Read By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3 Online

Authors: Debra Doyle,James D. Macdonald

By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3 (38 page)

BOOK: By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3

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“Stand by for run-to-jump,” she said. “If you’re not strapped in, time to get that way. Next stop, Pleyver.”

“Wait a minute,” Jessan said from the copilot’s seat beside her. “Contact up ahead. Big one.”

“Oh, lovely,” Beka said. “Absolutely lovely.” She fed more power to the realspace engines. “What’s the ID?”

“Warship,” Jessan said. “Lighting us up with frequencies in the fire-control range. But nothing Republic in the signature.”

“Mages?”

“Looks like.”

“Just what I goddamn needed.” She switched on the shields at full, kicked in the override to give more-than-maximum power to the engines, and pushed the throttles all the way forward. “Where is the son of a bitch?”

“Moving, he’s moving.”

“Tell me he isn’t covering my jump point for Pleyver.”

“He’s heading that way.”

“Get there before me?”

“It’ll be close.”

“I’m going to jump if I have to leave my engines behind.” Beka cut the shields in half and fed the power that she’d freed to the
’Hammer
’s realspace engines.

“They’re launching fighters.”

“Let’s see ’em outrun me.” Beka flipped on the internal comm. “Gunners, take your stations.”

Jessan unstrapped and headed aft.

Beka kept on flipping switches. “Gravity, off; life support, off; all nonessentials off-line.”

She pushed the newly freed power to the realspace engines as well, then checked the navicomp and the sensor screen. “Come on, you bastard, where are you?”

A few more seconds, and she didn’t need to ask: she had the Mage warship on visual. She watched it swelling from a bright star to something the size of an asteroid in its own right—as if High Station Pleyver had sprouted guns and engines and dropped out of hyperspace on top of her.

“Hell,” she said. The warship was sitting on her jump point, all right. She put in some up vector. “Sorry about that, big boy—I’ll see you later. Guns?”

“Number One gun on station,” came Jessan’s reply; and LeSoit, echoing: “Number Two gun on station.”

“Anything in range, kill it,” Beka said. “But don’t just shoot for the sake of shooting—I want every ounce of juice I have for speed.”

“Roger,” she heard her gunners echo. Then she was passing above the other vessel, watching the huge bulk of the warship slide by on the
’Hammer
’s ventral side. She had clear stars in front of her; she was running—

A wrenching shudder ran through the ship. The
’Hammer
bucked and pulled against the grip of a heavy tractor beam.

“Hold your fire!” Beka called out the gunners. She fed more power to the realspace engines. “I’ll need everything we’ve got just to pull away!”

The engines roared; the freighter’s hull sang and moaned with the vibration that tore at it in every direction; but slowly, slowly,
Warhammer
began to make forward progress and pull away from the beam.

“Come on, baby, you can do it,” Beka murmured. “You can do it. Fastest pair of legs in the galaxy …”

She heard Jessan swear in Khesatan over the earphones and heard a bolt of energy fire from Number One gun bubble. Then both guns were firing—continuously now—and Jessan cursed again as something struck the freighter’s after portion with a deafening, bone-jarring impact. Damage-control lights flared red all over the main console, and the numbers on the engine power readout ran down toward zero. The rear sensor screens went blank. Loss-of-pressure alarms shrieked.

“What the
hell—
!”

Jessan’s voice came to her over the internal comm. “One of their fighters rammed us.”

“Damn and blast.” She switched off the engines. After a few seconds, she flipped on the comm. “Everyone, stand by. We’ve got a problem. We appear to have been captured by a Mage warship.”

“Dropout in five minutes, Commodore,” Jhunnei said.

“Very well,” Commodore Gil said, “I’ll be in CIC in four.”

He poured himself one last cup of cha’a and left his office for the
Pavo’s
Combat Information Center.

“We’re set for general quarters on translation,” the tactical action officer told Gil as he entered. “No telling what’ll be waiting for us. Ops officer is on the bridge, overseeing navigation personally.”

“Get positive identification on all targets before launching any attacks,” Gil said. He took a seat near the main battle tank. The tank’s display area was darkened while the
’Tina
ran in hyper. “We may be attacked by friendlies who aren’t sure of our allegiance and intentions.”

“Condition red, weapons tight,” the TAO said to the gun talker, and the message was passed through the weapons spaces.

“Stand by for dropout,” came a voice over the ship’s internal comm system. “Five, four, three, two, one, mark.”

The hyperspace transition wave swept through the ship. “Full sensor scan,” the TAO said. “Light up the tank.”

The holographic display winked into life. This time it showed the Gyfferan system, with the view in the tank centering on Gyffer itself. Blue dots appeared, marking the body of Gil’s task force:
Karipavo
and her sisters from the Net Patrol Fleet; Merrolakk the Selvaur’s privateer flotilla; and the odd collection of armed merchantmen and Space Force vessels from the Suivi Detachment that had been the reluctant contribution of Domina Beka Rosselin-Metadi.

“Unknown units detected,” the comptech on the main tank said. “Bringing them up now.”

“At least this time we have hi-comms,” Gil commented to the TAO. “Locally, anyway. Fighting blind and deaf isn’t an experience I plan to repeat just for the pleasure of it.”

A yellow dot appeared in the tank close to Gyffer. “Energy release in Gyfferan system space,” called out a sensor tech.

“Rotate that over here,” the TAO said. “Magnify. What parameters are you reading?”

“Task Force D’Rugier dropping out in sequence, in place,” reported the tech in charge of fleet communications. “Comms normal.”

“Deploy fighters in diamond formation,” Gil said. “Scouts out to Gyffer.”

“Picking up transmissions in the clear from Gyffer Inspace Control,” said the local-comms operator.

“What do you have?” TAO asked.

“All units in the Gyfferan Local Defense Forces are being directed to save themselves if they can … more traffic from Gyffer, transmission from the surface, Gyfferan Citizen-Assembly requests immediate aid from Republic Space Force or any planetary government capable of responding.”

“Can’t get more immediate than us,” Gil said. “Reply to the Citizen-Assembly, tell them that the Space Force is here.”

“IDs coming in on vessels in Gyfferan system space,” the tank comptech said. “Gyfferan units displayed in green, task force units in blue. Unknowns yellow. We have a bunch of ID’ed vessels marked as Space Force, not from this task force.”

“Get names on them,” Gil ordered. “Correlate with last assignment prior to the war.”

“Working. The Space Force units are from the Infabede Sector Fleet.”

“Infabede units appear to be attacking Gyfferan units,” the TAO said, looking at the data running up the sensor tech’s screen.

“That would be Valiant, damn his eyes,” Gil said, remembering the news he’d picked up on Innish-Kyl. “Designate Infabede units hostile. Put a screen around Gyffer. Protect their spacedocks and their communications nodes for as long as possible. And send a signal to the Infabede units, message as follows: ‘To Infabede Sector Fleet, this is Net Patrol Fleet. Interrogative what the hell do you think you’re doing, over.’ And while we’re waiting for a reply to
that,
” Gil remarked to the TAO, “if anyone out there shoots at a Gyfferan unit, that someone is a designated target.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know, Jhunnei,” Gil remarked to his aide, leaning back and taking a sip from his cha’a, “I used to worry that because I’d joined up after the last war was over, I’d never do anything more important than write reports and assign other people to write reports for me to read.”

“Who knows, Commodore?” Jhunnei replied. “Maybe you’ll get to write the report after we finish this one.”

Gil shook his head. “Until you said that, Lieutenant, I was almost ready to enjoy myself.”

II. DEEP SPACE:
WARHAMMER; SWORD-OF-THE-DAWN

B
EKA FLIPPED off the link and sagged back in the pilot’s seat. She gazed wearily out the
’Hammer
’s viewscreen as the Magebuilt battleship drew closer and closer.

How the hell did they find me? Was it Tarveet—did I tell him the coordinates when he had me drugged on Suivi?

Beka sat up straight again.
Tarveet.
She could at least make sure that he didn’t live long enough to enjoy a Mageworlds victory. She left the cockpit and ran back through the common room—where Doctor syn-Tavaite looked somewhere between pleased and in despair—and onward to the crew berthing compartment that had been Tarveet’s prison ever since Suivi Point.

The door refused to open for her.
Jammed. On purpose.
She slammed her fist against the bulkhead.

“Damn, damn, damn …”

“No, Captain.” Ignaceu LeSoit had appeared at her elbow while she was still working at the lock. “Tarveet didn’t reveal the site of your base to the Mages.”

Beka snarled at him. “How the hell do
you
know, Ignac’?”

He shook his head. Any further reply he might have made was cut short by the sound of magnetic grapnels striking on the hull. Then Jessan came, and Doctor syn-Tavaite with him.

“I can’t find Owen or Klea anywhere,” Jessan said. “The inner door to the main lock is closed. The outer door is open, and there are two p-suits missing. I believe they’ve gone outside.”

Beka pounded on the bulkhead again. “Damn, damn, damn it to hell … what do they think they’re doing?”

“They said that there would be Mages aboard this ship,” syn-Tavaite said. “They said that they were going to find one for you.”

Beka went back to the
‘Hammer
’s cockpit—she didn’t want to deal with anybody else right now, and especially not with Inesi syn-Tavaite or Ignaceu LeSoit. Instead, she watched the Mage battleship grow larger and closer as its magnetic grapnels pulled the freighter in. More beams, tractors and pressors working together, drew the
’Hammer
down to rest on blocks inside a huge docking bay. Bright worklights washed over the freighter’s hull, glaring into the cockpit windows; the outer bay doors closed down like jaws; blast-armored and pressure-suited workers came out of their airlocks and into the bay.

“No point in waiting,” she said aloud, and headed aft.

She didn’t know what Owen and Klea were up to, beyond the information that Doctor syn-Tavaite had passed along, but anything that served to distract the Mages from possible intruders could only help. As long as the two Adepts—and the replicant—were safe, her long-shot plan still had a chance.

In the common room, Jessan and Lesoit and syn-Tavaite were sitting at the mess table in an uneasy silence. They all looked up when Beka entered.

“I’m going out,” she said. “They want a prisoner, I’ll give them one. The rest of you, stay inside and stay quiet.”

Jessan looked unhappy. “I wish you’d let me go instead.”

“Sorry,” she said. “You’re not notorious enough.”

“Be careful, then.”

“For as long as I can.” She looked at syn-Tavaite. “Remember, Doctor: you’re combat-sworn to D‘Rugier, and he gave you to me. Betray me now, and you’re breaking your word to him. As for you, Ignac’—”

“Captain?”

“This makes three times now that I haven’t killed you, for old times’ sake. Remember that. All of you: nobody mentions my brother and his apprentice, or what we’ve got in the hold. If Owen makes it back here, you do whatever he says.”

“Understood, Captain,” said Jessan. He had grown steadily more pale and drawn as she spoke. “Bee—”

“Goodbye, Nyls. I’ve got to leave now.”

She left the common room without looking back. In the
’Hammer
’s airlock, she donned her p-suit with practiced haste, sealing her blaster into the suit’s cargo pocket. Maybe she’d need it. Maybe she’d even have a chance to use it.

Right. And maybe I’ll sprout wings and fly home to Galcen. But as long as I’m planning to jump off the roof, I might as well try flapping my arms all the way down.

She closed the inner door and set the lock to cycle. The joints of her p-suit stiffened around her. When the cycle had finished, she hit the bulkhead controls to open the outer door and lower the ramp. The foot of the ramp clanged down onto metal deckplates, and’ Beka stepped out of the lock.

A cluster of p-suited workers had gathered at the edge of what looked like a safety circle painted around the landing blocks. She approached halfway to the circle’s perimeter, then stopped and waited for the workers to come the rest of the way.

The stark worklights glinted from the workers’ helmets, and they seemed to move in slow motion. A voice sounded in Beka’s ears—an all-frequency transmission, most likely, coming over her helmet’s comm link—saying words that she didn’t understand. She kept on waiting.

After the voice fell silent, the workers in their white pressure suits came up and surrounded her. She saw that they carried blasters of unfamiliar design, made with oversized trigger studs for use with gauntleted hands. Not workers; then, but an armed guard. Except for the visible presence of the weapons, however, none of the Mageworlders had so much as offered a threatening gesture.

The troopers formed two ranks, a column on each side of her, and started back toward the airlock from which they had emerged. Beka, now surrounded, had no choice but to go with them. The airlock, twice as tall as she was and wide enough for a skipsled to pass through with ease, held the entire formation without crowding. The outer door slid shut behind them. The lock was huge, taking so long to traverse that Beka felt the changing pressure make the joints of her suit grow looser as she walked.

The inner doors of the lock slid open and the troopers around her stopped. They removed their helmets to reveal disconcertingly ordinary men and women—a bit on the short side, most of them, by Republic standards—with the collars of brown uniforms peeking from the necks of their suits.

The ranks in front of her parted and she saw that another man had been waiting on the far side of the lock. His plain brown uniform was the same color as the troopers’ collars, but instead of a blaster he carried a short rod of dark wood bound in silver: a Mage’s staff. He nodded at the troopers to either side of her and gave an order she couldn’t hear.

She felt hands fumbling at her own helmet, lifting it away. Then the man spoke again, this time in Galcenian. “Happy meeting, gentlelady. I will escort you to your quarters.”

Beka drew herself up to her full height. “I am Domina Beka Rosselin-Metadi,” she said. “Domina of Lost Entibor, of Entibor-in-Exile, and of the Colonies Beyond. And I wish to speak with your commander.”

“You shall,” the man said. “Come and refresh yourself first. You will meet with the Grand Admiral soon.”

Beka nodded.

“Come,” the man said again, and walked away.

After a moment, she followed. The squad of troopers remained behind—apparently a single Mage was considered as roughly equivalent for escort purposes. This one didn’t look dangerous, but Beka knew better than to believe in appearances.

“You are our guest,” the man said, without turning his head. “While you remain our guest, no harm shall come to you if we can prevent it.”

“I see. What happens if someone decides I’m not your guest any longer?”

“The Grand Admiral can tell you more than I.”

They turned right down a narrow passageway. The Mage faced her and pushed a lockplate. A door slid open.

“Here are your quarters. When you are ready, the Grand Admiral will see you. He waits on your pleasure.”

“I suppose the door will be locked from the outside?”

“With regret—yes,” the man said. “It is for your own safety aboard ship, my lady, that you will need an escort at all times. Should you desire anything, I am Mid-Commander Mael Taleion. Speak my name, and I shall appear.”

“Very well. I’ll take the opportunity to rest for a moment, but I still want to speak with your admiral as soon as possible.”

“So it shall be.”

The man bowed. Beka turned and walked into the room. The door slid shut behind her.

She looked about her new quarters.
I don’t know where they’ve put me, she thought, but it sure isn’t the detention level. Looks more like officer’s country, in fact.

The room was large for a ship’s cabin, brightly lit and well ventilated, but with a distinct alien flavor to it, as if all the dimensions and angles differed subtly from those that were standard on the Republic side of the Net. Water poured down one wall and vanished into a hole in the floor after running diagonally across the space in a small watercourse filled with rounded stones. When Beka checked, she found that the stones were permanently fastened in place.

No accounting for taste, she thought. I wonder if the personal waterfall is standard equipment in all the cabins, or a special treat for important guests and honored prisoners?

Beka pulled off the gauntlets of her p-suit and threw them onto the low, flat bed that filled one corner of the room. With her hands free, it was easy to strip off the rest of the bulky garment. She pulled her blaster from the cargo pocket and belted it around her waist. That was one advantage to “guest” status, she reflected; no search and seizure.

She pulled up a double handful of water from the waterfall—the temperature was just on the cold side of lukewarm, another reminder that these quarters had been designed according to an alien aesthetic—and splashed it onto her face. She shook the excess water from her hands and started back toward the door.

Time to see about calling for the mid-commander, she thought. The more of the Mages’ attention I can take up, the more of a chance Owen and Klea will have.

She found what looked like a comm speaker set into the bulkhead near the door, with a button beside it. She lifted a hand, thinking to push the button and await results—but she never got the chance. Instead, a strong arm came from behind to grab her shoulders and pull her away to one side.

Her hand fell to her blaster. Before she could pull it free another hand pressed down on hers, keeping the weapon holstered.

“Silence,” a voice whispered in Galcenian. “Be still.”

In the
’Hammer’s
common room, after Beka had left, the silence stretched out for some time.

“When my people come here,” syn-Tavaite said finally, “my position will be very, very bad.”

Jessan looked up from his contemplation of the tabletop. “Remember what the Domina said.”

“How can I forget? But what is there we can do?”

LeSoit shrugged. “I’ve always said that when my time came I’d like it to find me playing at cards.”

“If you don’t stop dealing off the bottom,” Jessan said, “it probably will.”

LeSoit pulled a deck of cards out of his jacket pocket. “If that’s an invitation, I accept.”

“I must be insane to agree to play with your deck,” Jessan said. “But any diversion is preferable to terrorized monotony. Let’s see, you’re up three thousand at the moment, right?”

“Three thousand, two hundred and nine,” LeSoit said. “Want to continue, or start a new series?”

“Continue, I think.” Jessan took some chips from their storage space under the table.

“It is unbelievable,” syn-Tavaite said. “To play cards at such a time—”

“Reconcile yourself to it,” Jessan said. “My deal.”

“Want to join?” LeSoit asked.

syn-Tavaite stood up. “I will go now and check on the stasis box. That, at least, will make me of some use.”

She left the common room. At the table, Jessan dealt out the hands and picked up his cards.

“Something I’ve wondered,” he said, laying down the three of trefoils. “Where did a Magebuilt warship come from, out this far from anywhere?”

“There’s a war on,” LeSoit said, covering the three with a three of forges. He drew a new card from the pack and nodded to Jessan. “Over to you.”

“Sure, but this is an out-of-the-way place for a major unit to be patrolling. And having a battleship show up on the direct jump run from the middle of nowhere to Pleyver snaps the suspenders of my disbelief.” Jessan laid down a five of forges and replenished his hand from the deck.

“We’re dealing with Mages,” LeSoit said. He covered the five of forges with a two of forges from his hand.

“That’s an all-purpose explanation which I find rather unsatisfactory,” Jessan said. “Got any forges?”

BOOK: By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3

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