“I am a doctor,” said Hawk easily into the silence left by the departure of the others. “May I see to the wounded woman?”
“No,” said Vanov. “I don’t waste medical help on people whom I have orders to kill.”
Lia gasped, audibly, and went white. She staggered slightly, catching herself on the back of the chair Yehoshua was sitting in. A soldier moved to grab her arm.
“But you said”—she began, her voice as much breath as vibration—“No one was to be hurt. He promised me.” By the tone of her voice, there could be no doubt that he was Alexander Jehane.
Vanov seemed not to have heard her. He looked over the bridge crew—Yehoshua, Nguyen, Finch, Pinto, the Mule, and Bach—with a precise eye, as if measuring what to do with them.
“Comrade Trey,” he ordered. “Get on comm and call the Boukephalos in. I want a bridge crew waiting to replace these as soon as they can board.”
Comrade Trey moved to comm. Finch, glancing up at her set face and then at the score or so of soldiers still crowding the bridge, moved aside to let her at the controls.
Lily had not moved, except to turn her head enough to see the Mule. It sat quite still at the nav console, one hand covering the other; Bach hovered beside it just below the level of the counter, his curve pressed up against the siding.
It seemed to Hawk some message passed between the two that he could not read. The Mule hissed slightly. Pinto, hidden by the stillstrap, stared straight ahead. If he was watching the numbers click across the chin harness of the strap, it was not apparent.
Vanov, too, glanced that way. “Turn the nav console off,” he ordered. The soldier stationed by navigation reached out and flipped the auto nav to manual.
Lily was still looking at the Mule. Her expression did not change. The Mule’s crest rose and fell, like a rustling, and it removed its hands from the console and rested them as if resigned on Bach’s keypad.
Jenny stirred again. Her breathing was ragged but even. Vanov, secure now, glared at the mercenary.
“Kill her first, then the boy,” he ordered, cool now that he was totally in control.
On Pinto’s chin strap, red numbers still clicked across the tiny screen.
“Comrade!” protested Trey, standing up from the comm-station. “I wasn’t informed of these orders. Killing children is not what I became a Jehanist for.”
“Are you challenging me, comrade?” Vanov demanded, his voice as hard as his eyes. “You know the punishment for insubordination.”
“That child is not old enough to have been party to this mutiny. He can’t be held accountable.”
Lia broke free of the soldier who had been grasping her arm. “But you said no one would be hurt!” she cried, flinging herself at Vanov. “You lied to me!”
Vanov slapped her full in the face. She staggered, and Vanov regarded her with cool disdain. “Kill her as well,” he said calmly.
“But you can’t—” The extent of his betrayal shocked her into silence for a moment. She held one hand against the reddening patch where he had hit her. “You must know I got a message from Jehane—that he would send someone to bring me to him. You can’t defy Jehane’s orders.”
Vanov shrugged, unconcerned. “It might be true that he did mean to send someone for you. You’re pretty enough. But my orders didn’t come from Jehane.” It was said so impassively that it clearly was true.
Lia slumped forward, defeated by his dispassion, and began to cry. “Jenny,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Who did your orders come from?” Lily asked. The self-possession of her voice seemed uncanny on the tense bridge.
Vanov smiled. He made it an ugly expression. “Comrade Kuan-yin sent us.”
“Of course,” Lily echoed. Her head was still canted to keep the Mule in her peripheral vision. “With orders to kill the five of us and deal with the rest as you see fit.”
“Exactly. I’m glad we understand each other, Comrade Heredes.”
“Ransome,” said Lily. “My name is Ransome.”
“Comrade Vanov!” said the soldier by nav, surprised. He was staring at Pinto in his stillstrap. “They’re still running nav.”
“I told you to turn the console off,” snapped Vanov.
“But Comrade, I did,” insisted the soldier.
“Then it’s impossible,” broke in Comrade Trey. “You can’t run vectors on manual.”
In two strides Vanov closed the distance between himself and Lily and wrenched her arm up behind her back. She began to twist away.
“Kill the other four,” he ordered. Lily froze. The soldiers hesitated.
“Wait—” began Comrade Trey.
Vanov pressed the muzzle of his pistol against Lily’s ear. “Take this ship off nav.”
In the instant of indecision before anyone could act, the air rank with the scent of confusion and fear, stained with the salt of Lia’s tears and the heavy aroma of Jenny’s blood and the unexpected pungency of Vanov’s rabid hatred, Hawk could not smell any emotion in Lily at all. It was as if she was already dead, her essence fled, gone, torn from him forever.
The horror of losing her paralyzed him. He did not even act when two soldiers put their hands on him, when he felt the shift of their bodies as they slowly—or slowly it seemed to him, caught in this moment, strung out beyond ordinary time—raised their weapons. The ghosts of the Forlorn Hope’s lost crew crowded the bridge, their fragrance overwhelming him, tenuous and yet stronger now than it had ever been before.
Lily caught Hawk’s gaze with hers and blinked twice, deliberately. The pistol against her head smelled of cold, unfeeling steel. Her hair hid its muzzle where Vanov held it thrust against her ear.
“Five seven two,” hissed the Mule. “Break.”
“You bitch!”
They went through just as Vanov pulled the trigger.
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About the Author
Kate Elliott has been writing stories since she was nine years old, which has led her to believe that she is either a little crazy or that writing, like breathing, keeps her alive. Her most recent series is the Spiritwalker Trilogy (Cold Magic, Cold Fire, and Cold Steel), an Afro-Celtic post-Roman alternate-nineteenth-century Regency ice-punk mashup with airships, Phoenician spies, the intelligent descendants of troodons, and revolution. Her previous works include the Crossroads trilogy (starting with Spirit Gate), the Crown of Stars septology (starting with King’s Dragon), the Novels of the Jaran, the Highroad Trilogy, and the novel The Labyrinth Gate, originally published under the name Alis A. Rasmussen.
She likes to play sports more than she likes to watch them; right now, her sport of choice is outrigger canoe paddling. Her spouse has a much more interesting job than she does, with the added benefit that they had to move to Hawaii for his work; thus the outrigger canoes. They also have a schnauzer (a.k.a. the Schnazghul).
April Quintanilla
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1990 by Alis A. Rasmussen
Cover design by Angela Goddard
978-1-4804-3528-5
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Kate Elliott, Revolution's Shore
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