Pawn’s Gambit (3 page)

She made her apologies and reached the bridge in ninety seconds. Goode was waiting, a message flimsy in his hand. “Get a grip on your guyline,” he advised, handing her the paper.

A frown creased Chandra's forehead; it deepened as she read. “This is ridiculous. Drop my passengers and fireball it 'way the hell off the ecliptic? What for?”

“The explanation's still coming in—tight beam, with the line's own security code,” Goode told her. “And it's under your father's name, no less.” He took the flimsy back and headed toward the navigator.

“Dad?” Chandra stepped to the communications console and peered at the paper sliding slowly from the slot. Sure enough: PEACEKEEPER HEADQUARTERS, EARTH — TO P.L. ORIGAMI: FROM GEN. SANFORD CAREY. Beneath the heading the message was nearly complete, and Chandra read it with a mixture of fascination and horror.

“Well?” Goode asked.

She tore off the paper and thrust it into his hands even as she groped for the main intercom board. For a moment she paused, organizing the thoughts that whirled like Martian winds through her mind. Then she stabbed the “general” button.

“Attention, attention,” she said in her most authoritative voice. “This is Captain Carey. All passengers and nonessential crewmembers are to report to the lifeboats
immediately.
There is no immediate danger to the
Origami,
but this is
not
a drill. Repeating: all passengers and nonessential crew report immediately to lifeboats. This is
not
a drill.”

The “abandon ship” alarm sounded even as she keyed a different circuit. “Bridge to Power. I want the drive up to full ergs in twenty minutes. Start tying in for full remote to the bridge, too.” She waited for an acknowledgment and switched off. “Navigator!” she called across the bridge. “Get me a course to the vector on that paper—” She stabbed a finger at the flimsy Goode had shown her. “I want a minimum-time path to the earliest possible intercept point that leaves us stationary. Any acceleration she can handle, and you can run the tanks. Everyone else: if you're not on flight prep, help get the passengers off. We fireball in twenty minutes. Move!”

The bridge erupted with activity. Chandra sank into her chair, rereading the message carefully. It was hard to believe that the long search was ending like this, with a kill-or-die confrontation that made less sense even than shooting a deadly snake. And yet, despite the danger and irony, she felt a small surge of excitement. The safety of the entire solar system had unexpectedly fallen into her hands—and her father himself was counting on her. She wouldn't let him down.

Glancing up at the chrono, she keyed the intercom. “Captain to lifeboat bays—status report?”

Lassarr returned to the bridge at precisely the appointed time. “The half-
aarn
is past, Shipmaster,” he announced.

Orofan looked up from the sensor monitor he and Pliij were seated at. “One moment, Voyagemaster,” he said distractedly. “A new factor has entered the situation.”

“I have it now, Orofan,” Pliij muttered, both long and short tentacles dancing over the instruments. “Medium-frequency electromagnetic radiation, with severe shifting and aberration. I have a recording.”

“Good. Get to work on it at once. And keep the sensors watching for more.” Orofan stood and went to where Lassarr waited.

“What is it?” the Voyagemaster asked.

“Signals of some sort, beamed at us every few
aarmis.
The natives are trying to communicate.”

Lassarr frowned. “Interesting. Any known language?”

“Unfortunately, no. But there's a great deal of information in each pulse. We may have a preliminary translation in a few
aarns
.”

“Good. That'll help us if we need to negotiate for the
Dawnsent's
repair.”

Orofan blinked. “What do you mean? Whether or not we're stopping here is still
my
decision.”

“Not any more. I've reconsidered and have decided this is our best course. Further planetary data is coming in, and it now seems likely that there are one or two planets here we could colonize.”

Orofan forced calmness into his voice. “You can't do that, Lassarr. You can't commit us to an uncertain war; certainly not one of conquest. Even if they were primitives—which they're clearly not—we would have no right to take their worlds. This is not honorable—”

“Peace, Shipmaster.” Lassarr favored him with a hard, speculative glare. “You protest far too much. Tell me, if the
Dawnsent
didn't need to be cannibalized for the required fuel mass, would you be nearly as opposed to stopping here?”

“Your insinuations are slanderous,” Orofan said stiffly. “The ship is my responsibility, yes, but I've not been blinded to all else. My overall duty is still to the Sk'cee in our sleep tanks.”

“I'm sure you believe that,” Lassarr said, more gently. “But
I
can't afford to. The very nature of your training makes your judgment suspect in a case like this. The decision has been made. I've instructed the library to catalog nonessential equipment; disassembly will begin in two
aarns
.”

“You can't do this,” Orofan whispered.

“I can,” the Voyagemaster said calmly, “and I have.”

Trembling with emotion, Orofan turned and fled from the bridge.

“That's the last of them,” Goode reported from his position at the
Origami's
helm. He sounded tired.

Chandra nodded, several neck muscles twinging with the action. Two days of two-gee deceleration wasn't enough to incapacitate anyone, but it was more than enough to be a nuisance, and she was glad it was almost over. “That was what, the engineering crew?”

“Right—four lifeboats full. We're all alone, Captain.”

She smiled tightly. “Fun, isn't it? Okay. Chaser Twelve just checked in; the Intruder's still on course. Our ETA on his path is four hours?”

“Just under. Three fifty-seven thirty.”

She did a quick calculation. “Gives us a whole six minutes to spare. Tight.”

Goode shrugged. “I would've been perfectly happy to take the whole trip at two gees and get here a day earlier. But creating fuel isn't one of my talents.”

“I'll suggest a tachship tanker fleet to Dad when we get home,” Chandra said dryly. “Okay. Number 81 should be our last boat. Fifteen minutes before we arrive I want you to go down and prep it. We'll want to cut out the minute the
Origami
'
s
in position.”

“Roger.”

Conversation lapsed. It felt strange, Chandra thought, to be deliberately running towards a collision: strange and frightening; It brought her back to her first driving lessons, to her father's warnings that she was never,
never
to race a monorail to a crossing. He'd hammered the point home by showing her pictures of cars that had lost such contests, and even now she shuddered at the memory of those horrible tangles.

And it was her father himself who had authorized this. She wondered how he was feeling right now. Worse than she was, probably.

Strange how, in the pictures, the monorail never seemed particularly damaged. Would it be that way this time too? She had no desire to kill any of the aliens aboard that ship if it could be avoided. This mess wasn't really their fault.

Six minutes. … She hoped like hell the Intruder hadn't changed course.

Captain Mahendra's hands rested lightly on the Situation Room's communications board, showing no sign whatsoever of tension. General Carey watched those hands in fascination, wondering at the man's self-control. But, then, Mahendra didn't have a daughter out there racing the ultimate monorail to its mathematical crossing.

Mahendra turned from the board, taking off his headphone, and Carey shifted his gaze to the captain's face. “Well?”

“Chaser Six reports both the Intruder and the
Origami
still on course: Chasers Eight through Thirteen are still picking up lifeboats. Almost all the passengers are back; about three-quarters of the crew are still out there.”

Carey nodded. “How long will the
Origami
have before impact?”

“From now, three hours twenty minutes. Once in place, about six minutes.”

Carey hissed softly between his teeth. “Pretty slim margin.”

Mahendra frowned. “Should be enough, General. Those boats can handle two gees for ten minutes or so before running their tanks. Even if you allow them three minutes for launching, they can get—oh, three hundred kilometers out before impact. That should be a relatively safe distance.”

“I suppose so.”

“You seem doubtful,” a new voice cut in from behind him. Carey turned to discover Du Ballay had come up, unnoticed, and was standing at his shoulder.

“I'm concerned about those still aboard that ship,” the general growled. “They're civilians and shouldn't have to go through this.”

“I agree.” Du Bellay paused. “I, uh, looked up the
Origami
'
s
registry data. The captain is listed as a Chandra Carey.”

He stopped without asking the obvious question. Carey answered it anyway. “She's my daughter.”

“Your daughter, sir?” Mahendra asked, eyes widening momentarily. “I'm sorry; I didn't know.” His fingers danced over keys; numbers appeared on his screen. “Sir, we
could
pull a tachship off of the Intruder's path and have it waiting to pick up Captain Carey when the
Origami
reaches position.”

“No. We've only got three tachships left on chaser duty and I'd rather leave them there. Chandra's good, and I know she thinks highly of her crew. The best thing we can do for them is to keep feeding them good data on the Intruder's course.”

“What about sending one of the tachships that's on lifeboat-pickup duty?” Du Bellay suggested.

“Those boats don't carry all that much food and air,” Carey said, shaking his head. “The
Origami
dropped a lot of boats, and some of them are getting close to the wire. Tachships can't carry more than a single lifeboat at a time, and with all civilian craft officially barred from the area we're going to have enough trouble picking up everyone as it is.” Both men still looked disturbed, so Carey flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don't worry, Chandra can take care of herself. Captain, what's the status of our attempts at communication?”

Du Bellay drifted off as, almost reluctantly, Mahendra turned back to his board. His hands, Carey noted, didn't look nearly as relaxed as before.

The door opened, and Orofan paused on the threshold for a moment before stepping onto the bridge. Lassarr glanced up from the console where he and Pliij were working. “Yes, what is it?” the Voyagemaster growled.

“I'm asking you once more to reconsider,” Orofan said. His voice was firm, devoid of all emotion.

Lassarr evidently missed the implications of that. “It's too late. Disassembly has begun; our new course is plotted.”

“But not yet executed,” Orofan pointed out. “And equipment can be reassembled. This path is not honorable, Voyagemaster.”

Deliberately, Lassarr turned his back on the Shipmaster. “Prepare to execute the course change,” he instructed Pliij.

“You leave me no alternative,” Orofan sighed.

Lassarr spun around—and froze, holding very tightly to the console, his eyes goggling at the assault gun nestled in Orofan's tentacle. “Have you gone insane, Shipmaster?”

“Perhaps,” Orofan said. “But I will not face the ancestors having stood by while war was made against a race which has offered no provocation.”

“Indeed?” Lassarr's voice dripped with the sarcasm of fear and anger combined. “And destroying them outright, without warning, is more honorable? A few
aarns
ago you didn't think so. Or do you intend instead to condemn a million Sk'cee to death?”

“I don't know,” Orofan said, gazing at the screen that showed the approaching star. “There is still time to decide which path to take.”

Lassarr was aghast. “You're going to leave this decision to a last-
aarmi
impulse?”

“Orofan, there's barely a tenth of an
aarn
left,” Pliij said, his voice strained.

“I know.” Orofan focused on Lassarr. “But the
Dawnsent
is mine, and with that power goes responsibility for its actions. It is not honorable to relinquish that load.”

Slowly, as if finally understanding, Lassarr signed agreement. “But the burden may be transferred to one who is willing,” he said quietly.

“And what then of my honor?” Orofan asked, tentacles rippling with half-bitter amusement. “No. Your honor is safe, Voyagemaster—you were prevented only by force from following the path you deemed right. You may face the ancestors without fear.” He hefted the assault gun. “The final choice is now mine.
My
honor, alone, stands in the dock.”

And that was as it should be, Orofan knew. In the silence he stared at the screen and made his decision.

Ten minutes till cutoff. Alone on the bridge, Chandra tried to watch every read-out at once, looking for deviations from their calculated course. The
Origami's
navigational computer was as good as anything on the market, but for extremely fine positioning it usually had the aid of beacons and maser tracking. Out here in the middle of nowhere, six A.U. from the sun, the computer had to rely on inertial guidance and star positions, and Chandra wasn't sure it could handle the job alone.

She reached for the intercom, changed her mind and instead switched on the radio. The lifeboat bay intercoms were situated a good distance from the boats themselves, and Goode would have a better chance of hearing her over the boat's radio. “Goode? How's it going?” she called.