ARC: Under Nameless Stars (14 page)

“An assortment…” Zenn said. “Of what?”

“Starships,” Treth said. She had lowered her face onto the eyerest of a small binocular-like device protruding from the bulkhead at one side of the control console. “I have counted thirty so far. There are many more. Most are too far to see their markings, but many are LSA designs. In addition to the
Nova
I have identified the
Symmetry Dancer
, the
Delphic Queen
, the
Mizar Five
and the
Antara.
They have all been connected one to the other.”

“Are these all… the Indra ships that disappeared?” Zenn asked, finding the question almost too incredible to ask.

“It seems probable,” Treth said. “There are also non-Accord craft I do not recognize.”

“Can you detect damage, Treth?” the Captain asked.

“It is difficult to say. But I do see evidence of scavenging.”

“And the ships’ stonehorses? Our stonehorse?” Fane asked, going to stand by Treth. “Is there any sign?”

“I cannot tell.”

“So it is true. These are the lost Indra vessels,” Jules said. “Do you see waterships among them?”

“Not possible to say,” Treth answered. Jules seemed to deflate. “We cannot view all the ships from this angle.”

“Are there life signs?” Zenn asked.

“Too soon to say,” the Captain said. “Using a full-strength probe would light us up like a beacon. Right now, we need to stow ourselves out of sight.”

The lifeboat’s slow-motion trajectory brought them up close to the side of the
Nova Procyon
. A torn piece of hull plating yawned like a black wound in the ship’s side. The gap was filled with a jumble of large, round tanks and connecting hoses.

“This will have to do for now,” the Captain said, bringing up a virt-screen from the control panel. “Treth, we can nudge ourselves in using air bursts from our atmospheric venting system. We shouldn’t be detected.”

He and Treth worked at the controls and soon the lifeboat was nestled into the cavity in the
Nova
Procyon’s
hull.

“Captain,” Treth said once they’d stopped, “there is an access hatch in the hull, there.” She pointed to the view screen.

“Let’s not be hasty,” the Captain said. “We may be able to modify the probe field.” He called up another screen. “If we can dial the power down low enough, we could send a signal through the hull without alerting anyone. It might be enough to tell us what we’re dealing with.”

The Captain then pulled out one of the mem-crystals he’d taken from the
Helen’s
bridge and slipped it into the reader on the control panel. A screen popped up, and a schematic of the lifeboat’s circuitry appeared on it. “If we adjust the probe gain here… and here… we should be able to do a minimal scan of the
Procyon’s
near-field decks.”

The Groom leaned in to view the display. “Yes. But such a low-power probe will take time to resolve any meaningful image.”

“How long?” the Captain asked.

“Ten minutes. Maybe more.”

“Let’s get started.”

After several more minutes, the Captain declared the probe was functioning. Now, he said, they must simply wait for it to accumulate data about what lay beyond the other ship’s hull.

“This would be a good time to check inventories,” the Captain said, addressing them all. “Treth, if you’ll monitor the probe, I’ll see what we have in the supply locker. Sacrist, check the toolbox on the starboard side for anything that might be useful.”

Zenn followed the Captain to the rear of the cabin, where he began sorting through the contents of a small locker.

“Captain Oolo, I wanted to apologize. For lying to you.” The Captain said nothing but dipped his head at her, bringing his beaked face near hers. “I’m sorry I sneaked onto the
Helen
. But I had to.” His eyes grew larger.

“You
had
to stow away on my ship?” the Captain said, chest feathers fluffing out. “And why was that?” he said, then returned to pulling things out of the cabinet, placing some of them into various pockets in his vest.

Zenn took a deep breath – and explained. She told her story as quickly and coherently as she could.

“This is… quite a tale,” the Captain said several minutes later, running a claw through his feathers. She noticed Treth and Fane had come up close behind her.

“You are the daughter of the healer Mai Scarlett?” The Groom said. “There are few exovets who deal in the mind-ways of the stonehorse. Your mother’s work is… was well known among the groom’s union. The loss of her and her aide Travosk was noted and mourned by my union sisters.”

“Travosk?” Zenn said. “No, mom’s lab-tech was Vremya.”

“Yes,” Treth said. “Vremya Travosk. I recall from the inquest reports.”

“That’s the soldier’s last name, the one who sat with us at the party,” Zenn said.

“Yes, Lieutenant Stav Travosk,” the Captain said. “The Authority’s liaison with the Cepheians.”

“Were these two related, do you think?” Jules asked.

“I have no idea,” the Captain said. “I suppose it’s possible. Though it would be quite a coincidence.”

“Well, it would explain his feelings about figuring out what was happening to the Indra ships,” Zenn said.

“He spoke of this?” Treth asked.

“Yes. At the dinner, the costume party on the
Helen
. He said he was committed to solving the Indra problem. He sounded… determined.” The memory made her wonder where the Lieutenant was now. In transit? Already back on Earth? If so, he’d surely know the
Helen
had been taken. Could he do anything about it? It seemed unlikely, but she allowed herself a flicker of hope.

“Your own mother healed stonehorses?” Fane gave her an approving look. “You never said.”

The computer’s voice sounded from the front of the ship. “Data collection complete.”

A minute later, they all stood waiting expectantly around the pilot’s console as the Captain peered at the readout.

“There are life signs. Fifty or sixty, at a rough guess.” The Captain pointed to the diagram on the hovering Virt-screen. “Most of them are here, amidships, in the main saloon.”

“Saloon?” Jules said. “They are drinking?”

“No. It’s what you call a large room on a passenger ship like the
Helen
,” the Captain told him. “Treth, what’s the standard crew complement on a Nova-class ship?”

“Two hundred fifty, including civilian contractors,” the Groom said, scowling at the diagram. “But the number shown here is barely sufficient to man the ship’s systems.”

“Where are all the others, do you think?” Jules asked.

Neither the Captain nor Treth had an answer.

An ominous
crack
from the right side of the craft was followed instantly by a keening alarm and a bland but urgent digitized voice: “Interior atmospheric breach. Catastrophic pressure loss from the starboard hatchway. Estimated time to fatal depressurization: forty-five seconds.”

“The seal on the access hatch is bad,” the Captain said. He bobbed his head anxiously at one of the Virt-screens. “Take whatever you can and move to the airlock. Quickly.”

As Zenn grabbed her vet pack and threw it onto her back, small pieces of paper and debris began to leap into the air, fly past her and land near the hatchway, plastering themselves to its edges.

Gathering together as tightly as possible, they all crowded into the lifeboat’s small airlock, where the Captain quickly keyed in a code on the wall panel to close the door behind them. It began to swing shut, but slowly. The soft whooshing sound from the leaking seal grew louder.

“Pressure dropping fast,” Treth said. “When the inner door opens, we must move.”

With a loud
snik
the small access hatch of the
Nova Procyon
cracked open, sending a cloud of dust into the lifeboat’s airlock.

The hatch ahead was so small they had to pass through one by one. And with every second, the sound of air being sucked out of the lock grew louder. Finally, after Jules had squeezed through, Zenn followed him, and then Fane stepped through. Treth slammed the hatch shut behind him.

“The mem-crystals,” the Captain muttered, eyeing the hatch. “I left them. They could have been useful.”

“You cannot retrieve them?” Jules asked.

“The airlock is impassable now,” Treth said. “It seems we are left with but one path.”

They all stared at the dim, narrow passage stretching away before them. The Captain activated the lightpatch he’d found in the lifeboat’s supply locker and pressed it onto the front of his vest. In the pool of light it produced, they started down the corridor, the Captain leading the way, followed by Treth, with Zenn, Jules and Fane going next.

As they made their way deeper in to the ship, Zenn saw that the
Nova Procyon
was a very different craft from the
Helen
. The impression was one of Spartan military economy – the metal-walled corridor was crowded with tubing and bundled wires, the ceiling so low they had to crouch at times in order to proceed. Broken furniture, empty supply containers and other trash lay scattered here and there. The still air was stagnant, and cold enough that Zenn could see her breath.

The first cabins they peered into along the corridor had all been stripped of anything not fastened down. There was no sound except their own whispered exchanges and echoing footfalls as they picked their way down the litter-strewn passageway.

With the lev-tubes inactive, it took them almost half an hour of climbing over obstructions, navigating garbage-clogged stairwells and forcing several stubborn doors before they approached their goal. The deck’s main saloon was now just ahead, and, as they edged closer, they heard the murmur of voices. The air became a bit warmer here and, strangely enough, carried the scent of smoke. The Captain put up an arm to bring them to a halt.

“We’ll wait here. No talking,” he whispered. “Treth, take a look. Be careful.” The Groom nodded and crept silently ahead. The sight reminded Zenn of the stories she’d heard about the upbringing of the young Procyoni girls recruited to join the groom’s union, the military training they underwent as part of their education, the harsh living conditions and strict codes of discipline. It made her glad the Groom was with them.

At the door to the saloon, Treth crouched, listening intently. Then she placed one finger to her lips to indicate silence and beckoned them.

Zenn estimated there were several dozen people crowded at the far end of the room, their faces faintly lit by small fires burning in metal barrels scattered around the room. The people in the room clustered in small groups around the barrels, warming their hands. The smoke from the fires rose to the ceiling and hung there. At the center of the room, a smallish figure stood on top of a barrel. Even without seeing his face, she was quite sure who it was.

“…and also,” the Skirni Pokt rasped, “I have assurances. From the Khurspex. You will be treated with more… concern. There will be greater rations.” The murmuring of the crowd grew louder at this, forcing Pokt to raise his voice.

“This you should know…” He waved his short arms in the air for calm, and the noise simmered down to a restless grumble. “Our delegation is at work. It forcefully seeks your release. And your return to LSA space. Until then, remain calm. Comply with the requests of the Khurspex.”

“Requests? You mean orders.” A hoarse male voice sounded from the crowd. The voice’s owner moved into a pool of firelight. He was tall, slender, and wore the tattered remnants of a Procyoni officer’s uniform. “They removed most of my crew. Tell us what is happening here.” The angry buzz had begun to grow again, rising up and filling the room.

Many of those in the room wore ragged blankets around their shoulders, and were dressed in clothes that had been reduced to shreds, their faces unwashed, bodies undernourished and gaunt. It was only then, as her eyes adjusted to the fitful illumination, that Zenn saw there were also familiar faces mixed in among the crowd of strangers, passengers she’d seen on the
Helen
. Warming his clawed hands at one of the fire barrels was the Alcyon alpha who’d been playing cards with Jules. Among those standing around another barrel was Thrott’s Fomalhaut slave, though the Skirni himself was nowhere to be seen.

“What about the others?” a woman’s voice called out. “What have they done with my husband?”

Pokt again waved for quiet. “Your fellow travelers are quite safe. We are told they were relocated. To maintain other ships in this structure. That is all we know.”

Another voice sounded from the darkness. “What about the rumors? That the Spex took them for slaves?”

A Reticulan female wearing a ragged evening gown and oversized winter coat clambered up on a table near the back of the room and yelled, shaking her horned head in agitation, “How do we know our companions are even alive?”

“As I said…” Pokt shouted down the rising commotion. “Spreading rumors serves no one. The Khurspex are not a murderous race. That is not their way. If they were killers, you wouldn’t be here now.” A grudging silence fell on the room, and Pokt lowered his voice again. “They are not killers but scavengers.”

“They’re pirates,” someone shouted.

“Yes,” Pokt agreed. “They have been taking ships. The LSA protests that. But they are not killers! Have they not kept you all alive?”

“Yes, barely,” the Procyoni who spoke before called out. “And why? What is this thing they’re building? Why do they hold us here at all?”

Another angry voice called out, “We’ve been captive here for months! Some of these ships been here for years! Why didn’t the LSA send rescue sooner?”

“I repeat, your questions will be answered in time. Remain calm. Everything that can be done is being done.”

Treth pulled back from the door, hissed through clenched teeth, “It is the Skirni who violated my chamber.”

“The one who took our stonehorse?” Fane said.

“Then he is lying to those people,” the Captain whispered, motioning all of them to move a safe distance back down the corridor. “If he took the
Helen’s
Indra, he may well be involved in the other disappearances. Skirni – hijacking starships. It is beyond belief. There must be more to this. Maybe we should hear him out.”