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Ylura stepped off the shuttle moments after it docked at one of Farside’s auxiliary airlocks—the main bay still blocked by Aetann’s bulk and the others wrecked by Tenacity’s fire. A pair of Chrome Guards met her and acknowledged her with curt mental greetings and veiled auras. But she could still sense their tension, their almost-hostility.
“I don’t need to tell you this is awkward,” Dath said through her augmentation communicator.
“You don’t,” she replied. One of her escorts, leading the way into the station’s main corridor, glanced over her shoulder, hearing her mutter.
“I’m not sure what the hell Jaxan was thinking,” Dath was going on, “but the Counts are in an understandable uproar. They’re on their way to meet with me now. The only thing we’ve got going for us is that they don’t agree on what should be done with the prisoner.”
Noting her escort’s likely attention, Ylura lowered her voice and chose her words carefully. “You know what some of them want.”
“Execution, likely,” Dath growled. “And they’d be right to demand it, wouldn’t they?”
Ylura didn’t have an answer for that. She and her guards were reaching the intersection where the corridor met both the bay entrance and the passage inward along the spoke. Her nostrils flared at the sharp stinks of seared metal and sudden death. Wreckage had been cleared, but she caught a glimpse of a body—one of the T’Sona by its ragged state—being dragged by Chrome Guards out of sight.
Her escorts stiffened and held up arms crossed to prevent her continuing. She felt a cool rush of mental command and saw Morvenan troops scampering to clear the way. Chrome Guards came clanking up the spoke passage in something of a formation; an honor guard, she realized, as she saw who they escorted out of the depths of the station.
A Morvenan as tall as his guards, even in their gear, strode stiffly for the bay. Crimson finery befitting his station and lineage hung stained and frayed over a gaunt form and privation had given his sharp features a knife’s edges. Hair hung loose and wiry about smoldering eyes. These flicked up towards Ylura and her mind pinched with his sudden attention.
“Krazmyb,” she whispered, as much to herself as to her communicator.
“Yeah,” Dath replied, “that, at least, was a bit of luck, finding him unharmed.”
Momentarily connected to the Count of Red, seeing the muted brown hue of his aura—like a bruise over his soul—Ylura wasn’t so certain of that.
“I’m hoping to parlay that luck into some goodwill,” Dath was saying. “But, gah, you need to sort this out quickly, Ylura.”
“How do you propose I do that?” she whispered back as Krazmyb passed into the main bay and her escorts resumed their stride, now turning left into the spoke passage.
“Jaxan said she wouldn’t turn Yssida over to the Morvena without you hearing from her first,” Dath replied. “So go and hear. And then turn her the hell over to the Chrome Guards.”
“What if what I hear changes things?”
“I need you to keep your perspective, Lieutenant.”
Ylura flinched at the chilliness of his tone. “Aye sir.”
Her party reached another intersection, one still hazed and reeking from the aftermath of battle. Chrome Guards faced a clutch of troopers in the gray armor of the Republic Fleet, who glowered back with a mixture of human and very not-human smirks. The hideously-grinning Korthan whose blue chest plate markings made him senior of the group straightened his spine a little at the sight of her, thumped his fist to his sternum. His comrades followed suit, while the Guards slid back, bowing with cool diffidence.
“That way, ma’am,” the Korthan said, nodding over his shoulder down a side passage.
“Thank you.” She stepped from behind her escorts, who fading into the background, and nodded to the officer in charge of the Guards. An icy acknowledgement pricked her mind and she proceeded onward.
Varley and Jaxan stood in the narrow hall beyond, looked—by their stances and the hot undercurrent of their auras—to have just been arguing. Both sprang back from one another at the sight of her and Ylura picked up a little something else she couldn’t quite place from them. But Varley was already speaking.
“Cho’s got her under guard, past here.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “Third Blade Raynim is pissed. So, whatever it is you think you can do, Aval, it’d be nice if you do it fast.”
“The Captain’s already made things quite clear to me, Commander,” she replied with sharpness honed by the situation, and by a presence she was beginning to sense in the room at the end of the passageway.
“That’s good,” Varley spluttered a little. He exchanged a glower with Jaxan. “That’s very good. Get to it, then.”
Ylura didn’t bother with a response and moved on. Another pair of uneasy-looking Fleet toughs parted to let her pass. Their unease could have just as easily been hers as an aura tingled in the air ahead of her, filled her mental senses like the gust front before a storm. She retreated into her own skills, her own Shala training, stilling her mind, preparing herself.
Hello, big sister.
Ylura froze in her tracks. A sunlit scene filled her brain; a fountain and a pair of young women splashing each other in its waters. She was the first, the eldest by a decade. Forcing herself forward once more, she came into a lounge and a circle of Fleet minders around the second.
Tahna.
The sight of her cousin shocked Ylura. There was little sign of that sunny young girl in the apparition seated cross-legged on the floor before her. Coverall rags hung over bony shoulders and a bruise darkened her light purple features across one cheek. She’d cut her hair short, just over the shoulders, oily and matted with neglect. A strand of it dangled across her glimmering eyes. Those, though, Ylura remembered quite well.
You’re in a lot of trouble, she told her cousin. If you still think of us as that close, know that I’m telling you the truth.
The feral-faced stranger shrugged. I know it, for certain, she replied mentally. It’s not a new thing for me. I’ve been in trouble for quite some time. Longer even than the T’Sona.
Ylura noted the edgy shift of the Republic troopers watching the silent exchange between the cousins and met the gaze of their senior, Cho. She nodded and gestured for them to go, which they did with undisguised haste.
The T’Sona are finished, she went on as the last of them retreated from the room.
Tahna shrugged. They were always doomed. That was the idea.
They’re a cult.
Tahna chortled out loud. You think I’m caught up in something, don’t you? She sighed and shook her head at her as one would a dim-witted child. You think I’ve been lured into all of this against my will.
I have no idea what you—
I am the T’Sona, Ylura. Her thoughts blazed into Ylura’s skull like a hot iron pressed violently to flesh. But the intensity of her willpower faded quickly. And I think they have a little more part to play.
Ylura folded her arms before her, squared her feet, played for time to calm her own aura. But the power of Tahna’s soul still sizzled on her nerves. Rattled, she realized now that she’d had no idea how truly far, how mighty her cousin’s prowess had become. For an instant, she wondered who was really in control here.
How many are left? Ylura took on the stance of a Republic Fleet officer. How many ships? How many weapons?
Tahna snorted, again out loud. I didn’t ask you to come here to be interrogated, dearest.
Interrogation is certainly what awaits you, though, Ylura pressed. That and—by our ancestors, Tahna—whatever torments the Gray Ring has in mind.
Tahna laughed mockingly and shook her head. A tear glinted loose at the corner of an eye and she wiped it away hastily. They can devise no torments I have not already experienced at the hands of the Shala.
What are you talking about?
You don’t suspect it? Her expression contorted and went ugly with outward disgust. You have no idea, at all?
I don’t, but I can tell you, we have little time for guessing games. Ylura glanced over her shoulder, up the hall where Fleet toughs suppressed the simmering rage of the Chrome Guard. My commanding officer barely keeps the Counts at bay.
Fresh imagery slammed into Ylura’s mind. She physically gagged at the violation of it, like being force-fed, or held under water. Reflexively, furiously she pushed back with her own will, her own resolve, grinding her cousin’s imposition to the edges of her soul.
But the image remained clear; a waifish figure in a filmy nightgown, standing in a cool, stone-walled room lit only by a high window-slit allowing sunlight in. She stood beside a stone slab, surrounded by cloaked, cowled figures. One of these stepped forward and slowly reached for the collar of her gown. As she began to whimper, this one undid the ties there. The gown fell to her heels, left her exposed as her whimpers became sobs. The leader gestured for her to climb up onto the slab. She did so, trembling, then gasping as she laid back and the iciness of the stone bit her naked back.
Bit Tahna’s back.
Bit Ylura’s back as she experienced Tahna’s vision—her memory.
They’ve been so clever, Tahna hissed in Ylura’s skull. It’s been centuries of their depravities, but none will speak out against them.
Ylura gave her head a shake, swallowed back bile and tried not to remember the cold of a stone slab against her own backside. The Gray Ring?
The Shala Order. The whole cursed, rotten mess of it, Ylura.
Another headshake. But you are of the Order. Or were.
And, so, I know the depths of their corruption and wickedness. The younger woman unfolded her legs from beneath her and got up stiffly, slowly. And I know the terrible game they play, even as we speak. The glow of her eyes took on an infernal hue. I know how desperate they’ve gotten.
Tahna, enough! Ylura stepped forward, stood eye-to-eye with the girl who had once been as close to her as a sister. Enough of these cryptic pronouncements! Speak clearly!
And Ylura was pleased to see the flinch across her cousin’s face, the force of her own presence slamming home. Tahna took a deep breath, held the glare for a long moment before turning away and pacing towards the transparent dome of the lounge. She folded her arms and looked out into the cold glint of stars.
The Order are more than just the arbiters of what is effectively our state religion. They’ve ensconced themselves into the state, itself. They manipulate the Colors for their own end, playing their prejudices off one another. They place Masters in each House, in each of the prominent families, whispering into their minds. Their members watch for subjects of especial gift. She glowered over her shoulder at Ylura. That is how they justified stealing me from our uncle’s home.
You were identified and invited. Ylura frowned incredulously. Hardly a kidnapping. And it was an enormous honor. You were thrilled!
A shriek ripped through Ylura’s mind, fury and grief surging together into a white-noise racket that blanked thought. She gritted her teeth in effort against, put out a hand to the table at the room’s center to hold herself aloft. Groans echoed down the corridor at her back, Morvenan voices rasping in agony as the wave of extrasensory outrage pulsed out from Tahna. Ylura understood, then, how the ragged knot of rebels with Tahna had very nearly broken out through the Chrome Guard’s barricades. Only the half of her that was human remained steady against the storm.
If only I had known what awaited me! Tahna howled in Ylura’s mind. Accompanying her words came further images of that cold, stone room, that sinister circle, and the woman-child at their center, clenching naked limbs around herself to hide her shame. You were so lucky, my sister. They were very interested in you, too, with your mixed parentage. The imagery and intensity paused, then acquired a sinister note. Long before, your mother had rebuffed their offers, you see.
Ylura blinked away the horrid scene inserted into her thoughts by her cousin. Rage blasted through it. What?
Yes. Tahna’s waif-features wiggled into a mischievous grin. You didn’t know that, did you? She sensed their foulness, so much so that she found a way off-planet. That is why she went with the exchange program to Sanctuary, why she became so enamored of them, and one of their officers. Tahna leaned forward on to the table from the other side, both palms on it as she eyed Ylura. It was an escape.
Ylura removed her hands from the table, backed away from it and from her cousin. You never knew my mother, she retorted. She loved Morvena and Shala.
She loved what it had been; not what these craven bastards have made of it. The Order is not Shala; not anymore. The glow of her stare went nearly white-hot. It has stolen it.
The vision of Tahna on a slab returned, so real Ylura felt the clamminess of the chamber on her flesh, heard the breathing of eerie, robed onlookers. But she forced it all back with her own will. She was part her father’s daughter, had resisted the Arathra with the strength of her soul, and would have no one—not even one who’d once been as dear as Tahna—play with her memories. What happened to you?
Clearly sensing the resistance and anger, Tahna’s imagery dissipated and she straightened up from the table, eye-glare cooling to a red gold partly hooded by the lids. Testing, she answered. Testing became experimentation. Experimentation became pain. Pain became abuse. A glimpse of Tahna curled up in the corner of a small room. My powers attracted them. So did my body. The slab and the circle of robes, again. I was plaything as well as student. I learned the Inner Circles of Shala and the lowest levels of depravity.
Ylura grimaced, retreated a step, dragged in a ragged breath that only seem to fuel the nausea rising within her. This can’t be so.
Tahna winced back at her thoughts. An understandable reaction. I’ve heard it many times. Hard to imagine the thing that has brought so much comfort to so many has at its core a rotten heart.
Ylura swallowed acidy taste, guts curdling to a sick, cool-porridge lump within her. The words, the thoughts, all had the ring of pathos and authenticity. But Tahna had always been very clever. And the violence with which she and her allies had seized the station and held it flew in the face of her presumed victimhood.
Can you prove any of this?
Tahna winced and a tear beaded at the corner of her eye. I am telling you. Sniffling sharply and dabbing it away, she went on. But, yes, I can. Her glow-gaze sparkled with flecks of white fire. If you free me.
Ylura tensed. You know I can’t do—
Words died as an unspeakable chill frosted blood and bones. Ylura could see Tahna experiencing the same, purple features paling as she gripped bony arms around herself and shivered, began to back towards the far side of the chamber. It was as if someone had opened an airlock and allowed the absolute-zero of the void to flood in.
But what entered the room in its wake was easily as terrifying as a hull breach.
“Master Voadd!” Ylura exclaimed out loud.
The Gray Ring priest stood in the entryway, fingers steepled together before his chest, smiling vaguely as his eyes throbbed with yellow-white intensity. That gaze locked with Tahna’s and the girl gasped, retreated until her back touched the transparent durasteel dome. Contact sent a twitch across her face, which contorted suddenly into fury. Her breath accelerated, became a panting of great effort.
No such effort creased Voadd’s features. I have come to claim our wayward child.
“Ylura...” Tahna squeaked.
Fool! Voadd’s mind-voice thundered. Your thoughts will be known to me. He glanced at Ylura and his icy smile widened. But, by all means, continue.
“You will not take me,” Tahna hissed between breaths.
Silly girl, Voadd replied, I will do precisely that. And do not waste your energy on resisting me; it will be quite useless, I assure you. He unfolded his hands and let them drop, refolded them behind his back as turned fully to Ylura. Now, Lieutenant Aval, with the protection of my aura, this criminal will no longer be able to interfere. Please escort us back to my shuttle.
Varley and Jaxan appeared behind either of Voadd’s flanks in the hall behind him, the former glaring at her in confusion, the latter looking at Tahna with what seemed to be utter fright. But Ylura wasn’t so much seeing them as seeing that image Tahna had implanted in her skull; that slab, that circle of robed figures.
Gray robes like Voadd’s.
“I can’t do that,” she blurted out.
Voadd’s blade-sharp face wrinkled incredulously. Excuse me?
Ylura glanced at Varley, saw the officer mouthing, “what the hell?” But she pressed on, a desperate plan whirling together in her skull—ludicrous, and Dath would be furious. But the only way. “The subject has requested asylum from the Republic.”
“What?” Voadd snapped out loud, the inferno of his eyes going incandescent.
“Until that’s sorted out,” Ylura went on, “the only place Tahna Yddisa is going is the brig of Tenacity.”
***
DATH FELT THE INSTANT throb of a headache behind his artificial eye as he looked at the globular hologram of Ylura plastered across part of the bridge’s main screen. “This is what you call ‘keeping perspective’?”
To her credit, Ylura flinched at his tone. “Captain,” she replied pleadingly, “I dare not say more now, but there’s more to the story than we’ve been told.”
“There had damned well better be,” Dath growled and touched one of the controls on his right armrest, brought up a sub-display, and noted a blinking status. “The Counts are aboard, now, and they’re pissed—mostly with each other.” He snorted at her image. “But I’m sure that’s about to change.”
“Where is Voadd?”
Dath suppressed a shudder at the mention of the utterly weird Shala-priest, or whatever he was. And he heard the tremor in the back of her voice. Checking the sub-display again, he replied, “On his way back here.” He glowered up at the main screen again. “Ylura...Lieutenant, you know we’re not going to be able to hold on to her indefinitely.”
“So long as we don’t hand her over to the Gray Ring or House Red.”
“You mean the two parties that have the greatest claim to her?” he snapped, but softened his tone as he saw the obvious conflict on her face. “I’ll see what I can do,” he grumbled. “But, Ylura, gah, you had no right!”
She held up her chin the way he’d seen her do on the bridge, in the midst of battle. “As a matter of fact, I did. More, I had a duty.”
“Gah,” Dath spat softly and waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Bring Tahna Yssida back aboard as soon as possible. And I mean soon, Lieutenant.”
Ylura’s eyes shimmered with emotion. “Aye sir.”
Her image vanished, left Dath with a view of the curve of Farside’s ring and the artful shapes of Morvenan cruisers crowded up to it. Tenacity hovered just off the main hangar bay, exchanging shuttles to the station’s auxiliary airlocks as the Aetann still wedged into the hangar mouth like a durasteel tick in Farside’s hide. The coming-and-going of those shuttles—and those of the other ships—seemed to have accelerated in intensity in last couple minutes.
“Shall I ready an update to Fleet Command, sir?” Clemens asked from her station.
“Update with what?” Dath growled unkindly—it wasn’t her fault. He smiled by way of half-apology. “Not even sure how I’m going to explain this, yet.”
“Aye sir.”
“It’s a good day to be a simple Engineer, sir,” a voice drawled from behind Dath at the auxiliary control station.
“Not so simple, Tom,” Dath replied, pivoting his seat to face the man. “How are the Drives?” He grinned. “That was some trick you pulled. Helluva job. You saved our collective ass.”
“Costly trick,” Rougan replied and keyed up a holographic schematic on the auxiliary screen. Red blinked from Tenacity’s ventral engine nacelle. “Number Three is offline.”
“For how long?”
Rougan chortled humorlessly. “Until we can get back to a Republic Fleet Dock, I’m afraid.” He fully faced Dath, now, looking slightly ill, his coveralls splotched with soaked-through sweat. But he sounded with it, so Dath didn’t question. “Captain,” Rougan went on, “the singularity shaft is fried. I’ve got teams up inside, seeing what they can salvage, but I’ve seen this before. She’s done.”
It was Dath’s turn for an unpleasant chuckle. “Another refit.”
“That’s so.”
He eyed Rougan and then the schematic, felt the headache worsen. “We can make do on One and Two?”
“Well,” Rougan turned back to the hologram, “I’m going to say that it’s a damned good thing the Hypernaughts are so overpowered. I’m managing to compensate, for the most part. You might get Void Nine out of them, if we bleed off power from other systems.” He glanced at Dath with arched eyebrows. “But it’ll be a nervy business; you’ll be straining them.”
“I’m hoping most of the strain from here out is just on my nerves.”
“Aye sir.”
“See what you can do with Number Three. But that’s not actually why I called you up.” Dath pivoted his seat around to the fore again and gestured to Regal, who brought up a different schematic on the main screen, one of Farside. A ship wedged in at the twelve o’clock hangar module, a quarter of the way around the ring from them, pulsed yellow. “The rebel frigate was completely destroyed, so inspecting it’s obviously not happening.” He pointed at the strobing ship. “But their transport is still docked here. Chrome Guard has it secured. I still want to know how these trouble-makers secured technology of that caliber.”
“Want me to take a team aboard and get a look?” Rougan asked.
“Exactly.” Dath looked over his shoulder at him. “Anything you can find out will help. Serial numbers, retrofits, anything.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Thanks, Tom. See you in a bit.” He turned his seat towards the Tactical station as Rougan departed. “Alvarez, you know anything about diplomacy?”
The younger officer smiled back at him ruefully. “I’m relieved to say I don’t, sir.”
“Too bad...” Dath stood and straightened his uniform with a tug. “You have the bridge, then, Lieutenant.”
“Good luck, sir.”
Dath chuckled and headed for the turbolift, himself. A short wait brought the car back up the chute. Then Dath was in it and heading down to C Deck. Left with his own thoughts for a moment, he fought to sort them amidst the throb of his skull. Damn it, Ylura. What could you possibly hope to accomplish with this? The Republic authorities would never consider extraditing Yssida. This would only delay the inevitable. And that delay, in the interim, was going to be unpleasant.
The air felt prickly as he exited the turbolift on the lower deck, as though a live wire charged the molecules. Dath’s headache worsened. Heading for the entrance to the senior conference room, he heard no echoes of argument. But as the door slid back to allow him entry and he sampled the crackling silence of the room he realized an argument was under way; simple one not available to human senses.
“Good evening, gentle-beings.”
The Counts sat around the table, two of them—Gorrod and Krazymb—at each other’s sides; the rest spaced out. All glowered at one another, eyes trading flickers that maybe had some meaning Dath couldn’t interpret. Doc Imliss knelt beside Krazmyb, running a pocket scanner over his arm as he allowed her to hold it. Her gaze flicked towards Dath and the eeriness of the Morvenans’ non-vocal exchange had clearly unsettled her.
The exchange suddenly became very vocal as Gorrod shot to his feet and erupted. “Captain, this is an outrage! It’s an insult to the Unity!” He jabbed a finger at him. “House Red demands that you turn that traitor—that murderer—over to our justice immediately!”
“Your justice?” Arrakka snorted from the other side of the table. “These are capital-level crimes, Gorrod. At a minimum, Tahna will go before the Justicars, not a House Red torturer!”
“You dare...?”
Dath raised his voice and focused upon the subject of Imliss’ attention. “Count Krazmyb, I presume?” He touched his chest in salute, deliberately ignoring Gorrod as he went on. “We are so glad to have you aboard and well.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Krazmyb replied in a weary voice. The resemblance between him and his fiery brother was unmistakable, despite the obvious abuse he’d endured.
“And ‘well’ is straining the word, Captain,” Imliss put in, standing and inserted her scanner back into the little kit she’d set upon the tabletop. “The Count suffers from dehydration and low-level shock, as well as minor injuries consistent with being handled roughly.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Dath replied, headache pinching at the woman’s berating tone; for a physician her diplomacy was remarkably lacking.
“This really isn’t the venue for his care,” she went on with a head shake. “I’d like to take him down to sickbay.”
“And as I told you before, good Doctor,” Krazmyb said graciously, “I am fit to be present for this.” He glanced at his brother, eyes flaring momentarily. “I must be.”
Imliss shook her head and muttered, “Patients are all the same, regardless of species.”
“If there’s nothing else, Doctor...?” Dath pressed.
“Not for now.” She nodded to Krazmyb, smiled with brief but genuine care. “Come see me before you go.” The warmth chilled as she nodded to Dath. “Captain.”
He returned the nod and waited for her to go, the door to hiss shut at her back. He met Krazmyb’s gaze then, asked gravely, “What did they do to you, Count?”
“It was as your good doctor says; mostly pushed around. The T’Sona scum were remarkably restrained.” He shuddered and glanced at Arrakka. “But the leader...Yddisa...” He grimaced and his eyes stoked to twin infernos. “The girl actually attempted mind-lock with me.”
“By our ancestors!” Gorrod exclaimed. “The wretch!”
Arrakka sagged back in his seat at the revelation and Avla cupped a hand to his mouth. Krazmyb, for his part, simmered with what could almost be interpreted as shame.
“Forgive my ignorance, Counts, but what is that exactly?”
“It is when one Morvena forces their mind upon another,” Arrakka said quietly, before any of the others could speak up. “They attempt to seize control of another’s capacities.” His mouth worked into a tormented pinching. “It is one of our highest crimes.”
“Right up there with treason,” Gorrod snapped. “And it’s more than what Arrakka suggests, Captain. It’s mind control. It’s a mind-wipe.” He pointed accusingly at Arrakka. “His niece was attempting to turn my cousin into her puppet!”
“That is...one description of it.”
“It’s the only one!”
“I’m so sorry, Count,” Dath said, settling in the open seat at the table’s head. He considered his next words carefully, still not entirely comprehending the crime, but likening it to something truly foul. “You don’t have to answer this, of course; but, how far did she get?”
The conference room door whisked open once more and a chill voice spoke through it. “Not far, it seems.”
A flinch went through all around the table. Dath pivoted his seat and half-rose from it as he faced the newcomer. “Master Voadd.”
The Gray Ring Master acknowledged his greeting with a nod and stepped into the room, locked eyes with Krazmyb. “Had she succeeded, the good Count’s mind would be very much a ruin, by now. And certainly, I would sense it.”
“It is as the Master says,” Krazymb agreed, almost too hurriedly. “I’m fine. I am of the Second Circle, myself, and managed some resistance.” A little smile crinkled his otherwise grim visage. “I think it quite infuriated her.”
“Not as infuriating as what your officers are doing now!” Gorrod resumed his tirade. “Captain, you will turn Yddissa and her surviving co-conspirators over to us!”
“Indeed,” Voadd said, settling into an unoccupied chair. “The Gray Ring, in particular, would understand just how far her conspiracy has gone. More, her powers have grown greater even than we assumed, and without a Master’s tutelage.” He regarded Dath. “She is vastly more dangerous than I think you appreciate, Captain. Your crew will be at risk without a practitioner of Shala at your disposal.”
Dath tried meeting that icy gaze directly, but gave up with a shiver he had to hide from them. “We have one.”
Voadd smirked. “A novice.”
“And not a disinterested party, at all!” Gorrod hissed. He whirled to his green-sashed peer across the table. “Avla, do you have any interest in engaging in mediation? That was your purpose, here, was it not?”
The Count of House Green visibly worked to control his temper at Gorrod’s needling. “Captain Raker,” he began with obvious restraint, “the Count has the right of things. You have no legal stance for holding Tahna Yddisa.” He folded his hands together on the tabletop and leaned forward. “And I have already sent a transmission to your Republic authorities, lodging a protest.”
“I, too, have sent a communique,” Dath lied smoothly—guess I’m in it now “advising my superiors of the situation.” He folded his arms before his chest and held up his chin. “And that situation is this: the subject has requested asylum. She has begged the protection of the Republic.”
“She’s a terrorist!” Gorrod shrieked.
“She would not be the first political dissident Sanctuary has granted shelter to, at least temporarily.”
“You insult the sovereignty of the Unity!” Gorrod was visibly trembling now. “By inserting yourselves into this, you violate whatever agreements of friendship exist between our star nations.”
Arrakka started to rise from his seat. “And that’s quite beyond your station to proclaim, Count—”
“You’d dare lecture a peer of the Council?”
“Counts!” Avla barked, clearly shocking his colleagues with his vehemence. “This is quite enough.” He waited for both to seat themselves before continuing. “Captain, this is highly irregular, you must concede.”
Dath nodded agreeably. “Certainly. But until I have word from my superiors as to Tahna Yddisa’s application, she is under my protection.” He unfolded his arms and held up his bare wrists. “I apologize, but my hands are tied in the matter.”
“Impressive that you could tie them, yourself,” Gorrod hissed.
Krazmyb touched his fuming brother’s arm to restrain him.
“What then, Captain?” Voadd asked. “Surely, you do not intend to take her from Unity Space?” He leaned forward, put his hands upon the table as he glowered at him. “I cannot see how that would be either legal or tolerable.”
“Of course, not,” Dath replied, hating the frigid glow of the Master’s eyes. Defiantly he met it with his own unmatched hazel and holographic blue. “She will stay aboard Tenacity. But we will return with her to Morvena and wait there for further orders.”
“The Council of Colors will convene,” Avla said. “They will want to meet with you. They will insist, in fact.”
Dath nodded, relieved to have an excuse not to look at Voadd. “I will be at their disposal, of course.”
Avla looked around the room at the others. “This is acceptable to all parties?”
Arrakka was nodding. Gorrod and Krazmyb exchanged a long look, likely a furious exchange of telepathy. But Voadd spoke up before either could settle on a response. “It is tolerable.”
“Then we will go.” Avla stood and waited meaningfully for the others to do so, as well. The brothers of House Red were already moving for the exit without further acknowledgement. Avla flinched at that and turned sheepishly back to Dath. “Thank you, Captain Raker.”
“Understand, Captain” Voadd rumbled before Dath could reply to Avla “you hold the goodwill of the Unity in your hand, now.” His smile had no hint of friendliness whatsoever. “Choose your actions carefully.”
The headache was nearly unbearable and Dath began to suspect its source was the being standing before him as he thumped his fist crosswise to his chest. “I always do, Master.”
***
“NOT LOOKING LIKE A real welcome welcoming-committee, Commander,” Spencer muttered from Rougan’s side.
Rougan snorted as they and the small inspection team he’d collected strode down Farside’s main corridor to the hangar bay where the T’Sona’s surprise attack had commenced. Arrayed before the open blast doors, a detail of Chrome Guards awaited, weapons brandished.
“These guys all look the same,” Spencer went on, “always pissed off.”
Rougan glowered at him in admonishment before putting a smile on his face as the little group came to a halt before the Guards. Their leader seemed obvious by the extra artistry of his gleaming armor and short cape. He was also the only one with his mask retracted into the recesses of his peaked helmet, baring his face.
“We’re from Tenacity,” Rougan told this one. “I’ve got orders to board the rebels’ transport and take readings for an investigation.” When the Morvenan didn’t reply, he added, “You were probably expecting us?”
“We were not,” the Chrome Guard officer replied without inflection.
“Ah.”
Spencer muttered something and shifted on his feet. Rougan glared at him again. The kid looked like he was sizing up the opposition, a comical proposition with his tiny stature versus the towering Morvena. But confrontation, this was, and Rougan needed a way through it.
“Look,” he resumed, “it’s not my idea, you see. It’s just orders. And I just need a quick look around.” He held up a sensor wand. “Scanners will make short work of it.” When the Morvenan still didn’t respond, he pressed. “Why don’t you contact your superiors? In the meantime, we’ll just poke about. You can watch us, if you want.”
The officer looked over his shoulder at one of his troopers. Something seemed to pass between them—probably their telepathic voodoo. Finally, the Morvenan grunted and stood aside, gestured for the open dock. “It is the only vessel there. Be quick.”
“Thanks, friend.”
Hastily, Rougan led the way in, noting over his shoulder one of the Guards following at a not-subtle distance, finger close to the trigger of his weapon.
“Allies,” Spencer grumbled, “right, Commander?”
“Shut up.”
Scorch marks on the deck plates and walls told the tale of the rebels’ storming action. So, too, did the line of corpses lined up under shrouds to the left and overseen by more Chrome Guards. The air stank of seared metal and plastic—and worse. The transport, itself, looked to have sustained superficial damage. Looked like the fight here had been ugly. The loading ramp extended down from its angular bow was charred, possibly from a grenade blast.
“She’s an old Jumper-class,” Spencer observed. “One of ours.”
“Not one of ours,” Rougan grated at him warningly.
“Right. Sorry. What I meant was old Sanctuarian manufacture.” The younger man scanned the ship with his eyes as they neared it. “Multi-purpose. Fleet used ‘em for heavy lift and as troop transport.”
“Which is what the T’Sona used it for,” Rougan replied as they came to a half before the vessel. His gaze lingered on the bulges of its stubby engine nacelles. “Those aren’t standard for the type. Like the frigate; she was modified to be over-powered.” He pointed. “Get a good look at those with the scanners. Take Tully and Baze.”
“Right. Where’s the registry?”
Rougan scrutinized the hull. “They’ve stripped exterior markings. Pretty typical for private craft. Original plates will be inside, up by the bridge. I’ve got those.” He nodded for Spencer to carry on, did the same with the other half of the team, and moved for the boarding ramp.
A Morvenan was backing down the ramp as he stepped up onto it, dragging a body. Rougan stepped aside to grant the trooper room and grimaced at the sight of the blaster-charred corpse. Moving on into the vessel, his nostrils flared at the scorched fat stink of energy weapon wounds, noted blaster burns on the interior. It looked like a few of the vessel’s crew had attempted a last stand within and the Chrome Guards had taken no chances on prisoners.
Climbing up inside into a narrow, long hold, he panned the sensor wand about. Mated to his augmentations, it fed its readings back to him, and these displayed across the left corner of his vision. Mundane schemata scrolled through it, an oddity or addition highlighted now and them; but nothing dramatic. The ship was typical for free trader or criminal retrofits. Unimpressed, he moved forward, towards the bridge.
“Somebody put god-knows-what on this bucket,” Spencer’s voice crackled in Rougan’s mastoid comm implant. “I don’t recognize the make of these Drives. But thing’s ridiculously over-powered. They meant her to do some running.”
“Mm-hmm,” Rougan replied, stepping past a crumpled corpse that hadn’t been collected yet and trying not to breath of its redolence. The way ahead narrowed into a short corridor to the Jumper’s tiny bridge. The registry plates would be right behind the bulkhead before the entrance, if he didn’t miss his guess.
“This wasn’t shoddy work,” Spencer was going on. “Someone was getting this girl ready for war.”
“Which is exactly what they used her for,” Rougan said.
“Ah, Commander?” Spencer’s voice changed, sounded suddenly uncertain. “There’s more of these Guards coming. Couple of ‘em are heading up your way.”
“Just make nice, Spence; we’re all friends.”
“They’re armed to the teeth for friends, sir. Looks like they mean business.”
Rougan frowned. But he’d reached the hatch to the bridge and waved his wand about until a pulse across the corner of his vision highlighted something. “Just behave yourself,” he told the younger spacer. “I’m almost done here.”
At the blinking in the hologram, Rougan knelt in the alcove just outside the hatch, to its left, and looked behind the lip of the bulkhead there. The registry plate was a blank slab of durasteel welded into the structure, would be missed by a casual observer. But its absence or tampering would be instantly obvious to an official inspection. Panning the sensor wand over it, characters flared briefly yellow and Rougan’s augmentation recorded the stream of numbers and letters.
“You will leave,” a voice commanded without intonation.
Leaping to his feet in surprise, Rougan spun to the speaker. The Chrome Guard officer he’d met before stood in the passageway behind him, an unholstered energy pistol in his hand. A pair of his troopers loomed behind him.
“I’m sorry?”
“You will leave,” the officer repeated. “My orders have changed. There are to be no more inspections in this area. It is restricted to all not authorized directly by the Council of Colors.”
Involuntary sweats broke out across Rougan’s skin as the very real menace of the Morvenan’s words, and the fact that they had him cornered and alone, settled in his mind. He deactivated his sensor wand and shrugged. “No problem for me.” He swallowed back a tremor to his voice and wished he hadn’t left his flask aboard Tenacity. “I can go.”
“Yes, you can.”
They corralled Rougan not at all subtly or gently from the interior and down the ramp. He felt the not-quite-aimed rifle sights of the troopers on his back the whole way. Emerging into the open air of the hangar bay, he found Spencer and the others huddled together and surrounded by a semi-circle of Chrome Guards.
“Return to your vessel,” the Chrome Guard officer told him. “The Council is ordering the entire station locked down.”
“You got it,” Rougan replied and strode for the exit, waving Spencer and the others after him. The kid started to ask something but Rougan silenced him with a cutting gesture, kept going, lengthening his strides to the point of straining his out-of-shape bulk until they were out of the bay and a good distance.
“Real damned friendly,” Spencer huffed.
“Did you complete your readings?” Rougan asked him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Morvenans eyeing their course down the main corridor, and a handful of Guards ghosting them.
“Most of them,” Spencer replied. “Why’s everyone so twitchy?”
“Going to guess that Raker pissed them off,” Rougan answered and glanced one more time over his shoulder. “Either that or they didn’t want us seeing any more.”
“Not a lot to see,” Spencer said and shook his head. “Commander, what the hell’s going on here?”
Rougan sped up his gait even further, was breathing hard now, but suddenly really wanted off Farside Station.
“Don’t know, kid. And it’s clear they don’t want us knowing.”
***
“THEY’RE GOING,” MUELLER announced into the tense silence of Devourer’s bridge. On the main screen, the icon denoting Tenacity broke off from Farside Station and began to accelerate. Blip became a streak as her Void Drives engaged and she tore out past lightspeed, leaving a wake of tachyons that faded from Einsteinian reality like the trail of bottle rocket. “Trajectory suggests she’s returning to Morvena.”
Heath suppressed the grinding his teeth to just watch her go without any hindrance, at all. “We have confirmation from our contact?” He turned in his seat to eye Bauer at the Comms station. “He is unhurt and uncompromised?”
“He is returned to his vessel,” Bauer replied as he read text from a hologram. A ping sounded and his eyebrows darted up. “They are departing, as well.” He met his commander’s gaze and shook his head. “There is nothing else.”
“Continue to monitor.” Heath scratched his chin, then turned back to Mueller. “Remain at standby with all systems at minimal.” He stood abruptly, suddenly full of uncertainty and the foul temper that came with it. “Inform me of any change. You have the bridge, Brother-Commander.”
“Yes, Brother-Captain.”
Heath pivoted to Harlander, lingering in the dark corner near the exit down into the Cradle. “Magus?”
The other man nodded; there was little doubt as to what Heath intended. “Yes.” He sidestepped and unlatched the heavy, bolted door.
Together, the pair of them climbed down the claustrophobic passageway that meandered directly into the deepest part of the vessel. Neither spoke to the other, though Heath caught the opportunistic gleam of his rival’s gaze at his back when he thought he wasn’t looking. The slippery Fang probably thought the turn of events would favor him somehow.
They reached the antechamber before the Cradle entrance and Heath held up, waited for Harlander to open the hatch with a touch of the palm to a plate beside it. The hatch ground back with a squall of metal-on-metal and darkness tinged with a decomposing garbage stench purled. Both officers proceeded inward, should-to-shoulder, neither willing to show any reaction to the foulness.
A fresh tangling of web occupied the center of the Cradle, quivering with the motions of the Mistress’ drone Children scuttling up and down to the center of it. Each about the size of an adult’s hand—though, permitted, they could get far larger—they relayed back and forth from the form cocooned at the heart of the web.
The Morvenan girl-child, kneeling amidst the strands, twitched every time one of the Children came in contact with her as they wove fresh layers around her. Occasionally, one would pause, would almost seem to caress her. This triggered more violent reactions, fits of shivering and tears glinting free to slide down emaciated, purple-gray cheeks. These inevitably set the Children to scrambling away.
Heath hid a wince as one convulsion was accompanied by a whimper. Swallowing back a knot of fright in his throat, he called out, “Mistress, it’s clear the situation has changed.”
The great, spidery bulk of the Mistress hove out of shadows and into view behind the girl. Rows of eyes glimmered impatiently. It is not so clear to me.
Heath worked his mouth, careful with his thoughts, his words. “The presence of Tenacity, of the Republic in this sector stands to disrupt all our plans.”
The Mistress scuffed slightly closer to the Morvenan girl, pedipalps stretching out before Her to brush the webbing, but not its prisoner. I do not sense they’ve discovered our purpose, yet, She replied with nonchalance.
“They may not have, Mistress” Heath ignored the increasing shivers of the girl as the Mistress crowded behind her “but it is only a matter of time. That is Raker, out there. We know him.” He glanced over his shoulder at Harlander, sought some support for his argument; but the bastard seemed content to let him press the point alone. “He will pry. He will figure things out.”
The last word left as a squeak of pain as Heath felt the prick of the Mistress’ anger in his braincase. Displeasure glimmered back and forth along her eyes and the gentle brush of her pedipalps at the webs ended with a furious tensing.
Pride, Damain Heeeeeaath. The Mistress planted a tree bough-length leg closer to him. So much pride for one who is still quite lowly in the Great Web.
“I...” Heath fought to push the words from his suddenly constricting throat “am sorry, Mistress.”
That Sanctuarian wounded you deeply. If affects your judgement. You would rush to battle, to vengeance, and abandon the much greater task.
“I would not,” Heath insisted as perspiration slid from his brow to sting in his eyes. “You know my mind.”
I do. The foot retracted and the Mistress retreated slightly, appeared to return her attention to the Morvenan waif. Do not forget that I know.
“I would never,” he gasped out as the pressure abruptly eased on his mind. He paused a moment, worked to control his breath and pulse. A glance at Harlander showed the bastard smirking at him. Scowling, Heath straightened his back and faced the great being before him again. “But, Mistress,” he resumed, banishing the hoarseness from his voice, “certainly a recalibration is in order?”
This is so. Her thought-voice was meditative, or perhaps distracted. She leaned in closer to the Morvenan and now allowed her pedipalps to touch the back of her head, where the hair was grown in to a blue-black mop. The girl started panting. Tears rolled freely, dampened the web strands, the rags of her stained overalls. An agonized rictus marred her features and her mouth worked with unheard words that might have been a silent plea.
The Mistress withdrew at the visible distress and Her disdain was thick in Heath’s mind. So pitiful, don’t you think? She has been a delight. Tasting of her has expanded my power greatly. But already she wears out. She retreated a little further, embraced by the shadows at her back. They are so fragile. I suppose that is why the Great Kings bred so many of them, let them keep breeding amongst themselves. They wanted to keep up the supply. Her eye-rows blazed ember red from the dark. We must have more supply, Heath. More.
“We were to have more with the next exchange,” Heath replied.
Not enough, the Mistress snapped. And, as you say, even that timetable might be in doubt.
“We will accelerate it,” Heath declared hurriedly. “We’ll contact the mind-witches and set a meeting.”
You must secure the supply. Even if it means giving away more than we intended. The Mistress paused, but he could feel her deliberations. How much left do we have to bargain with?
“Our contacts wanted a fleet, so they could complete their secession from a posture of strength.” He thought furiously, tried to concentrate despite the crowding of the Mistress’ presence into his mind. “As it stands, we’ve bartered to them the equivalent of a task force. Not quite enough to stand off the strength of the Unity’s main fleet. We have a dozen more ships in various states of readiness over Zadomir.” He stiffened his spine, folded his hands behind his back as he prepared to be unpopular again. “Funneling more here will take time, and draw more suspicion, even out in Wild Space.”
Instead of rage, the Mistress bathed him in haste. Offer them the entire batch.
Heath frowned. “That will surrender the rest of our leverage.”
Offer it to them in exchange for everything they’ve got left available to us, She went on. Get us much as you can. If it is as you fear, that Tenacity’s presence disrupts our calculations, we need to conclude this affair with as much a yield as practical.
Heath began to question, but thought better of risking Her anger again and said, simply, “Very good, Mistress.”
Any contact from Gologatha? There was hesitation to Her presence now, even an element of obfuscation. From my revered Sisters?
“We have maintained strict silence, as ordered,” Heath replied. “In the event we are revealed, we can keep up the fiction of a rogue starship, operating a piratical enterprise, unsanctioned by the Empire.”
And quite the enterprise it has become. The equivalent of the Mistress’ laughter rumbled within Heath’s skull, ended in a what could almost be termed a regretful sigh. It will almost be a pity to abandon it. There is such fertile ground in the fears and greed of the Lesser Species. But what we will bring back to the Empire, to my Sisters will change the balance of power in the Web. She surged forward a couple lumbering steps, loomed over the shuddering Morvenan, Her eye bulbs glimmering at her human subordinates. You...we...will all be rewarded.
“Glorious, Mistress,” Harlander spoke up for the first time, voice dripping with awe the craven bastard no doubt didn’t have to force.
“Yes,” Heath agreed obediently. “Glorious.”