By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3 (37 page)

Read By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3 Online

Authors: Debra Doyle,James D. Macdonald

BOOK: By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3
7.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“Base: projections off.”
Once again the fireplace disappeared. On the wall where it had been, a square black outline remained.
“Right,” Beka said. She raised her voice again. “Robots, fetch me a mask and a cutting torch.”
Owen looked at her. “Bee, you aren’t going to—”
“Quit sounding like Ari,” she replied. “I own this place; I can do what I want with it. And I’m fully qualified in hull repair.”
One of the maintenance robots trundled up, carrying a cutting outfit. “Your tools, my lady.”
“Thank you.” Beka picked up the mask and fitted it over her face, then pulled on the thick gloves. “Don’t look, people, if you don’t want flash burns.”
The Domina picked up the torch and keyed the self-starter. A brilliant flame sprang from the nozzle, and Klea had to look away. For a few minutes the steel room was full of the hissing sound of the torch and the smell of hot metal. Then the hissing stopped, followed by a metallic clang.
Klea looked up. A square opening loomed in the wall, an opening the same size as the carved hearthstone had been. And beyond the opening, revealed by the action of the cutting torch, was an empty, gaping hole.
The Domina flipped up her mask. “There,” she said. “Be careful how you look inside—the edges are still hot.”
“I’ve done as much work around the spacedocks as you,” Owen replied. Carefully, he extended his staff into the gap in the wall. A few seconds later, the same pale white light Klea had seen come out of the staff earlier lit up the opening.
Owen bent forward. The uncanny light fell onto his face, making him look suddenly older.
“You were right,” he said. “There’s a stasis box in here. It has a transparent top.”
The Domina seemed to stop breathing for a moment. Her features were pale and tense. “Anything inside it?”
“Yes.” Owen paused. When he went on, it was in a voice Klea had never heard from him before. “It’s got Mother.”
 
ASTEROID BASE
GYFFERAN FARSPACE:
SWORD-OF-THE-DAWN
 
“T
HIS is how it’s going to work,” Metadi said.
With Tyche and Quetaya, he was standing at the
’Tina
’s main battle tank. The infantry colonel was already in his armored p-suit, with the helmet cradled underneath one arm.
The General illuminated an area inside the tank. “There’s our axis of attack: the place the main Gyfferan fleet is heading toward, and the damaged units are limping away from. We’ll make our first dropout over here, and listen on the passive detection gear for electronic combat noise—lightspeed and hypercomm signals, fire control and ranging beams, energy flares, you know the drill. When we find some, we’ll take another line of bearing, then jump at right angles to it. Do it a second time, get another bearing, and where those three lines cross we’ll have our fix on the action.”
Quetaya frowned at the display. “Even based on the sketchy info we’ve got, it looks like a bad time is being had by all in that little corner of the universe. Driving straight in could get us fired on by both sides instead of just the Mages.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to accept,” Metadi said. “I want to find the Mages’ flagship and take it out, not just cause random damage.”
“If the flagship goes and we go with it,” she said, “what’s that going to gain us?”
“Us personally? Nothing but a starpilot’s grave out here in the dark. And some glory, maybe, but glory’s cold. The important thing is, we’ll have bought the rest of the Space Force a bit more time.”
“You do have a way with words, General,” said Tyche. “Nobody could make an attack like this one sound like fun, but at least you make it sound worth the trouble.”
“Years of practice, Colonel. Years of practice.”
“I’m off to join my recons, then,” said Tyche. “See you again when the dust settles.”
“There’s a pub on Gyffer,” said Metadi, “or at least there used to be. The Seven Orbs. I’ll buy you a drink when all this is over.”
“Drinks, aye.”
The colonel saluted and left CIC. Metadi resumed his seat at the TAO’s station.
“All units stand by for hyperspace translation on my signal,” he said. “Ready to jump … go.”
The stylized planetary system in the main battle tank suddenly boiled with activity in the region of the system’s gas giant. The blue dots that signified the warships of Metadi’s task force broke out of orbit, streaked up to jump speed, and vanished from the realspace diagram.
 
“So you still won’t do it,” Beka said to Owen.
They were back at their evening meal in the Entibor room, dining by candlelight around the long table. Nobody had much appetite, it seemed, even after a prolonged stretch on the
’Hammer’s
space rations. The knowledge of the stasis box waiting for them in the next room, and the memory of what it contained, were too much with them for anyone’s comfort.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it,” Owen said. “I said that I couldn’t. I don’t know how to reach the Void on my own—even assuming that’s how the work is done. An Adept’s no good for this, Bee. You want a Mage.”
Down at the far end of the table, next to LeSoit, Doctor syn-Tavaite met Beka’s glance straight on for the first time, and shook her head. “Not I. My part was done already. The Masked One would have kept me longer, if more was needed.”
Beka frowned. Moodily, she began drawing lines on the tablecloth with the tip of her dagger. If the fabric gave way under the pressure, the Prof’s robots would know how to mend it. He’d always thought of things like that, and had prepared for them well in advance … . She looked up.
“The Prof knew he was going to buy it on Darvell; he’d already told the robots that the base was mine by the time we left. Back before that, he had Doctor syn-Tavaite make a replicant for him, and the first thing he did with it was seal it away and go looking for me. He must have wanted me to have the replicant. And if he wanted me to have it, he must have seen a way for someone else to—to finish the process.”
Jessan smiled faintly. “I’d hate to count the amazing leaps of logic in that statement. Just the same, you’re right; if we don’t work on those assumptions we might as well retire from the fight and take up flower arranging.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Beka said. “I think.” She tested the point of her dagger on the pad of one finger, and watched the yellow candlelight flow up and down the blade. “All right. Owen says we need a Mage, and Doctor syn-Tavaite says that she isn’t one. Fine: if there’s one thing the civilized galaxy has too many of right now, it’s Mages. All we have to do is borrow one of them for a while.”
Ignaceu LeSoit set down his wineglass. “And convince him to bring about the defeat of his own side, of his own free will and out of the kindness of his heart? Good luck.”
“Frankly, Ignac’,” Beka said, “I don’t care how the Mage in question feels about it—if we have him, I can convince him. The hard part is going to be catching him.” She looked about the table. “Anybody have an idea where to go hunting?”
“There were Mages on Nammerin,” Klea said.
“And on Pleyver,” said Owen, “and on Ophel and Artat and probably any other world you’d care to name. There were even deep-cover agents on Galcen—sometimes their workings would disturb me there.”
“You said Pleyver?” Beka broke in.
“Yes. I met some there, if you remember—including at least one Great Lord. And Pleyver is in open rebellion against the Republic. There are almost certainly Mages on Pleyver.”
“Yes …” Beka thought for a moment, then smiled. “I wonder if Pleyver would trade me the use of one Magelord for the safe return of their councillor?”
“If I were running the show on Pleyver,” LeSoit said, “I know what I’d say to a proposal like that. I’d tell you to keep the councillor and welcome to him.”
“Well, you aren’t running the show out there,” Beka told him, “and we won’t know until we try.” She looked around the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve made up my mind. We leave for Pleyver first thing tomorrow morning.”
 
“Admiral—we’re approaching the Gyfferan system.”
“Very well, Salagrie.” Admiral Vallant turned to face his aide. “We’ve done what our allies requested by coming here. Now we act on our own.”
Vallant was in his office aboard
Fezrisond.
The map-cube on the corner of his desk held a holographic representation—vastly shrunk—of former Republic space. The diagram, in white dots within a black matrix, showed the Infabede sector highlighted as an irregular turquoise blob. Gyffer and its assorted dependencies, occupying a portion of space between Infabede and the rest of the galaxy, were currently highlighted in pale green. Other points of interest were picked out in red.
The admiral regarded all of this with satisfaction. On the whole, things were going quite well: Mandeyn and Artat were nearly surrounded and should soon come under his control, and as soon as the Gyfferans saw reason, his reach would extend to within striking range of Galcen itself.
After that, no matter what the Mages had gained, he would control even more. They would have to negotiate with him.
The comm link on his desktop beeped. “Gyfferan scouts approaching, Admiral. We’re being hailed.”
“Tell them that we’re here to defend them against the Mages,” Vallant said. “And get our ships within range of all of their units. I want to capture as many as I can. We’ll need them later.”
There was a pause. Then, over the link: “Gyffer requests to know the reason we had units hiding in their system, Admiral.”
“Find out what they’re talking about.” Vallant looked at his aide. “If our intelligence section sent anybody out here without clearing it first …”
“If they did,” said Salagrie, “they didn’t run it past me.”
The comms tech on the other end of the link came on again: “Gyfferan scouts report that RSF
Veratina
was spotted on sensors earlier today, making a jump run. They know she was assigned to your fleet. They demand to know why you were spying.”
“Tell them they’ll get their explanation.” He paused, and addressed Salagrie again. “But I wasn’t spying. At least not that way.” He leaned toward his aide. “Find out where
Veratina
is right now. Captain Faramon is going to have some serious explaining to do.”
 
Llannat’s masked guide took her through more white-painted passageways to a large room that was, plainly, the sickbay of the ship. Some of the equipment was unfamiliar; most of it, though, looked like ordinary Republic technology, several decades out of date. She went over to the bed where Ari lay.
He looked pale and uncomfortable—the bed was even less adapted to his huge frame than the standard-issue Space Force models had been—but he was awake, and the change in his expression when he saw her did much to ease her own inner pain. His left arm lay unbandaged outside the sheet; she smiled at him and took his hand.
“You look like hell,” she said. “What happened?”
“I got shot,” he replied. “Nothing too bad. They have me patched up with gauze and tape—first-aid stuff, really, but I don’t see any healing pods in here, so I can’t complain.”
“Well, I can,” said Llannat. She turned to her guide. “Is this the best treatment your medics have to offer?”
Her guide made an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry, Mistress, but we have only a limited supply of
eibriyu
on board.”
“
Eibriyu
?”
The guide seemed to grope for the proper words in Galcenian. “Ah … material? For rebuilding the body … it takes purpose quickly as needed.”
“Fetch some,” Llannat said. “I want this man beside me when I speak with the First.”
“Perhaps I can be of help,” said another voice close by. The new speaker’s Galcenian, while accented, was far more fluent than the guide’s had been.
Llannat turned, and saw a person—a man, by the voice—in the black robes and mask of a Mage, carrying another, identical mask in his hand.
“I am the First of the Circle aboard this vessel,” he said, and offered the mask to Llannat.
She hesitated for a moment, then took the mask and slipped it on. She found that the portion over the eyes was partially transparent, leaving the room darkened and misty—but now, when she stretched out her senses around her, she could see quite clearly the nets and patterns woven by the silver cords.
“If you are the First aboard this ship,” Llannat said, “then tell your medics to give this man the same treatment that your own crew members would receive.”
“So it shall be,” the First said, and spoke rapidly to the other in his own tongue before turning back to her. “Is there more that you require?”
“I need information,” Llannat said. “I need to know purposes.”
During the whole time she was speaking she had not taken her eyes away from the silver cords.
Another reason for the mask, she thought. No one can tell whether a Mage is looking at things, or looking into them.
As she was looking now, still seeking the pattern she had seen aboard
Night’s-Beautiful-Daughter
what seemed like a lifetime ago, the pattern that the Professor had left behind him for her to finish.
She found it. Closer than ever before, but distorted. Large patches of the fabric no longer held the design that the Professor had so laboriously created. The First was speaking to her, but Llannat no longer heard what he said. She was concentrating on grasping the loosened cords and weaving them again into the fabric, bringing the design together. One of the cords moved closer to its position … .
New movement in the room brought Llannat out of her almost-trance. She saw a man in a brown uniform, carrying a metal tablet not unlike the clipboards used on the Republic side of the Net. He spoke in his own tongue to the First.
“Your pardon, my lady,” said the First. “This has the highest priority identifiers. You see how minor duties interfere with the most important matters?”
He looked at the pad and apparently read whatever was there.
“Your pardon again,” he said to Llannat. “I must leave you for a moment.”
He turned at once and departed, with the messenger following behind. Shortly afterward Llannat felt the disorientation that signaled a jump into hyper.
The silver cords floating in her peripheral vision knotted and slid into place.
 
“Ready,” Beka said. “Moving out.”
Warhammer
rose from the deckplates on nullgravs, turned, and headed out of the bay. Beka took the freighter at low speed into the asteroid field, and carefully through—getting out was easier than getting in, but it still wasn’t a job for an amateur. Several minutes of finicky piloting later, Beka flipped on the intraship comms.

Other books

Faerie Winter by Janni Lee Simner
Highland Burn by Victoria Zak
No Bra Required! by Nikki Ashton
The Velvet Shadow by Angela Elwell Hunt
The Railway by Hamid Ismailov
Angel Baby by Leslie Kelly
Recreated by Colleen Houck
Just to be Left Alone by Lynn, Ginny
Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons