Fine, he thought. Let them stay confused until I figure out what’s really up. “But what happens if I don’t want to be a bargaining chip at all?”

  The det commander looked regretful. “I’m afraid you don’t have much choice.”

  It’s a good thing Beka didn’t join the service, Ari thought. Telling her that she doesn’t have a choice is a quick way to get blood all over the deckplates. Bee never did know how to wait for anything.

  But Ari had learned about patience and subtlety a long time ago, when Ferrdacorr gave him hunting lessons in the forests of Maraghai. He was not going to get drawn into a fight now, when he was outnumbered—and when he didn’t know for certain where his true enemies lay.

  “I suppose I’ll have to believe you,” he said aloud. “You know more about the situation than I do at the moment. How many people are aligned with you … I mean, with us?”

  “Enough, I hope,” said the det commander, looking distinctly relieved that Ari had not chosen to put up a violent resistance. “For the moment, though—I’m sorry, but we’ll have to put you under guard.”

  Two hours after Warhammer’s initial contact with the Space Force vessel, a ship dropped out of hyperspace near the outer edge of the ’Hammer’s sensor range. Beka made it to the cockpit in time to see the comm panel start blinking.

  She glanced over at her copilot. “Nyls?”

  “Transmitting Space Force identifiers,” he said. “Looks like our rescuers are here.”

  “I don’t want a rescue,” she said. “I can rescue myself just fine, thank you. I want somebody who can carry the news back to Galcen.”

  She put on the earphone link for the comms. A quick check of lightspeed communications and the relay stations showed nothing on the frequencies except noise and, far away, a program of dance music from somewhere in Galcen Prime. Over on hi-comms there was still nothing.

  “Direct hyperspace communications are still down,” she said. “Whatever the Mages are doing, they’re doing it here, too. I can’t believe people aren’t running around screaming and panicking.”

  “Planetary hi-comms may not have been down this whole time,” Jessan pointed out. “Just the transmissions from the Net. That’s how I’d do it, with an agent in place to pass along fake reports from the Magezone saying that everything is just fine and dandy and how’s the weather back home.”

  “Say something to cheer me up, why don’t you?” said Beka. “We already know the Mageworlders have somebody on our side working for them. And if hi-comms just now went out in Galcen space—”

  “Then the Magefleet can’t be all that far behind us.” “Oh, wonderful. And here we are, drifting like a rock. Time to start talking, I think.”

  Beka slid aside an access plate on the top surface of the comm panel. Using her fingernails, she teased the datachip bearing Pride of Mandeyn’s ID data out of its socket and laid it aside. Then she pulled a second, older chip from its hiding place in the panel’s inner recesses and slotted it back in.

  “No more disguises,” she said.

  She switched over to lightspeed comms, fed as much power to the output as she could without burning out the plate, and began to broadcast. “Space Force vessel, Space Force vessel, this is Reserve Merchant Vessel Warhammer, comm check, over.”

  S
he paused for a response, then repeated the call.

  “They’re eight light-minutes out,” she said after the second broadcast. “It’ll take a while to hear back from them. But I wouldn’t be surprised by a rather confused welcome.”

  “Absolutely nothing surprises me anymore,” said Jessan. “Satisfy my curiosity, though—why are we using the old call sign? With you and the ’Hammer both officially dead, anyone with that ID is going to get listed as a fake right away.”

  “Maybe,” Beka said. “But I’ll bet the report gets sent straight on to Dadda anyhow. He knows I’m still alive, and using his call sign is one way to get his personal attention.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “So do I.” Beka picked up the link again. “Space Force vessel, Space Force vessel, this is RMV Warhammer. Comm check, over.”

  Again there was no response. Beka checked the navicomps and the chronometer. Then she glanced at the sensor readouts. “Too slow.”

  A short while later, the comm link picked up a voice signal. She put it onto the cockpit speakers so that Jessan wouldn’t have to wonder what was going on.

  “Unknown vessel, unknown vessel,” the voice was saying. “This is Republic warship one-zero-niner-seven. Request you identify yourself.”

  Beka took a deep breath. “Here we go,” she muttered, and keyed on the link.

  “This is Space Force Reserve vessel Warhammer,” she told the voice. “Request secure link, captain-to-captain.”

  The lightspeed comms beeped twice as the crypto synchronized. Beka opened the link again.

  “One-zero-niner-seven,” she said, “this is Warhammer. Request you pass to commander, Space Defense Command: attack of Galcen by Mageworlds warfleet imminent, over.”

  There was a several-second transmission lag as Beka’s lightspeed signal crossed the distance between the two ships and the warship’s reply came back again.

  “This is one-zero-niner-seven actual; who am I talking to?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “This is Captain Beka Rosselin-Metadi speaking. The Inner Net is down; the status of the Outer Net is unknown. I need you to patch me directly through to the Commanding General.”

  Again the transmission lag and then the voice. “Come dead in space, Warhammer, and zero your guns. I intend to board you.”

  Beka drew in her breath between her teeth. “I do not intend to be boarded. Read my ID signal. This is a Republic warship, and I need to report to the Commanding General.”

  Another, briefer pause—the gap between the two vessels was steadily closing—and then the other ship’s captain replied. “Your ID is not listed. Warhammer crashed. Rosselin-Metadi is dead. If you attempt to enter Galcen space you will be destroyed. Come dead in space. Do it now.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Jessan. “This isn’t working well at all.”

  “They’ve got idiots in the Home Fleet,” she said under her breath. “Idiots. What happened with your secret security message? Why doesn’t he believe us?”

  “Well … not everybody has your family’s, ah, casual attitude toward the formalities. He could be one of those captains who believes in doing everything strictly by the book. He’s being cautious, is all. For all he knows, the codes were broken and this is a Mage trick to get control of his ship.”

  “Going by the book’ll kill you every time,” she said. “You’re Space Force, Nyls—what’s next?”

  The Khesatan looked thoughtful. “What’s wrong with allowing them to board?”

  “I don’t like—”

  “These are the good guys, remember? Talk with them, show them around—let them get a look at your face, for heaven’s sake! Anybody who ever saw a flatpic of your mother is going to think twice about calling you a liar then.”

  “We haven’t got the time for all this nonsense … but you’re probably right.”

  She put Warhammer into a skew-flip and began to decelerate under main power. Then she unstrapped and stood up.

  “You’ve got the conn,” she told Jessan. “Bring LeSoit up here to fill the other seat, and tell your pals we’re ready to receive a boarding party.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “In my cabin getting dressed,” she said. “If I have to talk us in on the strength of a family resemblance, I’m going to have to look better than this.”

  III.

  WARHAMMER: GALCEN PATROL ZONE RSF NAVERSEY: THE OUTER NET GALCEN: THE RETREAT

  THE COMMANDER of 1097 didn’t seem in a hurry to rendezvous with the ’Hammer and come aboard. Beka rushed her own shower-and-change as much as she dared—getting her long hair back to its natural pale yellow from Tarnekep Portree’s nondescript brown was a finicky process, but one she couldn’t omit—and then got on the intraship link to the cockpit.

  “What’s the status on our visitor?” she asked.

  “Still not here, Captain,” Jessan’s voice replied from the bulkhead speaker. “He’s doing everything by the book, just like I said—approaching at moderate speed, then standing off and observing through active scanners.”

  “Damn.” She bit her lip. “Patch me through to him, right now.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Beka waited for the double beep and said, “One-zero-niner-seven this is Warhammer. There are people dying to buy us the time you’re wasting! Rosselin-Metadi, out.”

  She slapped the link closed and turned back to the cabin mirror for a final check. Tarnekep Portree hadn’t vanished completely—the Mandeynan starpilot had been her alter ego for too long—but she’d done the best she could, swapping Portree’s lace-trimmed finery for plain free-spacer’s gear and omitting the scarlet eye patch altogether. Her hair hung loose; she scowled at it for a moment, then began separating it into strands for braiding. She still remembered the pattern, or her fingers did, which came to the same thing, and soon she had a coronet of multiple braids arranged in the old Entiboran style.

  All I need is the goddamned iron crown … .

  She left the captain’s cabin and strode into the ’Hammer ’s common room. Nyls Jessan was already there, leaning against the bulkhead with folded arms and a fine air of unconcern that she might have believed if she hadn’t looked at his eyes first.

  “Where’s Ignac’?” she demanded.

  “Waiting at the airlock to receive our visitors when they decide to show up.”

  “Good,” she said. She was pacing by now, back and forth from the acceleration couches to the mess table. “So what the hell is keeping the bastards?”

  “Patience,” Jessan murmured, “patience. We’re in the Galcen control zone now, and there’s a certain formality here that you don’t find in the frontier worlds—”

  Beka snarled. Before she could say anything, the intraship comm link crackled open and LeSoit’s voice came over the bulkhead speaker. “Boarding party inbound, Captain.”

  She forced herself to stop pacing and wait. Three minutes later by her chronometer, LeSoit ushered in the boarding party—an officer and two senior enlisted, just like at the Net. The leader of the team, a full lieutenant this time, gave Beka a dazzling parade-ground salute.

  “Captain, the commanding officer of my vessel extends an invitation to you and your second-in-command to meet with him aboard our craft.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Permission to speak freely?” the lieutenant said.

  “Granted,” she said tightly.

  “Then … I’m afraid you don’t, Captain.”

  She drew a long breath, then let it out again. “Very well. LeSoit!”

  “Captain.”

  “Take care of the ship while I’m gone.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  LeSoit left for the cockpit, and Beka turned back to the waiting lieutenant. “Let’s go.”

  In the company of the boarding party, Beka and Jessan made their way through the ’Hammer’s airlock to the shuttle. After a brief crossing to the Republic warship, they soon found themselves being ushered into the captain’s
mess. The captain was there before them, sitting at the table with a couple of other officers.

  He rose as they came into the mess and gestured them into chairs. “I’m sorry about this,” he said as he took his own seat again, “but a face-to-face conference seemed to be best. The open comm circuits aren’t really suited—”

  “Right,” Beka cut in. “Listen to me. The Mageworlders have broken the Inner Net, and they were attacking the Outer Net as we passed through. And that was two weeks ago.”

  “You made the transit from the Net in just two weeks?”

  He sounded dubious. She pressed her lips together and met his gaze without blinking.

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t bother to use hi-comms? And the commander of the Net Patrol Fleet didn’t use them either?”

  Jessan answered for her this time. “Hi-comms are down,” he said. “Test them for yourself.”

  The captain looked at the lieutenant who had escorted them over from Warhammer. The lieutenant nodded and left.

  “We will check, of course,” said the captain. He leaned back in his chair and put the tips of his fingers together. “While we’re waiting for confirmation on the hi-comms—what exactly is your request? Your initial message stated mechanical breakdown. Do you require transit to an inhabited world? If so, regulations require that you be charged for the passage, unless you can prove yourself destitute.”

  “I don’t need a transit to anywhere, thank you,” Beka said. “I’m in the process of making voyage repairs right now. I do need you to carry word of the Mage breakthrough to Galcen.”

  The captain looked at her. “Let me get this straight. You have traveled here from the Net much faster than possible; you have made initial contact under a false ID; and you want me to put the whole Space Force onto high alert on your word alone?”

  Beka clenched her fists. I’ve killed people for less than what this son of a bitch doesn’t even know he’s doing.