AnyKaat stepped out of the physical scanner. “Am I alive?”
“Close enough,” Degas said. “You’ll do for what I’ve got in mind.”
Vadja said, “There are indications of malnutrition, AnyKaat.”
“Surprise, surprise. Degas, get in there and see if you’re man enough to live up to your brags.”
The scanner pronounced Degas fit. An automated cart arrived with a consignment of Jo’s feast. AnyKaat said, “What do I want to do most? Eat or get clean?”
“Eat,” Degas said. “Getting clean is going to take a while.”
“You talk a good game, anyway.”
Haget said, “Give Seeker something with plenty of sugar.”
“You notice something spooky?” Jo asked, handing Seeker a sweet roll. “There isn’t anybody around. Last time I was here the place was crawling.”
Haget grunted. “Long time ago?”
“Yeah. Come to think.”
Haget began pounding a general info keyface. Seeker came to the cart and studied the food. Vadja came out of the scanner judged healthy, arm included. He joined the assault on the foodstuffs.
Jo poured herself a cup of amber liquid, told Seeker, “Try this juice.” She headed for the scanner.
Seeker drained the pitcher.
A second cart arrived. Seeker went to work on his broth.
The scanner declared Jo healthy. “Scanner’s all yours, Commander.”
“I got your answers, Jo. Most Starbase personnel were drafted into the crews of Guardships. A few are in storage.”
Seeker made a hissing sound. Jo looked.
Several people had come to the doorway. Their uniforms were unfamiliar. “Commander. Company.”
Haget rose.
A hard-faced, graying woman stepped forward. “Commander Haget? Commander Stella Cordet, Third WatchMaster, Hall of the Watchers, XXVIII Fretensis.” She spoke with an accent. Haget accepted her hand in a numb parody of his usual crisp manners. “WarAvocat sent me to offer the hospitality of XXVIII Fretensis and ask if there’s anything we can do. You must have had a harrowing experience.”
“Harrowing?” Haget chuckled. “You might say that. WarAvocat is most gracious. I hope he’ll understand when I plead a need to regain my wits and self-confidence before I visit an unfamiliar Guardship again.”
The woman gave him a hard look. “He’ll understand.” Then the iron mask collapsed into a smile. “Frankly, I don’t see how you didn’t come out of there a raving lunatic.”
Haget seemed faintly embarrassed. “You know what happened?”
“IV Trajana sent the data. I skimmed it and reviewed your original mission as described in the data VII Gemina left behind.”
Gah! Jo thought. Two of a kind. Efficient to the point of constipation.
“If there’s nothing you need immediately,” Cordet said, “we’ll just get out of your way.”
“Uniforms, Commander,” Jo suggested.
Haget looked at her. “Sergeant?”
“We need fresh, clean uniforms, sir.”
“Yes. We do, Commander Cordet.”
“Consider them on the way. I’ll check back later, Commander Haget.”
“Right. Thank you, Commander.”
Cordet gave Seeker one brief look, marched off.
“Why didn’t you ask about VII Gemina?” Jo demanded.
“I had other things on my mind.” Shy smile. “I was thinking something might not work out.”
Shit. She had to go through with it now, want to or not. Well, hell. It might be interesting.
— 65 —
Blessed looked over his workscreen, with its ranks of strutting bugs, at Cable Shike. “I’m going to put a bell on you. How long have you been there?”
“Ten seconds. You got to stay alert.”
“You sit here staring at production figures for six hours and see how sharp you stay. You’re wearing your smug look. How come?”
Shike seated himself. “Had a lucky strike in the data mines. Station Master is a history freak. Worked up a fair history of the region. It was pretty active during the Ku Wars.”
“And?”
“They got desperate toward the end. They engineered some special leaders. Only a few saw action. The most famous was a Kez Maefele who didn’t stop fighting when the rest of the race surrendered.”
“You going to tell me we have the original, one and only, live Kez Maefele in our hat?”
“Looks like.”
“He don’t act it.”
“Would you?”
“No. You figure he might be more useful than we thought?”
“More useful than ten of me or a dozen Lupo Proviks. Look him up.”
“I’m glad you have that strong self-image. How do we reach him? Where’s our leverage?”
“He brought it with him. Here. Specs on the artifact. A production model with options. And some stuff on the alien. Mostly guesswork.”
“What about covering their arrival?”
“I’ve got it scoped. I haven’t scrubbed it. There’s something weird about the in and out of that Traveler. I want to hold the data till I figure out what it is.”
Blessed had confidence in Shike. “Keep my ass covered.”
Shike rose, walked out.
Blessed thumbed through Cable’s printout. “Nyo,” he said to his comm, “bring me our guest artifact. Alone.” He had been thinking about trying it. This made it business.
“You all right?” Turtle said into Midnight’s tears.
“I did it again. I couldn’t stop myself.”
“I know. Why do you punish yourself?”
“He didn’t have me up there for three days because he wanted a toy, Turtle. His bodyguard figured out who you are. He bragged about how he would have the famous Ku warrior Kez Maefele on his staff. In private he turns into a nasty, mean-spirited little boy.”
Midnight was not as slow as she pretended. She assumed there were eavesdroppers.
“I’ve been around a long time, Midnight. This has happened before. It will happen again. Those who want power try to seize talismans of power. But such talismans are dangerous, like the magic sword that makes a warrior invincible but devours his soul.”
Turtle was worried. What Midnight knew could set tides of adventurers rolling across the Web. Worse, she knew he knew more and knew how to capitalize on what he knew.
He was a Ku warrior. He had bragged in his interview with those children, but there were ways to force his cooperation. The plotters and schemers always found ways.
If he were one of them, he would be less vulnerable. He would have no conscience. He could show them a shrug when they threatened Midnight.
They ate their young and tortured their mothers.
He could take that attitude about Amber Soul. She could look out for herself.
Midnight forgot the listeners. “Can we get away from here? I don’t like these people.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“You sound unhappy.”
“I’m suffering a bad case of cynicism.”
“Can I do something?”
“Just go on being Midnight.”
She hugged him. “Sometimes I wish you were human.”
He understood. “Sometimes I wish I was, too.” He extricated himself carefully. “My Swordsmaster had a motto. ‘When in doubt, attack.’ The moment seems appropriate. No. I don’t mean physically.”
She did not seem reassured, though.
He encountered the girl Tina before he had gone a dozen steps. She said, “Blessed wants you.”
“I was just heading up to see him.”
“You’re amused?” Blessed demanded.
“Bored,” Turtle said.
“Bored?”
“I’ve been around a long time, boy. You think I’m a virgin? Thieves have been trying to twist my arm for ages.”
“Thieves?”
“You going to tell me you want me to join a holy alliance to make the universe a
better place? Or admit you’re out to grab whatever you can for yourself?”
Blessed grunted.
“Thieves.”
“That’s a harsh view of commerce.”
“Commerce? We’re talking predation. Except the true predator kills only to assure its own survival. You live better than all but a handful of beings. What need have you for more?”
The boy was off balance. He could come up with no rationalization quickly enough to counterattack.
Time would tend to that.
“You don’t have a need. You have a want. Power. We Ku look at things differently. Our villains know they’re villains and don’t try to hide, especially from themselves. They don’t understand what compels them but they recognize its impact upon external reality.
“You humans lie to yourselves.”
“Is there a point to this?”
“Several. The least is that you and the Ku will both go ahead regardless. Your true purposes are not external. You are trying to placate a demon within. I want you to know that when your demon is whispering in one ear, I’m going to mutter into the other.”
Blessed looked puzzled.
“You think Kez Maefele might be useful. Perhaps. But I’ll always remind you what you’re doing to others. I’ll drench you in their heartbreak.”
“Our research indicates that you were the most dangerous of your ghifu. That a literal translation of your name might be, ‘Revenge of the Ku Race.’ But you haven’t been doing anything about revenge.”
The boy’s comm blinked as Turtle replied, “Of course I have.”
Blessed listened to the comm with one ear. He snapped, “Bring in that antique maxiscreen we shoved in with those broken-down cleaning robots. I can look at it on that.” Of Turtle he demanded, “How?”
“By constantly rubbing the villains’ noses in the consequences of their villainies.”
A staffer shoved in, pulling an old 220cm vision plate that crackled and popped.
“Over here. What’s wrong with the picture?”
“It’s all right when the plate isn’t moving.”
“That’s good. Right there. All right, Ku. One of the real villains of our time has just broken off the Web.”
“A Guardship?”
“VII Gemina. Probably headed for Starbase. Our strand is one route in. But they don’t stop here.”
Turtle looked. “It’s been in a fight. Must have run into somebody tough.”
Blessed glanced at him. “I wonder who won.”
“Self-evident. The Guardship wouldn’t be here if it had lost.”
“Yes.”
The Guardship had found the mouth of hell somewhere. It had not recovered its secondaries. Its exterior had been slagged.
“There’s the ancient enemy, Ku. Suppose you could command a battle fleet again. Would you?”
Turtle stared at the wounded Guardship. “I might.” The genes. He could not be one of the villains, could he?
“Could you give them a better run?”
“I could. I could have before, given the tools. But those tools are rare and dear. I don’t believe they could be gathered.” By the Prime! He was being tempted.
“Not in Canon space. But there’s a lot of Outside.”
Turtle concentrated on the Guardship, willing his wizard side out of hibernation. He had to be very careful.
The boy had grown tense. His games had ended. Because of that Guardship.
“It might be arranged, Kez Maefele.”
“I might be interested. If I knew what you were talking about.”
The boy studied the Guardship, too. Then, “We’re at a point of no return, aren’t we?”
“Are we?”
Blessed left his desk. He paced. Turtle reached into the past for tools with which to calm hormonal storms. The Prime was determined to drag him past the mouths of the guns of fate.
Blessed stopped. “I learned most of what the artifact knows.”
“She can’t help herself.”
“What you see is my grandfather’s handiwork. He may be dead now, along with a man named Lupo Provik, who might have been your match. They had the help of aliens from beyond the Rim.” Blessed looked at him hard. “Two people in this system know what I’ve told you.”
A child had put a knife to his throat.
“Grandfather must have made a showing.”
A hell of a showing. It spoke well for the alliances he had forged.
“That, and your name, would make great arguments when we go back to those creatures. There they go. They weren’t looking for you.”
The Guardship had climbed back onto the Web.
It was walking-through-the-fire time, staying-alive time, and being the fastest and deadliest thug around was not going to be enough. Was he ready to take up the lance and enter the lists for one more tilt with the dragon?
The boy hurled his comm unit at the vision plate. The plate crackled and popped. He said, “That was Cable Shike. The Guardship helped itself to station’s data while it was here.”
“That’s routine.”
“There was stuff about your arrival still in the system. Think about that. Then think about the fact that we’re stuck here till I get a parole from Tregesser Prime.”
Turtle stared at the now blank plate.
— 66 —
WarAvocat wakened relaxed. He swelled a little with the thought that he would see Midnight soon.
It had been tense there, off the Web, getting that runaway drive well damped, more because of the carping of Makarska Vis’s coterie and Ops and Service people than because VII Gemina was in any danger.
But the crisis was over. The bad feelings had bottomed out. The technicians should have the well relined, new casements set, and the tractors recalibrated before VII Gemina reached Starbase.
No. The bottom line was political. The Dictat election had delivered some disappointments. OpsAvocat, hoping to become the second living Dictat of the century, had drawn only cool support while Hanaver Strate, whose campaign had consisted of an admission that he would stand, had drawn approval from sixty-eight percent of the electorate.
WarAvocat’s new fellow Dictat was the Deified Aleas Notable, a little known former WarAvocat taking office for the first time. Her genius was a cipher. She had been one of the longest reigning WarAvocats ever, but her term had run smack in the middle of the longest period of peace in VII Gemina’s history.
WarCentral was quiet. The boards and wall had nothing interesting to say. Quiet time was useful, though. This he could use to establish a working relationship with Aleas Notable. They had to get along for a year.
A staffer said, “Sir, there’re rumors Tawn has been seen.”
“Really? Where? It’s been a couple hundred years.”
“The usual places. Empty corridors and whatnot. One man supposedly touched her. She paralyzed him with the fire in her eyes.”
“I might look into it. I’d like to meet her myself.”
“Nobody who goes looking for her finds her, WarAvocat.”
“You’re right.” Not even the Deified could find the Guardship’s tutelary spirit. Gemina claimed she did not exist. Even so, Tawn turned up after every spate of combat. A savant once suggested Tawn was a dream. Gemina had enough spare capacity to create a platoon of phantoms real enough to touch.
A spare, youngish woman said, “WarAvocat, would you look at this?”
He accepted a data pad. “What is it?”
“An abstract of data taken during routine scan while we were off the Web. Gemina tagged it.”
WarAvocat skimmed it. “A phantom?”
“The info came off the abandoned 3B station, which was in a conjunctional mode during the incident. There was no comparable data from the 3A source. Gemina thinks someone was purging and weaving in so there wouldn’t be a noticeable hole.”
WarAvocat scrutinized the ID data. Gemina said the phantom could not be either of the ships it had claimed to be. Gregor Forgotten was on a re
gular trapezoidal run between L. Maronia, K. Foulorii, M. Bemica, and D. Sutonica-B. Always had been and always would be. The Hansa Traveler True Ceremonial had been lost, but it had been found by XVII Macedonica twenty years ago. Pirates. No known survivors.
“A phantom phantom? That’s a new one.”
Phantom operators did borrow the identities of ships which could be counted on to remain safely far away. But to underlay one falsehood with another hinted at something more sinister than smuggling.
Gemina had caught no whiff of a true identity.
“Curious.”
Insofar as Gemina could determine, no one had boarded or departed the Traveler during its inexplicable approach to M. Shrilica 3A.
“Run it through the Starbase pool when we get there.”
Starbase.
He was an old fart. He should not be moved by anything. But he could not suppress his excitement when he thought of the artifact. VII Gemina would be in repair dock a long time. His duties would be light.
“WarAvocat. Word from XXVIII Fretensis. IV Trajana is in.”
“IV Trajana?”
“It brought in those people you put aboard that Traveler at P. Jaksonica. It rescued them from a Cholot prison.”
They had dared?... He would get the story. That Haget would be sorry if he had screwed up....
He ordered the artifact and two aliens brought as soon as VII Gemina entered repair dock.
What artifact and two aliens?
WarAvocat brooded. Then, “Access, Gemina. Priority input. I want a council of Deified WarAvocats. Mandatory. No excuses accepted. Input immediately.” In seconds all the former WarAvocats were present.
“During our previous visit to Starbase, the Deified Makarska Vis put three guests of mine off the Guardship. They aren’t there now. Think about that.”
They saw the peril before he finished.
Someone offered a motion to recall the Deification of Makarska Vis. It failed. Barely.
— 67 —
“Why is that damned Guardship still out there?” Valerena demanded.
“Why not go ask?” Provik snapped.
“Hell. I might.” She knew he was tired of hearing about it. He feared she had fixed it as an object for all her frustrations.