THE VANISHING
ABOARD THE SALAMIS
Commander Thema saw the pirate fleet sweep into view. Their pincer formation was so clumsy it was ludicrous. She could have engaged them and blown them to kingdom come with little effort.
Instead: “Fire a few warning shots, Jumbe. But be careful. We don’t want to scare our little pirates.”
“Sure, sure, bossi,” her number two said. “We shoot a little then home we go, samu, samu.”
Jumbe gave the orders and the Salamis’ offside plasma tubes spat out a weak stream of sickly yellow plasma. The engineers had restricted the flow to the barest minimum.
The target was the middle ship, an old refurbished battlewagon that Imperial spies had identified as the one captained by a notorious drakh head known as Skink.
She groaned as the plasma spattered harmlessly against the antiquated shield, running down it like the yolk of an old egg.
She said, “If I could just adjust the nozzle a bit Captain Skink would meet whatever black-hearted thing he calls his Maker.”
Jumbe commiserated.“I know, bossi. I know. Make him squeal like little piggy, we would. But orders—”
“Are clotting orders,” Thema finished for him. “Give him a couple of more shots to make him think we’re serious.”
Another feeble stream of plasma spasamed out. Then one more. Both shots were useless, except for the display of egg-yolk-yellow when they spattered against the shield.
Then the Swagman opened up, chainguns ripping through the void. The Salamis’ shields easily deflected them, except for one small area which had been deliberately weakened by Thema’s engineers.
ABOARD THE SWAGMAN
Skink’s mottled green hide lit up with sparks of pleasure when he saw his guns bore through what he had been told were among the most invulnerable shields in the Empire.
The chaingun rounds hit just to the left of the cargo doors, molten metal spraying and leaving a black scorch mark.
Raynor and the other crewmembers cheered, while Skink laughed uproariously.
“Gottcha, bitch,” he shouted. “Give her another go, Raynor!”
Raynor gave the order and chainguns opened up again. And once more a few of the rounds blasted through the shield.
There were more cheers and shouts of congratulations. Raynor pounded Skink on the back.
“We’re getting’ them, Captain, and we’re getting’ them good,” he cried.
No one noticed that the penetrating bullets hit the same area as before and with practically no effect. Once again the Salamis fired and once again, the weak stream of plasma did little damage to the Swagman.
Skink’s euphoria was such that he thought he’d be able to destroy a major Imperial warship with impunity.
“Launch the particle cannon, Raynor,” he cried. “Let’s hit ‘em with the big stuff.”
Raynor relayed the order and there was a jolt as the bolts holding the big particle cannon in place fired and the restraints dropped away.
The grin on Skink’s face widened to the size of a quarter moon, his big eyeteeth glittering in the overhead lights.
“Oh, this is gonna be good,” he chortled. “This is gonna be really, really good.”
ABOARD THE SALAMIS
“Watch it, bossi,” Jumbe cried. “We got big trouble coming on.”
Thema cursed when she saw the particle cannon. In an actual one-on-one confrontation it would be only a minor threat. With her guns and shielding the cannon would need to be accompanied with better ships than the pirates had at their command to do any serious damage.
But Mahoney had warned her that the particle cannon had been booby trapped by a Mantis team early in the game. And that if the cannon opened up it would explode with such force that it would destroy all the pirate ships in its vicinity.
“Maybe I’m losing what little is left of my wits, Ian,” she’d said. “But wouldn’t that be a good thing.”
“Not in this case, lass,” Ian had replied. “If that happens it would spoil our game. So if they come at you with the cannon cut and run, lass. Cut and run.”
And so—against all her instincts and pride—that is what she did.
Commander Thema, holder of the Imperial Legion Of Honor, veteran of countless wars and skirmishes, cut and ran.
ABOARD THE SWAGMAN
Skink blinked in amazement as the Salamis vanished right before his eyes.
“Wha-what happened?” he said.
“She’s gone, Captain,” an equally amazed Raynor said. “The Salamis is gone.”
“Well, I can clotting see that, can’t I?” Skink roared. “I’ve got clotting eyes in my clotting face, don’t I?”
Raynor jumped back as he thrust his ugly face forward, the bulging turret eyes burning with anger.
“What I clotting want to know is where they clotting went.”
Panic flickered.
He looked over at the bank of monitors hooked to the drones.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Clotting nothing!
Unconsciously he glanced over his shoulder, as if the ship could be in the same room.
Then he looked back at the main monitor. The tugs were still moving along, mindlessly performing their little ’bot task of towing the Demeter.
He stared at the scene, transfixed. Eventually, one by one, the tugs stopped. Soon the Demeter was hanging in space, beautiful and beckoning with promises of fabulous wealth.
The only conclusion: The Imperials must have fled.
Raynor broke in. “Uh, skipper, what do we do now?”
Skink waved, shutting him up. The problem was that deep inside he never really expected success. Especially not success that came so easily.
Then the com hookup to Fehrle buzzed. Absently, Skink keyed in and Fehrle’s holo form swam into view.
He wore an uncharacteristic smile.
“Congratulations, Captain,” he said. “It looks like all your hard work paid off.”
Skink blinked, as if suddenly coming awake. “Uh, ye-yeah,” he stuttered. “It did, didn’t it.”
“What next, Captain?” Fehrle said, prodding the bemused pirate into action.
“Oh, well… uh… we board the Demeter just like we planned.”
“Excellent,” Fehrle said. He paused a moment, then added, “There will be a slight change of plans on my end,” he said.
Skink frowned. What was this Tahn devil up to now? “Yes, my Lord?”
“I’m going to retire to our rendezvous point so I can report fully and completely to my colleagues and superiors.”
Skink was relieved to hear that. Last thing he needed was that drakh head second-guessing his every move.
“But I require you to take charge of Lord Wichman’s son, Gregor,” Fehrle said. “He’ll want to see what is happening so he can report to his father later on.”
Skink blinked. He didn’t want or need that little piece of drakh hanging around. But if it meant he’d be free of Fehrle so be it.
“No problem, my Lord,” he said. “Send him over.”
“Good,” Fehrle said. “He’ll be accompanied by his female companion. She is more of a therapist, actually. The young man has been ill.”
Skink nodded. “Sure, sure,” he said. “One more body won’t be any trouble.”
“Thank you for a magnificent job thus far,” Fehrle said.
Skink preened a little from this rare and unexpected praise.
Fehrle’s smile vanished. His eyes bored into Skink.
“Just make sure that you don’t spoil your success now,” he said.
“You know full well that the Imperials will be back within a few days with reinforcements. So you had best get busy.”
“I was thinking the same thing, my Lord,” Skink said. “We’ll get right on it. I don’t see any difficulty. There’s nobody on Demeter to stop us. It’s all ’bot controlled.”
“Very well,” Fehrle said. Then his tone and manner changed, as he shed his diplomatic cloak. “Now I want to burn what I have to say into that little thing you call a brain.”
Skink bristled at this. But there was nothing he could do but to take it.
Fehrle said, “From experience, beings like you and your piratical colleagues tend to be your own worst enemies. A recent example is your stupid decision to stop in the middle of the operation to seize a party ship.”
Skink’s mottle green coloring turned a deeper shade of green. “There was no delay,” he said. “Besides, it practically fell in our hands.”
“It was a ridiculous loss of focus,” Fehrle said. “Plus, you now have the temptation of all that booze and sex workers.”
“You don’t have to worry about us,” Skink said, insulted. “We know there is a right time and place for everything. Besides that, when we’re done with Demeter we don’t have to worry about drawing attention to ourselves on one of those rec worlds. We’ve got our own partyship to let off steam.”
“See that you keep it that way,” Fehrle said. “Tell your fellow captains to mind the business at hand. And to put the partyship off limits for everyone.”
“Already did that,” Skink lied. At that moment there were probably fifty or sixty pirates enjoying the pleasure of the Jubilee.
“Very well,” Fehrle said, in tones that showed thought every clotting word out of Skink’s mouth had been pure drakh.
“Now, listen to me closely, Skink. I want Demeter delivered to me as agreed,” Fehrle continued. A pause for effect, then: “No ifs, ands, or buts. Do you understand me , Captain?”
Skink straightened. “Yes. Yes I do. I understand completely.”
“Good,” Fehrle said. “Because if you fail me in this matter you will rue the day that your mother gave birth to your stinking hide.”
And then he was gone.
Skink breathed a sigh of relief. Turned to Raynor, who was standing there with his mouth open. Humiliated by Fehrle, Skink badly wanted to rip that sagging fool’s jaw off with one of his claws.
“You heard the man,” he snapped. “Get on the horn to Manzil and Barnid and tell them to get their people off the Jubilee and back where they belong. Same with our people. But leave a good guard.”
“Su-su-sure, Skink. Sure.” Raynor stuttered. “Right away.”
ABOARD THE GUNAKADA
Anthofelia had hung back in the attack on the Salamis. Her plan was to let Skink and the pirates test their mettle against the Imperials.
If they succeeded, she would be more than happy to join in the glory and riches.
If they failed, she’d take to her heels and run. She already had a place picked out where she could hide and nurture her small force for when Venatora came for her. And she had no doubt that the Himmenops queen would be hunting for her head.
She was thrilled when Skink’s guns had penetrated Salamis’ armor. Laughed along with Nalene and the rest of her crew, when the Imperial commander’s feeble efforts failed so miserably.
Even then, she half expected a devastating counter from the Imperials. All her life she’d heard just how invulnerable the Imperial forces were.
The Eternal Emperor was the monster under the bed the creche mothers used to frightened disobedient little girls. He was the evil god whose handsome face hid his malevolent intent.
He was the reason the Himmenops were in hiding, making their living by scooping up his crumbs and scurrying for cover like little rodents.
Then all those stories were turned on their head when the Salamis fled the scene of battle, disappearing into the star jump void.
“Did you see that, Nalene?” she cried. “They ran! They clotting ran!”
Nalene laughed. “We didn’t even have to fire a shot,” she said.
Anthofelia rubbed her hands together. “Now all we have to do is take possession of the prize.”
“We have to be extra careful, Princess,” her navigator, Yatola said. “Skink will try to cheat us.”
“I’m aware of that,” Anthofelia said. “But when all this is over with, he’s going to need us as a foil against Venatora. He can’t afford to have the Himmenops as enemies.”
Nalene and Yatola looked at their princess with glowing, hero worship eyes. And they both trembled with lust. The blood red and gold Sharkwire tattoos on their biceps glowed under the ceiling lights.
“Soon,” Yatola said, voice husky and low, “you will be our queen.”
Anthofelia smiled, but did not reply. In her heart of hearts she knew what she was seeing was Father Huber’s work. And nothing more.
Since the mission started he had been gradually increasing her pheromone output until it was dangerously in the red.
“We must keep them under your thrall so completely that there is no chance Venatora can sway them,” he’d said.
“But Father,” she’d protested, “all my women are my sworn acolytes. They worship me like a goddess.”
She was shocked when her comment drew raucous laughter from Huber. And what he went on to say and do was now seared into memory so deeply that whenever she recalled the words that followed it was if they were happening now—in real time—Instead of several days before.
Drawing herself up to her full regal height, she retorted: “How dare you laugh at me? I am royal born. And a princess. Fated to lead my people”
“Nonsense,” Huber said in a tone so denigrating that it shocked her. “They are slaves to biology, nothing more. Don’t fool yourself by imagining that you are a great leader.”
“But Venatora-” she began, but Huber cut her off. “Get this through your pretty head. You are not Venatora. And you never will be. Yes, she uses her biology to keep her women in line. But with her it is natural. She possesses more pheromonal powers than any other queen in the history of the Himmenops.
“To be sure, Father Raggio enhances those powers, but only a little and only when she is weary and her energy is flagging. She is a true queen, Anthofelia. Something you are not.”
Shocked as she was, Anthofelia began to get angry. “If that’s true, then why are you even bothering with me? Why aren’t you running to Venatora and begging her forgiveness?”
Father Huber laughed. “Because I can’t control Venatora, girl,” he said. “For some years now the other fathers and I have been along for the ride. Nothing more. Sure, she takes advice, especially from that toady Raggio. But it’s always been Venatora’s show. And none other.
“When I found you in your creche I had been alerted by a nurse in my employ that you had higher levels of natural pheromones than most Himmenops. It wasn’t much. Nothing like Venatora. But I saw my chance to finally take control and to assume the leadership of the Fathers. So I took charge of your upbringing and your biological care.”
Anthofelia broke down. “You treat me as if I am nothing,” she wailed. “Like I was a nobody, instead of royally born.”
“You are nothing,” Huber growled. “Nothing except for an interesting experiment in a petri dish that worked better than I’d supposed.
“Now, get yourself together, woman. And for god’s sake quit fooling yourself that you are better than you truly are.
“Because if you fail, you will be cast out. Excommunicated. Then killed.
“Do you understand me, Anthofelia?”
She nodded and wiped her eyes.
“I understand,” she said. But inside she thought—if I fail, I won’t be the only one to suffer that fate.
Nalene spoke up, pulling her back from that awful memory.
“Princess?” she said. “Are you all right?”
Anthofelia covered her mouth and coughed. “Yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“What are your orders, Ma’am?” Yatola asked.
Anthofelia hesitated. Her confidence shaken.
And then there was a buzz in her ear and that awful voice of Father Huber intruded. “Be quick, woman,” he said. “It is an absolute necessity that we be part of Skink’s boarding operation.”
As if in anticipation the comline buzzed.
It was Skink.
ABOARD THE TAKEO
“That was unexpected, Majesty,” Clew said. She scratched her graying locks. “I’ve never heard of that sort of behavior exhibited by an Imperial battleship.”
Venatora was just as puzzled. “Nor I,” she said. “Do you suppose it was some kind of a malfunction—or a trick?”
“In either case,” Clew said, “they are sure to be back with reinforcements. If they don’t wait and court martial the commander first.”
Thinking of her encounters with Sten and his fighters Venatora was certain that the Imperials would be back.
“They’ll return—of that I have no doubt,” she said. “But bureaucracy will slow them down. First, the commander will have to report to her superiors. Then, whether she’s removed from duty or not, they’ll still have to discuss the situation with the various levels of brass. Then, after assessing the matter, they’ll have to gather a sufficient number of ships to take on the pirates.”
“That might cause even more of a delay, Your Highness,” Marta said. “Our spies in Fort Chinen have told us that there aren’t that many Imperial ships in the region and those are stretched pretty thin.”
Venatora chewed on that a minute, then made up her mind. She was an ardent gambler, but also an intelligent one. Right now the odds seemed to be weighed in her favor.
“If we don’t dally, we have more than enough time to do this,” she said. “Gather up our very best warriors, Nalene. Twenty should suffice. Make sure we have supplies and ammunition for five or six cycles.”
She turned to Palsonia. “We’ll use the cutter. It has jump drive so if the drakh really hits the fan we can make our way back home on it.”
“I anticipated something like this,” Palsonia said. “So our own little Royal Fancy is already fueled and her computers are fired up. We can leave in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you, Palsonia,” Venatora said.
“Yes, Majesty,” Palsonia said and started away.
She paused. The next part was going to be difficult. But Father Raggio had been insistent. As always, however, his logic was impeccable. Her overall duty was to ensure the survival of the Himmenops.
Finally, she said:“One other thing, Palsonia. Who in your judgment is our best navigator? After you, of course?”
Without hesitation, Palsonia said, “Joolie. My number two. She’s also levelheaded and doesn’t panic under pressure. In fact, the crazier it get, the calmer she becomes.”
“Call her,” Venatora said.
A few minutes later Joolie was standing before her. She was tall with auburn hair and penetrating eyes.
“Yes, Majesty?” Joolie said, voice trembling. She’d never been called before her queen before and didn’t know what to expect.
Venatora said, “Joolie I am about to place a tremendous burden on your shoulders.”
Joolie straightened. To Venatora’s delight her nervousness had vanished. Now she was the portrait of calm confidence.
“What do you require of me, Majesty?” she asked.
Without preamble, Venatora said, “The moment we depart I want you to assume command of the Takeo.”
Joolie was so surprised, she took a step back. And she looked disappointed. Venatora remembered that she had been on the select list of warriors who were supposed to accompany Venatora on the Demeter expedition.
“But, ma’am. You need me,” Joolie pleaded. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you and I wasn’t there to prevent it.”
Venatora held up a hand, stopping her. “There’s more, Joolie,” she said. “After we leave, I want you to immediately return home without us.”
Joolie gasped. Marta, Palsonia and Clew were equally aghast. Staring at her with unbelieving eyes.
“Pardon, ma’am,” Joolie said. “But that makes no sense. You’ll be stranded.”
“Far from it,” Venatora said. “After we kill Skink and Anthofelia I’ll slave Demeter and her tugs to the cutter and jump home.
“Meanwhile, I want you to prepare our people at home for an all out assault. The Tahn won’t forgive us for stealing their thunder and are sure to seek revenge. As will our former pirate friends.
“As for the Emperor—I don’t know how he’ll react. He’s much more cunning than the others. He may wait for an opening. Or he might even send a fleet.
“Whatever the case we have to be ready to hold them off and find ourselves a new home. Our days in the Possnet Sector are over. I have an excellent candidate for a new home.
“With Demeter supplying all our needs for food and drink we will finally be free from outsiders. And our days as pirates will be over.”
When she was done not a word was spoken. The command center was so silent she could hear her helmswoman’s fingers move over the control board.
She could also feel an up-swelling of intense love and respect. For a change it was not induced by her hormonal powers. It was as pure and unadulterated as any she had ever felt before.
Tears were running down the cheeks of her companions.
“Thank you, Majesty,” she said. “I won’t fail you.”
“I know you won’t,” Venatora said.
Overcome by emotion, Joolie hurried away. Venatora turned back to the others.
“Thirty minutes, Palsonia,” she said.
Palsonia saluted, like the soldier she was.
“Yes, Majesty,” she said and hurried away.