by Timothy Zahn
The Senator smiled dimly. “Give me credit for a little common sense, Chayne,” he said dryly. “Besides which, I don’t think anything that drastic or dangerous will be necessary. The sharks are predators, after all, and predators must have some way of locating their prey. In time, they’ll find Kialinninni on their own.”
“At which point we settle for a draw.”
The Senator lifted an eyebrow. “Meaning…?”
“Meaning no space horses for us or for the Tampies. They’ll be stuck inside their systems, and we’ll be stuck with our Mitsuushi snaildrive.”
The Senator’s face darkened. “At least we’ll have the stars.”
“Some of them. Not very many.”
“We’ll have enough,” the other said firmly. “All the planets we’ll ever need are within our reach right now. Provided, that is, we don’t have the Tampies standing over us telling us what we can and cannot do with them.”
Ferrol’s thoughts flashed back to the discoveries Amity had brought back from its first voyage—discoveries that had been overshadowed in both public and official minds by the excitement of Pegasus’ calving. “Oh, we’ll have enough room, all right,” he snorted. “But we’ll be giving up the rest of the universe in the process. And maybe for nothing. Now that we know about sharks, the problems Demothi and everyone before him has had trying to control space horses make sense.”
“Yes; your ‘predator invading a non-predator’s mind’ theory,” the Senator said. “You brought that up about every third question. So what do you suggest we do?—web a shark and offer Demothi a chance to ride it?”
Ferrol clamped his mouth shut, the presentation he’d so carefully prepared and rehearsed over the past two days dying in his throat. The Senator was truly and totally uninterested in obtaining space horse capabilities for the Cordonale; his only interest was in robbing the Tampies of theirs. Period.
Had that always been his goal? Probably. Dimly, Ferrol wondered why he’d never recognized that. “Given your obvious disinterest,” he said tightly, “I suppose there’s really nothing to discuss.”
“As I said when you came in,” the Senator reminded him, standing up. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“I presume my commission with the Amity is still valid,” Ferrol continued, not moving. “If only because dropping me out now might attract unwelcome attention. So. What about my ship?”
The Senator frowned. “What ship is—? Oh, you mean the Scapa Flow. What about it?”
“You told me when I signed onto the Amity that you’d be using it for private courier work,” he reminded the other. “Is that agreement still valid, or are all of my crewers officially off the payroll now, too?”
The other favored him with a long, speculative look. “I’ve never been impressed by people who try to keep their foot in the door on their way out,” he said coldly.
“I have no interest whatsoever in keeping my foot in with you,” Ferrol countered, matching the Senator’s tone. “I’m interested solely in the well-being of my crew. You owe them some measure of financial security, at least as long as I’m still watching out for your interests aboard the Amity.”
The Senator’s lip twisted, but he nodded. “I owe them nothing; but I suppose I can go ahead and buy out their contract. If that will be satisfactory…?” he added with thinly veiled sarcasm.
“Quite satisfactory,” Ferrol nodded in return, getting to his feet. “Thank you, Senator; and for your time, as well.” He turned to go—
“Chayne?”
He turned back. “Yes?”
“If I were you,” the other said quietly, “I wouldn’t count on the Amity remaining in service for too much longer.”
Ferrol stared at him. “I don’t understand.”
The Senator smiled faintly. “You will.”
Two hours later Ferrol left the Defiance with the others and headed back toward the Amity. It was a long shuttle ride, which was fine with him. It gave him time to think.
An hour after arriving at the Amity, he was in the ship’s main communications room with a short, laboriously hand-coded message.
Even with their skyhook prices, the Cordonale’s tachyon transceivers were normally so jammed with messages that delays of twenty-four to forty-eight hours were not uncommon. But Ferrol’s status as exec of a major Starforce ship gave him an impressive priority factor, and barely thirty minutes later the central Earth transceiver relayed an acknowledgment of the message from the Scapa Flow.
The Senator might be willing to settle for a draw. Ferrol wasn’t…and if no one else was interested, then he and the Scapa Flow would just have to do it on their own.
Chapter 23
FOR THE NEXT FOUR days the Amity remained in Earth orbit, waiting for orders, while conflicting rumors as to what those orders might be swept through the ship like a sequential set of gas leaks. When they finally came, it was a distinct anticlimax: Amity would return to Solomon to trade Man o’ War for its next space horse. The breeding program, apparently, would continue.
They were back in Solomon system an hour later, and within a few more had made orbit around the planet. There they were met by a Tampy ship and the cumbersome but reasonably straightforward process of switching space horses was performed. Man o’ War and the Tampy ship left, leaving Sso-ngii and the other Handlers to settle in for a few hours of taking turns under the amplifier helmet—introducing themselves to the newcomer, Rrin-saa had once tried to explain it. The same hours on Amity’s human half were considerably less filled, with activities consisting mainly of last minute checks, idle conversation, and practice in saying “Sleipnir” instead of “Man o’ War” when referring to the source of the ship’s main motive power.
Several days were normally allotted for the welcoming/acclimation procedure. But Sleipnir was a quick study; or else the extensive practice Amity’s assembly-line schedule had forced on its Handlers was beginning to pay off. Whichever, within a single day—less than forty-eight hours after leaving Earth—Amity was ready.
And for the next six weeks, as per orders, that was how it remained. In Solomon orbit, and ready.
“Sorry to wake you, sir,” the bridge officer said apologetically. “But the overcode on this was marked ‘urgent.’ ˮ
“That’s all right,” Roman assured her, rubbing the last bits of sleep from his eyes and shrugging on a robe before switching on the intercom’s visual. He keyed in to the laser comm circuit— “Solomon tachyon station, this is Captain Roman,” he identified himself. “Acceptance code follows.” He keyed the sequence into his terminal.
“Acknowledged,” the station said a few seconds later. “Beginning transmission.”
Roman leaned forward, mentally crossing his fingers. If this wasn’t, in fact, some kind of orders—
TO RESEARCH SHIP AMITY, SOLOMON: FROM COMMANDER STARFORCE BORDERSHIPS EXTENSION, PRE-PYAT:
:::URGENT-ONE:::URGENT-ONE:::URGENT-ONE:::
HUMAN/TAMPLISSTA STUDY TEAM AT NCL 9862 OVERDUE. AMITY TO PROCEED IMMEDIATELY PREPYAT; CONTINUE ON TO 9862 WITH RESEARCH SHIPS ATLANTIS, STARSEEKER, AND JNANA IN TOW.
FURTHER INFORMATION AVAILABLE FROM RESEARCH SHIPS.
VICE-ADMIRAL MARCOSA, COMBOREX, PREPYAT CODE/ VER *@7882//53
2:16 CMT///ESD 6 MAY 2336
Roman read the message twice, a cold chill settling into his stomach. There was something wrong here. Something very wrong…
“Any orders, sir?” the bridge officer’s voice prompted. From her tone, it was clear she was desperately hoping there were some.
Roman took a deep breath. “Alert the Handler,” he told her. “We’re Jumping to Prepyat as soon as he and Sleipnir are ready. Number One web crew to start prepping their equipment—we’ll be taking three ships in tow, and we’ll need to run tether lines to them.” He hesitated. “And wake Lieutenant Kennedy. Tell her I want her dressed and on the bridge in fifteen minutes.”
The three ships were grouped tightly together a hundred meters away from the Amity, holding
to an almost perfect zero-vee-relative as the two web boats moved among them fixing tether lines. Standing on the velgrip beside the command station, Kennedy studied the activity on Roman’s display. “Opinion, Lieutenant?” Roman asked her quietly.
“I’d say no doubt, sir,” she shook her head. “Even at this distance you can see that the missile tubes haven’t been sealed. And that ion projector just under the main sensor bulge on the Atlantis would never have been left on a surplused ship. Legalities aside, the things are just too expensive to give away.”
Roman nodded. Her conclusions, unfortunately, jibed with his own. “So what we really have here is an unmarked military task force.”
“Yes, sir. If I had to guess, I’d say the Atlantis is either a destroyer or light cruiser, and the other two are converted and possibly beefed-up corvettes.”
Firepower, and to spare. “What about the 9862 system itself? Dug up anything on that yet?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, leaning over his shoulder to tap a few keys on his console. A chart appeared on Roman’s helm display, with the star marked in flashing brackets. “It’s a blue-white giant, about six hundred light-years from the Cordonale. Pretty undistinguished, as far as I can see from what little we’ve got on it. No mention of any visits to the system; no indication, for that matter, that anybody’s ever so much as had a passing interest in the place.”
“Until now,” Roman said, tapping the data listing on the display. “I note the star’s very similar in size and magnitude to the one the shark chased us away from. Coincidence?”
“It could be a yishyar,” Kennedy agreed. “I guess we’ll know for sure in a couple of hours.”
Roman’s radio crackled. “Web One to Amity. All finished here; we’re coming in.”
“Acknowledged,” Roman said, and switched to the comm laser. “Amity to Atlantis; come in.”
“Atlantis; Captain Lekander,” the calm—and very military—voice came back promptly. The face on the screen was an excellent match to the voice. “What’s our status, Amity?”
“My web boats will be back in about ten minutes,” Roman told him. “At that point we’ll be ready whenever you are.”
“Good,” Lekander said briskly. “I’m not sure what you were told, Captain, but here’s the scenario. A research team running on a very precise schedule has come up almost six hours overdue. We’re going in to find out what happened to them.”
“Pretending to be a civilian research team?” Roman asked mildly.
Lekander’s face didn’t change. “It was thought your Tampies might balk at ferrying military ships,” he said. “That’s not important. What is important is that you understand you’re here strictly as transport; you will not—repeat not—get involved in whatever happens once we reach the system. You will sit tight until we’re ready to go, observe everything that happens, and stay out of it. For the observing part, we’ll be sending over a boat containing a high-power telescope/recorder when we reach 9862. The sitting-tight part is your responsibility.”
Roman locked eyes with him. “And if there turn out to be vultures in the system?” he asked bluntly.
“If you feel you’re in immediate danger,” Lekander said stolidly, “you’re authorized to Jump to the 66802 system—about two light-years away—and wait for us to rendezvous with you on Mitsuushi. Otherwise, we should have no problem clearing the vultures off you before we leave.”
Roman nodded, a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. “That assumes,” he said quietly, “that you will be leaving.”
Lekander’s face cracked, just slightly, into a tight smile. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll be leaving, all right.” He paused. “But the boat I’ll be sending you will also have an AA-26 midrange sub-nuke torpedo aboard. Just in case.”
Sleipnir Jumped, the task force disengaged from their tether lines and headed off, and Amity’s crew set about unpacking Lekander’s telescope/recorder from the boat Atlantis had sent across.
They also unpacked the sub-nuke torpedo and mounted it and its launcher to the outer hull. Just in case.
And when that was done, and the telescope was tracking the departing fusion tracks, there was nothing to do but wait. For hours and hours…
“They certainly seem to know where they’re going,” Kennedy said, leaning back in the helm chair and watching the task force’s progress. “There’s nothing of a search pattern about their course—they’re just heading straight across into the asteroids.”
“Must have a beacon on the missing ship,” Marlowe agreed, studying his own displays. “Damned if I can pick up the signal, though.”
“Probably a split-wave,” Kennedy told him. “Or something equally private. I’d guess they’re doing a minimum-time course, Captain; as soon as they make turnover we’ll be able to figure their endpoint.”
“Can’t we do that now?” Ferrol asked. “We should at least be able to track along their projected path.”
“I’m already doing that,” Marlowe said. “So far, I haven’t found anything that could be a ship.”
For a moment the bridge was silent. Roman thought about how the shark had tried to tear Amity apart… “They could be behind an asteroid,” he reminded them. “Let’s not assume the worst until—”
“Movement!” Marlowe snapped. “Portside of the task force, maybe four hundred kilometers away.”
“They see it,” Kennedy added. “They’re altering course—blasting lateral to swing around toward it. Breaking formation…they’re going for it.”
“Give me some more power on this scope, Marlowe,” Roman ordered, straining to make out the form that was now definitely picking up speed toward the circling task force. “I can’t tell if that’s a shark or a space horse.”
“One second, Captain—these damned controls are twitchy.” The view shimmered, gave an eye-wrenching jerk, steadied and enlarged—
“Holy mother,” someone murmured.
Roman found his voice. “What’s the scale on that?”
“Measures out to almost twenty-six hundred meters,” Marlowe said grimly. “About thirty percent longer than the one we fought, with just over twice its volume.”
And if telekinetic strength indeed scaled with volume…Roman clamped down hard on the almost overpowering urge to send out a comm laser warning. A waste of time, or worse: Lekander would certainly know what his force was up against, and the last thing he needed was extra distractions. “Any sign of vultures?” he asked instead.
“Not that I can see,” Marlowe said. “Definitely no optical nets, anyway, at least not so far. Must recognize that they’re not space horses.”
“Or else the lack of telekinetic abilities leaves the vultures nothing to lock onto,” Roman nodded. “Either way—”
“Got laser fire,” Marlowe cut in. “All three ships.”
Roman peered at the scope screen. The pale lines of ionized gas were just barely visible as they tracked along the shark’s surface. “Any idea what power they’re using?”
“Hard to say at this distance,” Marlowe said. “Though if they’re standard combat lasers—yowp; there goes the shark.”
The huge predator swerved violently as one of the beams raked up toward its forward end. The laser corrected; but even as it found its target again, a cloud seemed to detach itself from the shark’s body and flow forward. “There go the vultures,” Ferrol muttered under his breath.
“The lasers must have hit a sensory ring,” Kennedy said. “—Firing again.”
Again, the pale lines lanced out…but this time they stopped far short of their intended target, disappearing into the cloud that had coalesced in their path. “Is that the vultures doing that?” Roman asked Marlowe.
“Affirmative,” the other nodded. “Looks like they’ve got a screen of rocks set up, a sort of heavy-duty optical net. Though against military lasers—there; got a punch-through.”
One of the pale lines had pierced the barrier, and once again the shark twitched away from its touch.
But almost instantly the beam was cut off again. “They got the hole filled in,” Marlowe reported grimly. “Those sharks learn fast, don’t they?”
“It can’t keep that up forever, though,” Ferrol shook his head. “Eventually it’s got to run out of vultures.”
“Yeah, but maybe not before the ships get within grabbing range,” Marlowe pointed out. “If enough of that barrier is rock and not vulture, they may be able to hold it together long enough.”
A tiny flare sparked at the Jnana’s hull— “Missile away,” Kennedy identified it. “Heading for the vultures. Make that two,” she amended as a second flicker appeared beside the Starseeker.
Roman frowned as the two flares swung into alignment, the second crowding the tail of the first. The lead missile reached the laser barrier—
“Missile breaking up,” Marlowe announced. “Must be a net missile; yes, there’s a glint from the filaments. Spreading around the vultures—damn.”
“What?” Roman snapped.
“Plasma discharge from the net,” Marlowe said, sounding stunned. “Absolutely massive. Must have had a thousand amps and at least that many volts on it.”
“That got the barrier open, all right,” Kennedy said. “Second missile going straight through the hole. Shark’s telekening it to the side—must think it’s another net missile—”
And an instant later the center of the screen went black as sunscreens kicked in. “Sub-nuke explosion, Captain,” Marlowe said. “Shaped blast, about a twenty-megaton rating, triggered approximately fifty kilometers out from the shark.”
Roman hissed between his teeth. Even at Amity’s distance… “Ferrol, call down to Tenzing’s people and have them put a real-time monitor on the radiation,” Roman ordered. “And have the Tampies watch for signs of stress in Sleipnir. We should be well clear of any trouble, but there’s no point in taking chances.”
“Yes, sir,” Ferrol said, and turned to his intercom. On the scope screen the black dot was shrinking and fading—
And the shark was still moving. Sluggish, but clearly alive.