Conquerors' Pride

  "That won't be necessary," Wraith said, pushing off a wall toward the wardroom doorway, his partner Augur following him. "We can disengage in mesh." His lip twitched in an almost reluctant half smile. "Besides, right now you need all the distance you can get. The farther you are from Dorcas when we blow the whistle, the less likely they'll send someone chasing after you."

  "You're probably right," Quinn agreed. "Thank you."

  "Consider it our contribution to the cause." Wraith nodded to Clipper. "Good luck, sir. We'll see you at the court-martial."

  "Thank you," Clipper said dryly. "We'll bring you back a piece of Conqueror ship as a souvenir."

  The four men left the room, disappearing into the complex of small rooms between them and the hull. "All right, Maestro," Clipper said. "What's the plan?"

  "As I said, it's going to have to be a physical search," Quinn said, floating over to the wardroom repeater board. A tactical star map was displayed there, with several colored lines, circles, and a slender cone superimposed on it. "Here's where the Conquerors hit theJutland force," he said, indicating the tip of the cone. "Dorcas didn't have a baseline, so the incoming vector's a little vague. Clipper, I asked Bokamba to see if the lab people had come up with an estimate of how far the ships had come. Was there anything in his message about that?"

  "No," Clipper said. "I've heard from other sources that they're still having trouble getting zero-point friction and heat-capacity readings from that piece of hull they found."

  "Okay," Quinn said, studying the map. "In that case I guess we take potshots and hope for warrior's luck. With a twenty-degree uncertainty on the vector and assuming a hundred-light-year range, we wind up with eighteen systems to check out. If we don't find anything, we'll try expanding the cone."

  "What happens when we find them?" Bookmaker asked.

  "You four Corvines will fly cover while El Dorado and I go in for a closer look," Quinn told him. "I trust you haven't neglected your atmospheric combat work."

  "The rust rubs off quickly," Clipper assured him. "I don't suppose this fueler is armed?"

  "As a matter of fact, it is," Quinn said. "We've got two shredder guns and a bank of five space/space missiles."

  Clipper gave Aric a speculative look. "You ever had experience with military hardware, El Dorado?"

  "No," Aric said. "But I won't be the one using it. Max, say hello to everyone."

  "Good day, gentlemen," Max's voice said smoothly. "My name is Max. I'll be handling all shipboard functions for the duration of the trip."

  "Interesting," Bookmaker said, cocking an eyebrow at Aric. "Is that a parasentient?"

  Aric nodded. "A Carthage-Ivy-Gamma. Class Seven DM capabilities."

  "Decay-driven randomized, right?"

  "Right," Aric said. "Modified Korngold-Che."

  Bookmaker looked at Clipper. "Well, old man Cavanagh didn't scrimp on equipment, anyway. Carthage-Ivys are the current top of the line, a couple of notches above anything else on the market. Expensive as hell, too."

  "He probably cut himself a discount," Clipper said. "How will it do in combat?"

  "About as well as any parasentient would," Bookmaker said. "Much faster than any human, naturally, but a little short on combat imagination."

  "That's all right," Clipper said. "Two shredder guns and five missiles aren't likely to strain its capabilities. Max, how does the ship itself look?"

  "All systems are working properly," Max said. "It seems to have been kept in good repair. We have an extensive assortment of replacement modules aboard, too, should something go wrong."

  Clipper shifted his attention to Quinn. "You ever worked with this computer before?"

  "No," Quinn said. "But Lord Cavanagh handled the installation personally. I would presume he chose the best."

  "Bookmaker seems to agree," Clipper said. "All right, then. How are we fixed for supplies?"

  "We had about three weeks' worth," Quinn said. "With two fewer ships and four fewer men, we can stretch that out a bit."

  Clipper pursed his lips. "We can," he said. "But I'm not sure we should. Jaeger and Wraith had a valid point: our sworn duty is to the Commonwealth. In fact, the more I think of it, the more I think you're pushing things as it is. Eighteen systems-you're talking something close to a month there."

  Quinn glanced around at the other Copperheads. "How many systems would you feel comfortable with?" he asked Clipper.

  Clipper gazed at the display, a pained look in his eyes. "I don't think we can afford to do more than five," he said bluntly. "If we haven't found Commander Cavanagh by then, we should turn back."

  Aric felt his stomach tighten. "Five systems? That's-"

  He broke off at Quinn's gesture. "You realize, of course," Quinn said to Clipper, "that if we don't bring Commander Cavanagh back, we're going to be in that much more trouble."

  "I'm extremely aware of that," Clipper said, looking him straight in the eye. "Don't forget that as accessory before the fact, my head's on the block right next to yours."

  Quinn grimaced. "You're right, of course," he agreed soberly. "My apologies. Very well: five systems it is. And we hope for warrior's luck."

  "That we do." Clipper turned to the others. "All right, gentlemen. Briefing's over, and we've got gear to stow and fighters to deprep. Let's get to it."

  There was a noisy but organized exodus from the wardroom until only Aric and Quinn were left. "Went better than I expected," Quinn commented.

  Aric nodded mechanically, his eyes on the display. Five systems. Out of the billions of stars in the galaxy, they had just five to look at. It was like a roll of the dice, with Pheylan's life and the careers of a lot of good men on the table.

  A lot of good men, and one good woman. "Max, was that theCavatina you were picking up just before we meshed out?" he asked.

  "The wake-trail registered as an Effenzeal-Royce star yacht," the computer replied. "No further identification was possible."

  "No, of course not," Aric murmured. "Thank you."

  "We knew she was going to be in trouble the minute theCavatina arrived," Quinn reminded him.

  "She was already in trouble," Aric said. "Those attempts to contact us weren't just Holloway calling to say good-bye. I just hope there's something Dad can do to calm him down."

  "I'm sure there is," Quinn said. "Your father still has quite a few high-level contacts in both Parliament and Peacekeeper Command. He can probably arrange some kind of house arrest for her back on Avon until we get back."

  "I hope so," Aric said. "I'd hate for her to be stuck in the brig on Dorcas."

  "Stockade," Quinn corrected. "Or guardhouse, if she's a temporary prisoner. Brigs are aboard ships."

  Aric snorted gently. "Thank you."

  "Don't worry, she'll be fine," Quinn said. "If you're going to worry about anyone's safety, I suggest you worry about ours."

  Five two-man fighter ships, against possibly the entire Conqueror battle force. "You're right," Aric said. "I'll try to keep my priorities straight."

  17

  It was impossible to slam a sliding door open; but as Colonel Holloway came stalking into the room, Melinda had the distinct impression that he'd tried to do so anyway. "I don't have time for this, Cavanagh," he bit out. "McPhee and his ship are ready to lift. Get aboard."

  "We can't leave yet," she said, trying not to flinch before that glare. "TheCavatina's only going to be a few minutes ahead of that Conqueror force. If I don't warn them away as soon as they mesh in, they're dead."

  "We can chase them away without your help," Holloway said, sounding fractionally less angry. "They'll be fine. Now get on that ship and get out of here."

  Melinda shook her head. "He won't listen to you, Colonel," she said. "I know my father. He knows I'm here, and he'll argue the point with you. You won't be able to convince him fast enough."

  Holloway exhaled noisily. "Look, Doctor, I understand your concern. But you're worrying about nothing. Yes, they're only a couple of minutes apart; but the odds o
f their both picking the same area to mesh in are practically nonexistent. Your father will see what's happening and scramble out of here."

  "Can you guarantee that?"

  "Of course not," Holloway shot back. "I also can't guarantee that they'll mesh in far enough away for you and McPhee to get past them if I let you wait around here any longer. I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be."

  Melinda took a deep breath. The logic, unfortunately, was irrefutable. And it left her with only one option. "Then let McPhee go," she said. "I'll stay."

  Holloway's eyes narrowed. "What?"

  "I'll stay here," she repeated, trying to ignore the painful thudding in her chest. "Chances are you're going to need all the medical expertise you can get. I'm a doctor, and I'm offering my services."

  "In case you've forgotten, you're also a prisoner," he pointed out.

  "You've placed Dorcas under martial law. You can temporarily suspend the charges if you want to."

  His eyes locked on to hers like twin laser scalpels. "You understand what you're offering?" he asked.

  "Yes," she said quietly. "Which isn't to say I'm thrilled by the whole idea."

  For a half dozen of her accelerated heartbeats he continued to study her. "I'd be worried about you if you were," he said at last, pulling out his comm. "All right, you've got yourself a deal. Duggen? Cavanagh's staying here. Tell McPhee to seal up and get moving." He got an acknowledgment and shoved the comm back into its belt pouch. "Come on."

  The landing area was an anthill of furious activity, with Peacekeepers shoving last-minute civilian survival bags into aircar storage compartments as the civilians themselves crowded aboard. Melinda watched their faces as Holloway eased his car through the chaos toward the command complex, marveling that amid all the haste she was seeing no signs of hysteria or panic. On the contrary, everyone seemed grimly ready for whatever was on its way. "They seem well prepared," she commented.

  "We've had a couple of weeks," Holloway reminded her. "Those who didn't want to stay left a long time ago."

  "How many are left?"

  "More than I like. About twenty-five thousand, out of an original population of forty-seven."

  Melinda glanced up at the clear blue sky, wishing irrationally that there were some clouds up there to hide them from unfriendly eyes. "Where are you taking them?"

  "There's a narrow canyon in the mountains about seventy kilometers east of the settlement," he said. "It's got a river for water and about as much shelter as we're going to find anywhere nearby. We've prepped it as best we could in the time we had."

  "What about food and medical supplies?"

  "We've got everything we could pack up and move out there. The question will be how well we can defend it if the Conquerors decide they want to root us out."

  And whether they cared enough about the surrounding real estate to nuke the place, Melinda added to herself. But that line of reasoning was too unproductive and unpleasant to bring up. Holloway had undoubtedly already thought of it, anyway.

  With all the activity going on outside, Melinda had expected to find the command complex in more or less the same state, with troops busily dismantling and moving equipment out to the aircars. To her surprise the place was already nearly empty, with only a handful of Peacekeepers still monitoring what was left of the equipment. "You work fast," she commented.

  "Like I said, we prepped as best we could," Holloway said, moving across the empty room to a console with a half-dozen displays showing complicated-looking patterns. "Crane, what's the latest on our visitors?"

  "Still incoming," the young man said, his voice quavering a little. "The yacht and Conquerors both. And we picked up a new signal just a couple of minutes ago. Looks like two of the Corvines are coming back."

  Holloway frowned. "Just two of them?"

  "That's what the baseline says," Crane said. "The fueler's still outgoing; I assume the other fighters are still with it."

  Holloway looked at Melinda. "Did the fueler have a tachyon detector built into the hull? Never mind," he waved the question away before she could answer. "They left before the Conqueror wake-trails showed up. Means those two Corvines don't know what they're flying into. Crane, what's their ETA?"

  "If they do a standard mesh, a couple of minutes before the yacht and Conquerors are due in," Crane said.

  "Doesn't rain but it pours," Holloway commented. "All right, get a laser trained on their vector. We'll want to give them as much warning as we can."

  "Yes, sir," the other said, keying his board.

  "It should just be a couple more minutes before the yacht meshes in," Holloway said to Melinda. "You know what you're going to say?"

  Melinda nodded, wishing she knew how to read the patterns on those displays. It was like sitting in pitch-darkness, listening to the breathing of some unknown animal. Not knowing when or how it was going to strike.

  Something on the console pinged, making Melinda jump. "Colonel, the Corvines have meshed in," Crane said. "We've got laser contact."

  "Corvines, this is Colonel Holloway," Holloway said. "We've got a red-alert situation here: five or more bogies incoming, probable Conqueror warships. What's your current status?"

  There was a moment of silence, punctuated by what might have been an under-the-breath curse. "This is Lieutenant Bethmann, Colonel," a voice said. "I'd say as of right now our status is that of support units under your command. What are your orders?"

  "Get down here as fast as you can. You have a grid location for the colony?"

  "We've got it, yes, sir."

  "We're evacuating to a canyon in the mountains seventy-two klicks due east of the settlement," Holloway told him. "Come in from the north, and we'll guide you down."

  "Acknowledged," Bethmann said. "On our way."

  Holloway keyed off. "Well, at least we may now have a way to plug that gap in the eastern wall," he commented. "What's ETA on the yacht, Crane?"

  "Forty-five seconds, sir," Crane said.

  "Good. You ready, Doctor?"

  "Yes," Melinda said, conscious again of the thudding of her heart. "Colonel, how soon after the Conquerors mesh in can they get to the surface?"

  Holloway shrugged. "Depends on how far out they do their mesh. We usually run an eight-thousand-klick safety margin ourselves, but there's no reason you can't come in a lot closer. If I were commanding an attack force, I'd bring us in as tight as I could without getting into serious magnetic-field conduction problems. I'm guessing they'll mesh a couple thousand klicks out. Maybe only a thousand, if their commander is a little nuts. We'll know soon enough."

  "I see," Melinda murmured.

  "Don't worry, we should have plenty of time to get to the canyon before they get here." He threw her a measuring look. "Sorry you stayed?"

  She looked at the enigmatic patterns on the displays. "I'm fine."

  The console pinged again. "Yacht's meshed," Crane announced. "Go ahead, Doctor."

  "Cavatina,this is Melinda Cavanagh," Melinda called. "Dad, you have to get out of here right away. There's a Conqueror force coming in right behind you."

  "Dr. Cavanagh, this is Captain Teva," the familiar voice of theCavatina's commander came back. "We confirm the wake-trail; you sure it's a Conqueror force?"

  "Quite sure," Melinda told him, her eyes on the displays. Wishing she knew what they were telling her. "Is my father there?"

  There was a brief pause. "I'm afraid he's not with us," Teva said. "But he said to tell your brother that the vector search had come up dry."

  So he hadn't been able to get anything about the Conquerors from the Mrach legends. Just as well Aric and Quinn hadn't waited. "I understand," she told Teva. "Now get out of here."

  "Doctor, if a Conqueror force is coming in-"

  "There's nothing you can do," Melinda cut him off. "You can't get to me in time; and if you try, you'll fly right into them. Don't worry about me-I'm with the Peacekeeper force here. You just get out of here and sound the alarm."

  "Doctor,
I have a responsibility to you."

  "Your responsibility is to the ship and to the family," Melinda said, enunciating the words carefully. "And to obey all family orders. Is that clear?"

  She could picture the pinched look on Teva's face. But the coded phrasing was precise and unequivocal... and Tevadid know his responsibilities. "Clear, Dr. Cavanagh," he sighed. "Good luck."

  "You too."

  Holloway motioned, and Crane keyed off the transmitter. "Does he mean it?"