Through pressurized tactite windows, Staffa could see Skyla’s personal yacht, a powerful streamlined ship, now bathed in the bright lights glaring in the vacuum slip. The vessel had been the property of the Formosan Secretary of Economics before the Companions crushed the wealthy planet for Divine Sassa. Skyla’s yacht was a one of a kind vessel, manufactured to exacting standards by the Formosan shipyards as an example of their superlative craftsmanship. Now all they produced went straight to Sassa, and little remained of the quality and engineering which had caused Formosan vessels to be in such demand across Free Space.
And there lay another of the festering truths of empire-building. Where once people had built with pride and quality, they now turned out shoddy massproduced goods to feed the ravenous hunger of the tottering giants. Craftsmanship had fallen prey to brutal necessity.
Skyla stood by the lock leading to her vessel, her back to him, talking with two technicians. She nodded as she listened, then, catching Staffa’s approach from the corner of her eye, she issued a curt order and started toward him, a grim expression marring her classic beauty.
“Found Tyklat,” she told him in low tones. “He’s dead in space, floating about three LY from Ryklos. He put a tight-beam through to me, requesting that I come pick him up.”
Staffa’s anxiety mounted. “You know he’s on the run from Ily. Skyla, we can’t trust him. How come he didn’t call Kaylla? Why you? What’s his-“
“He’s afraid.” Skyla motioned for the Staffa to hear her out. “Yes, yes, I know the concerns; I read the report. Staffa, he says we can scour his brain if we want. He understands the security implications, and the suspicion that he’s under. But you’d better pay attention to this. He says Ily has an agent among the Seddi, someone she’s been able to double. Tyklat thinks that person is very high in the command chain. He believes that if Kaylla brings him in, Ily’s agent will make sure he never gets a chance to talk. “
A cool frost settled on Staffa’s nerves. Ily might have an agent in Itreata? “Give me the whole story.” Skyla told it from start to finish.
“We’re fairly certain he broke out of Rega,” Staffa added. “We don’t know what happened in the meantime. I don’t like it. “
Skyla chuckled. “You’ll like it a lot less if he’s telling the truth about a Regan agent in Itreata ... especially if it’s who he thinks.”
“You avoided mentioning his suspicions.”
Skyla’s crystal blue eyes hardened. “He suspects Nyklos.”
“You spent a lot of time with Nyklos. What do you think?”
She whistled as she exhaled. “Pus-licking Gods, Staffa, I don’t know. Tyklat isn’t all that convinced either. When it comes to Nyklos, I’m at a loss. The man’s good. I’ve seen him operate in the field. He’s a professional, even when it comes to his emotions. Hell, maybe even that is a ploy.”
“You had him loaded with Mytol. Did he give you any hint that he was associated with Ily?”
“No, but then I didn’t direct the questioning that way. I was so surprised to find I had a real living Seddi agent that I concentrated on that-and on finding you. If he’d had a hypnotic block implanted, he wouldn’t have rattled on about Ily unless directly asked.”
Staffa steadied his racing mind. Just because he wanted to blame Nyklos didn’t mean the evidence was in. “You’ve run a deep space scan of Tyklat’s ship?”
She nodded. “One vessel, powered down. No shadows or anomalous mass readings to indicate anything else. “
“I don’t like it.”
She sighed and slapped her hands against her sides. “I don’t either. On the other hand, he trusts me. And, Staffa, you would have died---or worse—on Etaria. Neither of us would have gotten off that planet except for Tyklat. He’s calling in an old debt. You know how I feel about that.” Worry chewed at his gut like some predatory animal. “What if it’s a trap? You’re all set to space out there and bring him in, aren’t you? That’s why you’re here. “
She cocked her jaw. “That I am, and I know every single argument you’re going to give me. And here, love of my life, are my answers: One, he’s scared to death that Ily’s agent is going to hear that he’s coming in. He trusts Kaylla, but not her security. He trusts me even more. I’m his safe-passage ticket and insurance. Two, I’ve already ordered five STU security officers-and, no, I can’t take Ryman because he’s coordinating training operations. Three, I know you can’t go because you’re seeing to the fleet’s preparations and I know what that entails. Four, you’re thrice-cursed right, it’s a risk, but then, given the stakes, what isn’t? He’s not the least skittish about letting us put the screws to him when he comes in, and I believe him. Five, yes, we could send Slap or Sabot on some pretext or other, but that might arouse suspicion on someone’s part, and it would put the mobilization schedule for those vessels behind. Six, you bet your sweet ass I’ll be careful. And, yes, I do know what I’m doing and how to do it. If I see a sign of anything fishy, I’ll run for cover. Not much in Free Space can catch my ship. Seven, we owe the man, Staffa. A Companion’s word is good-and we pay our debts. Eight, and perhaps most important, if anything goes sour, I can handle it.
She gave him a challenging stare, the light barely playing off the faint scar on the soft skin of her cheek. “Staffa, I know how you feel about people you love being exposed. If Tyklat is telling the truth, it more than outweighs any possible risk. Not only that, I’m not a helpless virgin when it comes to the real world. You can’t let what happened in the past color all your decisions regarding me. I’m not Chrysla. I can’t live that way. “
Staffa began to pace. The needle teeth of worry in his gut bit deeper. “Skyla, I’ve got a premonition. Wait for a while. Let me detail another couple of ships, backup just in case.”
“In case of what? If Ily’s doubled Tyklat, he Rotted won’t pass our security, and Ily knows that. Staffa, I’m uneasy about it, too, but we’re all jumpy. Myself, I think he’s clean-and scared to death that he’s been betrayed. Put yourself in his position.”
Staffa growled, “I don’t.... All right. I’ll trust you on this. I want an open comm to Itreata the whole time. And I want constant reports. If you see anything irregular, run. You can always apologize to Tyklat later. “
“It’s the most rational course of action,” Skyla reminded.
“And I’ll take steps to isolate Nyklos. Kaylla’s not going to like it, but we’ll have answers as soon as Tyklat is in our hands.” Under his breath, he growled, “Rot you, Ily, it’s just the kind of thing you’d do.”
Skyla hugged him close, tightening her grip before she kissed him soundly. “I’ll be back within no more than six days at the maximum. I’ve got most of the important work done. Tap can handle the rest.”
Staffa closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her against him. No, he couldn’t protect her. And the mention of Chrysla had been a warning. She wouldn’t allow him to overprotect her. She was Skyla Lyma, Wing Commander of the Companions, and no one’s delicate rose.
“Go get Tyklat,” Staffa whispered, feeling as if he’d ordered his own throat cut. “By the quanta, Skyla, be careful. Come back to me.”
Pus-licking Gods, that’s a Rotted big bastard! The thought rattled around in Mac’s head for an instant and then the realization sank in that he was about to die. No one with even the brains the Blessed Gods had given to a moth would try something this insane. And that’s just why it might work. He lied to himself for reassurance. Mac tried to make an assessment of the distance between his position and the looming Sassan freighter as he studied the monitors in the LC command center. How long did they have left before they made the mad leap across space?
Suddenly Mac knew he’d made a terrible mistake. In all the zero g training exercises, he’d been an observer. Now he faced having to make the journey from the LC to the Sassan freighter by himself, at nearly the speed of light-in free fall.
The physics of the maneuver had fascinated him in an abstract way; now ugly r
eality threatened to paralyze him. The Sassan had been decelerating, a blast of reaction reaching out in advance of the heavy freighter. Gyton had been coasting at constant Delta V, its maneuvering reaction directed away from the enemy as it closed in the protection of the redshift shadow.
Mac and Rysta had gone over the assault time and time again. At precisely the right moment, the LCs had been dispatched until they’d reach the Sassan ship at matching velocity. The assault bays would evacuate to vacuum and open as the LCs drifted within meters of the freighter’s hull. Mac’s Groups would launch
themselves at the enemy vessel and attempt to gain entrance with emergency rescue equipment while the ,LCs continued to drift past.
If everything went according to plan, Mac would have taken the ship by the time Gyton pulled alongside and the LCs would begin the tedious braking process. To do so beforehand would alert the Sassan’s as a spear of reaction mass shot by their detection equipment.
It’s all dicy as polluted hell, Mac told himself as their target grew in the monitors.
“First MacRuder? The assault bays have bled off and report vacuum,” the pilot noted from the other side of the bulkhead.
Mac accessed his comm. “Red? How are you doing back there?”
“No problem, Mac,” Red called back. “This place is getting a little boring though. You want to open the door and let a little light in?”
“Bored?” Mac wondered. “I’ll remember you said that. “
“First?” the pilot interrupted. “You’ve got five minutes until time to initiate.”
Mac checked rapidly with his other LCs-alI reported condition green. He stood then, checking his energy pack for the helmet field generator and rebreather before he ducked through the hatch to where his team-ten of them from Group F-waited in the rear of the LC.
They stood around a boxy affair with maneuvering jets on each corner-the Emergency Rescue Lock, or ERL. The unit could be attached to the side of a disabled vessel. The ERL could not only cut through a starship’s hull, but functioned as a pressure lock afterward. Compressed air allowed the lock to work without needlessly venting internal atmospheric pressure. In this case, that atmosphere would help to maintain cabin pressure and stifle any alarms.
Alarms, hell, we could leave gaping holes in that huge ship without any drop in mercury on the pressure gauges.
“Ready?” Red asked, a bright awareness in his green eyes. Now his freckles stood out on his pale face. Andrews, one of the privates, looked up from a display on the ERL. “All charged and ready to go.” “Check your weapons, people,” Mac ordered as his team made a routine inspection of the heavy shoulder blasters and charge packs they hooked to their slings and equipment belts. Mac took his own weapon, usepolished and battered from the hard times on Targa. The nine kilo weight reassured him as he strapped it to his back.
“Opening assault ramp,” the pilot called through the battle comm.
Mac swallowed his fear as the LC shivered slightly and a thin black line widened where the ramp sealed. Mac stared out at a fuzzy, bruised-red haze that faded into an inky blur-the redshift shadow. He shook his head and took a deep breath, hearing his rebreather whine slightly at the exhale. The ramp had gone all the way open now, and as Mac craned his neck he could see the wavering side of the Sassan freighter, as if he watched it from the bottom of a dye-filled swimming pool on a sunny day. The vessel might have been a mirage, parts of it wavering indigo then violet then blue while other parts appeared as yellow then orange and red. Like heavy oil floating on water, Mac thought. Worse, the entire image wavered and bent as if the ship stretched into infinity and then warped partway around the LC’s stern.
Like looking into those bent mirrors in a!-rivement parks, Mac decided.
“Pus-Rotted unreal,” Viola whispered to herself. “What the hell? It looks like a ghost,” Red muttered.
“Affirmative,” the pilot called. “You’re seeing light at relativistic speeds. In fact, the Sassan isn’t even where you see it, but another half a klick ahead. The image will solidify as we match and close. Hang tight.”
Mac clamped his eyelids shut and shook his head to clear the bizarre vision. Pus-Rotted Gods, what did I get myself into? I’m about to jump across empty space onto a phantom Sassan-and with an inertia that would have blasted Makarta Mountain to plasma. His heart began to pound, the blood roaring in his ears. His knees went watery and his stomach had the queasy tickle of panic. Mac, don’t think about it.
“Better than eating Riparian mushrooms,” Viola Marks whispered as she stared at the undulating technicolor Sassan freighter.
“How come we don’t look like that?” Andrews wanted to know.
“You’re in a darkened room back there,” the pilot answered. “Take a close look around you. Everything forward is sharp, blue-tinted but clear. Stick your hand out behind you, however, and you’ll notice the clarity blurs and your armor looks pink. Redshift in action, people.”
Mac glanced at the Sassan vessel; it had grown in size, but the effect reminded him of looking through a fish-eye lens with snaking squirts of color along the margins. It made him sick, his senses reeling as they tried to reestablish normalcy.
“We’ll be next door in about a minute,” the pilot informed. “Prepare for your jump.”
Mac shook as uncontrollable spasms attacked his muscles. Jump? Into that eerie psychedelic chimera? Out of habit, he shot a look at his team. They appeared to be completely petrified-rooted to the spot.
They’re not going! They’re gonna flake out on me. Mac’s throat had knotted. He didn’t blame them. How could you order a sane human being to jump off the back of an LC in empty space toward that!
“Thirty seconds,” the pilot called. “We’re changing attitude now.” The angular momentum pulled at them. “Orient yourselves. You will jump straight off the rear of the ramp. I’m cutting the gravity fields to one half g. “
Mac’s stomach rose, adding to his panic.
The pilot’s voice droned on. “At that moment, I will cut the gravity fields to zero. As you near the freighter, you’ll have to shift attitude and hit with
your feet first. Keep your knees bent to kill your momentum. “
“C’mon, c’mon,” Mac forced himself to mutter. “Red, Andrews, pick up the ERL. Move it, Gods Rot it!”
And somehow they did. But can I make myself jump?
The-pilot’s calm voice counted, “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six . . . “
It’s Makarta Mountain all over again. Black oblivion, endless cold ... darkness ...”Five, four, three . I can’t do it!”Two, one. Jump!”
Mac screamed his fear-and grabbed Viola, manhandling her kicking and whimpering body. He physically threw her off the ramp. “Go! Go! Go!” he shouted, pointing. One by one, his trembling people leapt into unreality. Andrews and Red propelled the ERL forward and followed its momentum.
Mac stood for a second, a sob catching at the bottom of his throat as he grew light in the failing gravity. A tear started from the corner of his eye as he positioned himself. Then he bellowed for nerve and leapt off the ramp.
“’Minister Takka?” Gysell’s face formed in Ily’s monitor.
“Yes?” She rubbed her eyes as she looked up from the intelligence reports coming in from across the Empire. Her agents had been working double time to monitor the pulse of the population, searching for any hint of rebellion or unrest. Civic leaders who appeared in the slightest subversive were carefully removed through assassination, arrest, or intimidation. Bit by bit, Ily’s tentacles were tightening about the Regan people. Let Sinklar fool with his utilities and egalitarianism, she knew where the roots of power lay. Her office had grown stuffy and she’d increased the air circulation.
“ You might want to watch this,” Gysell added woodenly. “It’s coming in on the subspace, and there is nothing we can do to jam it.”
The Deputy’s face was replaced by that of a woman. Ily stared into those familiar features, and her heart went icy. She knew t
hat tan gaze, that square face, and collar-length brown hair. The last time Ily had seen her, the woman had been locked in a slave’s stasis collar: and both she and Staffa had been rescued by the Seddi.
“I am Kaylla Dawn,” the woman said in a steady contralto. “This is the first of a series of broadcasts we will be conducting throughout Free Space. These broadcasts are sponsored by the Seddi with the assistance and approval of the Companions. Ladies and gentlemen, people of Free Space, all of us, humanity itself, teeter precariously on the precipice of disaster. We are facing the gravest moment in the history of the species. Our two remaining empires are poised for war-a war of annihilation. This threat is so great, so terrible and devastating, the Seddi can no longer remain silent.
“To many of you, we are an abomination, heretics and subversives. These broadcasts will attempt to throw light on who the Seddi are, and why your respective governments have harried and hounded us.
“People, we do not ask you to believe us or accept our doctrine, but the time has come for all of us to think before we exterminate ourselves-before whole planets are left dark and desolate, with only the sightless dead to mourn the passing of humanity. The time has come for a new epistemology, a new way of thinking about ourselves and our place in the universe. “
“Gysell!” Ily barked. “What is this?” Where in Rotted hell is this coming from? I want it stopped! And right now!”
Gysell’s face formed in another monitor, his expression ashen. “We can’t, Minister. It’s coming out of
Itreata on wide band and in several frequencies. She must be using the Companions’ entire output. To stop it ... well, you might as well try and dim the sun.”
Ily stiffened, Kaylla’s voice drowned by the searing anger that burned through Ily’s veins.
“To understand the grave nature of the threat, you must consider many factors, including our methods of warfare,” Kaylla continued. “Many of you have survived the cataclysms unleashed by the Companions, and you know firsthand how a world can be ravaged. Multiply that by exponential factors. Now, consider our economic structure. Each of the empires depends on a network of worlds for its survival and functioning. How long could Rega survive if Ashtan and Vermilion were blasted out of existence? Fully one third of the Regan Empire’s food is produced on those two planets. Divide your next meal into thirds, and take part of that away. The same for Malbourne and Nesios in the Sassan Empire. In the coming warfare, the deprivation of resources is the key to conquest. Were Rega to break the Sassan Empire, how many destroyed planets would it take to cripple the Sassan system beyond repair?”