By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3 (39 page)

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Authors: Debra Doyle,James D. Macdonald

BOOK: By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3
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“It’s true as far as it goes,” Ignac’ said. “Draw one.”
“Beka thought that Tarveet did it,” Jessan said, reaching out to Ignac’s fan of cards. “She said he must have gotten the base coordinates out of her under drugs, then told the Mages about it. You say he didn’t. Why?”
“Common sense,” LeSoit said, as Jessan took one of his cards. The former gunfighter took another card from his hand, the two of tors this time, and added it to the pile growing on the table. “Tarveet’s the sort who’d keep that info himself in case he could turn it to his own advantage later. Sell it to the Mages, maybe. Tell them flat out? I doubt it.”
Jessan laid down the two of flasks on the two of forges. “All right, I can go with that,” he said. “I suppose it’s also unlikely—even if the Mages did learn about the coordinates—that they’d assign a unit here just on the off chance that we might someday decide to show up. Nevertheless, here they are.”
“Here they are,” LeSoit agreed. “But Tarveet isn’t the one you’re looking for.” He laid down the scepter of flasks on the two. “I’m the one who sent them the message to come. Last night.”
“You son of a bitch,” Jessan said. He had his blaster out and aimed. “I told Beka months ago that we ought to shoot you, but she said no.”
“Maybe she’ll change her mind after she comes back,” LeSoit said. “You’ll have plenty of time to shoot me then. Meanwhile, it’s your turn.”
 
From the outer skin of the Magebuilt battleship, the stars looked bright and cold. Klea had never seen so many, all glowing steadily without any atmosphere around her to blur them, and seeming to hang over her like a suspended waterfall of light.
They’re not going to fall down on me,
she told herself, and clutched with pressure-gauntleted hands at the ringbolt on the metal hull beneath her.
They’re not.
She touched her p-suit’s helmet against
Owen’s—“Don’t use the comm link,
” he’d told her, back in the airlock;
“somebody might be listening”
—and said, “They’ve shut the bay doors. How are we going to get in?”
“Don’t worry. A warship this size always has small craft coming and going—fighters, couriers, whatever. All we have to do is be there when one of them heads out.”
“Someone will see us.”
“People see what they expect to see. Even Mages.”
“Right,” said Klea. She fell silent again. The stars were
not
going to fall on her … they were
not
moving … they
were
moving …“Owen!”
“We’re accelerating,” he said. “Snap the safety line of your p-suit around that bolt and hold on.”
“Owen …”
Klea felt inertia pulling her backward. Her staff tugged at the clip on her belt. Then, all at once, the stars blazed up and went out.
A swirling greyness surrounded the battleship, relieved only where the exterior of the hull showed before Klea’s face when she pressed her helmet against it. She squirmed over until her helmet once more touched Owen’s.
“What is this?”
“This,” Owen replied, “is what hyperspace looks like. We’re in it.”
 
Beka said nothing and let herself be dragged farther aside into a cubicle off the main cabin—a cleaning-gear locker of some kind, from the racks and shelves. The locker extended back into darkness down a service tunnel. Up front near the overhead, an incandescent globe cast a yellow glare down on the two men facing her.
“Hello, Beka,” said the one who had demanded silence. He was dirty, ragged, and unshaven, but the clothes he wore were an Adept’s formal blacks. In one hand, for a staff, he held a piece of plastic pipe as tall as he was. The other man, also thin and ragged, wore what had clearly once been a Space Force general’s uniform; he was unarmed.
Beka stared at the Adept. “Master Ransome. Owen said you were—”
“Captured. Yes. But no longer.”
“If you’re trying to escape, I can’t help you. They gave me the guest bedroom, but I’m still a prisoner.”
“I had another kind of help in mind,” Ransome said. “The Mages will be coming back for you soon. They’ll be taking you to Lord sus-Airaalin.”
“How did you know that?”
Ransome’s haggard features took on a distant expression. “I have been … watching, for a long while. The currents of power flow strongly here, and there is strong Magework pulling and corrupting them. Someone who is patient, and has the time to wait and watch, can see many things. And I have had a great deal of time, since Galcen fell.”
“I see,” said Beka. “What is it that you want me to do?”
“You need to kill the Mage commander,” the man in the general’s uniform said.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Why haven’t the two of you done the deed yourselves?”
“sus-Airaalin is a Great Magelord,” Ransome said. “He protects himself constantly against me—even though he believes that I am no longer aboard his ship, he never lets down his guard. But you are still armed. sus-Airaalin himself wishes to speak with you; his death is necessary for the civilized galaxy to have peace.”
“You’re sure about that? Or is it just wishful thinking?”
Ransome smiled thinly. “Wishful thinking isn’t something I’ve been indulging in much lately. I have seen it, and it is so. Any other path leads to a Mage victory. Kill him.”
With that the man in the general’s uniform opened the closet door and nodded Beka through it. The closet door shut again, its outline vanishing into the wall as soon as it had closed. Beka went back to the comm speaker and pushed the button. A few seconds later the main door to the compartment opened to admit Mid-Commander Taleion.
“Domina, I have come to escort you to the commander of
Sword-of-the-Dawn,
Grand Admiral Theio syn-Ricte sus-Airaalin.”
 
“M
ESSAGE COMING in, Commodore,” said
Karipavo
’s communications tech. “From the Infabede Fleet. Text follows: ‘You are entering Infabede Hegemony Area. This planet is under the protection of Admiral Vallant. Prepare to turn over your vessels to Infabede Command. Come dead in space, go dark. Prepare to be boarded.’”
“My, my,” Gil said. “Personal message to Admiral Vallant: ‘From Commodore Gil, RSF. You are in a state of rebellion and mutiny. Order your vessels to depart Gyfferan space at once. You are under arrest. Transfer yourself to my flagship to be placed in custody pending trial.’”
“That doesn’t leave much negotiating room,” the TAO said.
“I don’t have much time for negotiations,” Gil said. “There’s a war with the Mages going on. Get me a location on Vallant’s flagship.”
“Fezrisond?”
“That’s the one.”
“One of our vessels under attack,” the comptech at the main tank called out. The red dot of a hostile unit in orbit over Gyffer showed the location. “Identify attacker as RSF
Wraynim
. Attacking
Claw Hard
, armed merchant.”
“Return fire,” Gil said. He highlighted two other units in the TF nearby to come to assist, then looked up. “Where’s the
Fezzy
?”
“Got her located,” the comptech said, rotating the display in the tank to show it to Gil.
“He’s kept himself well out of harm’s way,” the TAO said.
“Let’s bring some harm over to him, then,” Gil said. “Get me eight ships, cruisers or better—Captain Lingor’s division would do it, I think. Get them to an intercept point and a blocking ring. I’m going to go in there myself.”
Gil turned to his aide. “Jhunnei, what do you think? Give him a chance to surrender?”
“Why bother?” she replied. “Save the Republic the trouble, and make him an example to his troops.”
“I thought so,” Gil said. “Put a fighter group on top of the
Fezzy
. And plot a minimum-time course to kinetic range on him.”
“Captain Lingor reports her division en route,” the comms tech called out. “Requests instructions.”
“Tell her to take the
Fezzy
under fire with missiles. Break off the attack when I get there.”
“RSF
Wraynim
has been hit,” the comptech said. “Appears to be unable to maneuver, no longer firing. Shields flickering.”
“Pass to
Claw Hard
, weapons tight.”
“Fezrisond
under attack with missiles,” the comptech said. “Appears to be putting on speed and turning. Reports of attacks by Infabede vessels all over the system.”
“Stay with
Fezrisond
,” Gil said. “I want to pass under his stern in kinetic range. Pass to all units, condition red, weapons free. Designate Infabede units hostile. Increase main battle display magnification.”
The picture in the battle tank grew in size until it showed Captain Lingor’s group as blue shapes at the outer edges, surrounding the red triangle that represented Admiral Vallant’s flagship.
“Send to Captain Lingor: ‘Cease-fire missiles,’” Gil said. “That son of a bitch is mine.”
“Cease-fire aye,” the comm talkers tech said. “Captain Lingor rogers for cease-fire.”
“Get me under his tubes,” Gil said, “and we’ll shoot straight up his rear. I want all the kinetic weapons ganged to my control panel.”
In the main battle tank, the blue triangle that was
Karipavo
drove inward toward the red triangle that was
Fezrisond
, closer and closer until the shapes appeared to merge. The comptech increased magnification again so that the two triangles were alone in the tank, with the fighter squadrons flickering in and out of the display like tiny motes of luminescent dust.
“Fire.” Gil closed the contact on his master panel. The great ship shuddered, the lights dimmed, and the CIC was full of the silence of tense, suspended breath.
“Fire.” Again the ship shuddered.
“Fire.”
“Registering hits to
Fezrisond
,” called out the sensor tech. “Damage is light.”
“Prepare to come around,” Gil ordered. “We’re going to do it again.”
“Wait a minute, Commodore,” said Jhunnei, from where she’d been watching the sensor readouts over the technician’s shoulder. “Movement on
Fezrisond
. Appears to be a shuttle.”
“Tell the fighters to bring it in,” Gil said.
“Message receipt,” reported the comms tech. “From
Fezrisond
. They request we cease attack. Claim Admiral Vallant has departed.”
“That shuttle,” said Gil. “Is it headed in our direction?”
“Negative, sir. Heading away.”
“Belay my last,” Gil said. “Destroy that shuttle. I say again, destroy it. Make a general broadcast to all units, Infabede Fleet: ‘Come dead in space, go dark, prepare to be boarded.’ Give them twenty seconds to comply.”
“Shuttle destroyed, sir,” reported the sensor tech. “More units dropping out of hyper, just above the system, edge of active sensor range. Not SF or Gyfferan. Tentative ID Mage.”
“Commodore, we’re losing hi-comms again,” said the comms tech, just before the main battle tank flickered and went dark.
“It’s the Mages, all right,” Jhunnei said. “They’re here.”
 
Mid-Commander Taleion escorted Beka through the passageways of
Sword-of-the-Dawn
. Most of them looked like ship’s passageways anywhere, narrow and labyrinthine, but with the same alien twist to everything that she’d noted back in the cabin. After walking for some time they came to a sealed door guarded by a pair of black-robed Mages.
Just like the holovids,
thought Beka nervously.
Remember, they’re not immortal. You saw the Prof kill one back on Darvell.
The door opened, admitting Beka and Taleion to what she could only think of as an audience chamber: a huge room, as large as the docking bay had been, with a raised portion at one end where a crowd of people stood clustered together.
Don’t be too impressed; for all you know they could have rigged this place out of a cargo hold for your benefit.
Beka scanned the platform for someone who looked important enough to be Grand Admiral sus-Airaalin, architect of the Republic’s destruction. He wasn’t obvious. The most sinister thing in the whole place was a group of Mages in black robes and masks—not that Mages weren’t worrisome, but these weren’t doing anything, any more than the pair at the door had been.
A soft voice from beside her interrupted her thoughts. “My lady Domina Beka Rosselin of Entibor? I am Grand Admiral sus-Airaalin. At your service and your family’s.”
Beka turned. The man who had addressed her wore the same sort of brown uniform as most of the others on this ship. She supposed that if she could read the insignia on his collar she’d be impressed. Far more impressive, however, was the black-and-silver staff that hung by a clip from his belt.
I won’t get any closer than this
, she thought.
Pulling her blaster from its holster, she fired three full-power bolts in quick succession, straight at the Grand Admiral. None of them seemed to have any effect. With a cry of frustration she threw the blaster at his head and launched herself at him, dagger in hand.
He was fast—as fast as the Prof had been. The short staff was in his hand, and a moment later she was on her back on the deck, with her dagger gone and her wrist stinging.
The Grand Admiral stood looking down at her. “Your pardon, my lady, for the indignity. Please be assured, I hold you in as high regard as before.”
“Damnation,” Beka said, rolling to her feet. Mid-Commander Taleion handed her back her dagger, grip first, and her blaster as well a moment later. She sheathed the blade and, as always, checked the charge and safety on the blaster before holstering it. The thing showed normal readouts, the charge almost full.
“Damnation,” Beka repeated. “My lord Grand Admiral, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is mine,” sus-Airaalin said. “Believe me, my lady, though you are my prisoner, I desire nothing from you that you cannot in all honor perform. When all is said and done, we both seek a just and lasting peace.”
“If you want peace, why not take your whole damned fleet back the way you came?”
“It’s too late for that, my lady. All our reward for staying on our side of the Gap Between was slavery and destruction.”
“So you decided to come over here and spread the happiness around. Never mind—for reasons of your own, you went to a lot of trouble to find and capture me. Why?”
“As I said, for peace.”
“And that’s why you had my mother killed, and why you had assassins tracking me and my brothers all over the galaxy?”
sus-Airaalin shook his head with what looked oddly like genuine puzzlement. “I fear that the assassins you allude to were none of my doing. More likely, they proceeded from the machinations of other groups within the Resurgency, factions which saw only a military solution to our woes. My own hopes were … otherwise … but when that hope ended—there’s a saying on Eraasi, that once blood has covered your boot tops you might as well wade in it up to your neck.”
He bowed briefly to Beka. “We shall speak again. My apologies for leaving you so abruptly, but I have a battle to conduct. And while we stand here talking, the peace we both pursue has run a little way farther off.”
 
Grand Admiral sus-Airaalin turned his back on the young Domina and walked steadily out of the observation room, Mid-Commander Taleion following a pace or so behind. As the door slid closed behind them, sus-Airaalin collapsed heavily against the nearest bulkhead. Through a haze of pain, he heard Taleion calling for a physician.
“That was foolish of you, my lord,” Taleion said. “I told you when Lisaiet made contact that the woman was dangerous and shouldn’t be allowed to go armed.”
“And I told you it was necessary,” sus-Airaalin said. “She is important to the weave of the future. I have willed it.”
Gritting his teeth, he fumbled at the fasteners of his tunic and pulled it partway open, revealing the edges of a piece of blast armor. One of the hits had partially penetrated. The other had just missed the edge of the plate, and an ugly burn marred the Grand Admiral’s shoulder.
The
Sword
’s chief physician arrived at a run. When she saw the burn, she pulled open her emergency pack and began swabbing the open flesh.
“Good thing the prisoner didn’t try for a head shot,” she remarked. “Get yourself killed, my lord, and what will all the rest of us do?”
“The prisoner did try,” sus-Airaalin said. He gasped as the antiseptic bit into the open wound. “She’s a strong-minded one, and a luck-maker on top of it. I barely managed to deflect her aim and still present a convincing illusion afterward.”
“Thank your own luck, then,” the physician said. She reached into her pack again. “There’s nothing wrong with you that a bit of
eibriyu
can’t cure. But next time be careful, would you?”
“The time for being careful is over, I think.” sus-Airaalin felt the synthetic tissue going onto the burn—first a cool sensation, easing the pain, then a pleasant warmth. A night’s rest and the burn would be gone without a scar; but for the next few hours, while the undifferentiated tissue conformed to his own body and took on purpose, he would be vulnerable.
So be it, he thought. If the Circle needs a death for this battle, let it be mine.
More hasty footsteps in the passageway heralded the arrival of one of the
Sword’
s troopers, a runner from the flagship’s Combat Information Center. “The Adept-worlders have changed their tactics, my lord, and appear to have new units available. The watch officer tells me that he suspects them of bringing in a new commander, one far more competent than the last. Your presence is requested.”
“Tell Captain syn-Athekh that I trust his judgment,” sus-Airaalin said. “We are approaching the crisis, and our Circles need me more. I will be in the meditation room, working to bring luck for the fleet.”
The physician was finished with her work; sus-Airaalin refastened his tunic and turned to Mid-Commander Taleion. “Mael, escort the Domina back to her quarters, then join me.”
 

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