Conquerors' Legacy (18 page)

"Right," Clipper acknowledged. "Just got in from Edo."
"So I hear." Cooker cocked his head. "I also hear you're a couple Corvines short of a full half squadron."
"Don't worry about that," a man seated with his back to them said before Clipper could respond. "I'm sure Clipper's friend will more than make up for it."
"Would you care to elaborate?" Clipper asked, his voice even.
The man swiveled around, revealing Oriental features set in hard lines. "What elaboration do you need?" he bit out. "You have Adam Quinn the Maestro with you. An excellent man with a knife, so I hear. Especially with regards to his comrades' backs."
The room had gone very quiet. "You have a grievance against Maestro, let's have it out," Clipper said. "Let's start with your name."
"Commander Rafe Taoka of Kappa Two," the other said. "Samurai. That's a tag name from an era where personal honor and unit loyalty still mattered. Values you NorCoord people seem to have forgotten."
"I think we can leave national pride out of it, Samurai," Clipper said. "Keep it within the Copperheads."
Samurai snorted. "Keep it within the Copperheads? Fine advice, but already wasted on your friend. He had complaints and ran off bleating to the NorCoord Parliament instead of taking them up with Copperhead Command as he should have. His words and actions have shamed us all."
"What I did saved Copperhead lives," Quinn said. "Possibly even yours."
"All of which brands him a traitor," Samurai snapped, his eyes flashing even as he ignored Quinn. "A traitor and coward both, whose presence here continues to shame us. I have no wish to fly with such a person."
"No one's asking for your wishes, Samurai," Clipper said, his voice icy. "This is a war, we're Peacekeepers, and we have a job to do."
"And I will do the job, Clipper," Samurai said softly. "Unlike Quinn, I still hold both honor and loyalty close to my soul. I don't wish to fly with him, but I will. I don't wish to speak with him, either. And I won't."
He swiveled his chair around again, putting his back to them. Clipper glanced at Quinn, nodded toward an unoccupied table across the room to their right, and headed that direction. Silently, Quinn followed, trying hard to avoid the eyes of the other Copperheads.
"Well, we were looking for a reaction," Clipper commented as they sat down. "I guess we got one."
"I guess we did," Quinn said, hearing an edge of bitterness in his voice. "I suppose it's better to have it out in the open."
"Don't let him get to you," Clipper advised, punching up two refreshers on the table's selector plate. "He's probably just annoyed that a truly honorable warrior like him has to share the glory of going down in flames with the likes of you."
Quinn threw him a sideways look. "So that's your reading of our orders?"
"What's to read?" Clipper shrugged as the ceiling conveyor delivered their refreshers. "This attack is a suicide mission, pure and simple. The Zhirrzh have been bulldozing their way across the Commonwealth for the past three weeks-bulldozing leisurely, maybe, but bulldozing nonetheless. We need a breather, and we need to grab some of the initiative back from them. Best way to accomplish both is to shock them into diverting some of their forces back to home defense. Ergo, we draw the short straw and go bloody their snouts."
"Hi," a tenor voice said over Quinn's shoulder. "Mind if we join you?"
"Sure," he said, mildly surprised that any of the other Copperheads was willing to be seen with him, at least so soon after Samurai's outburst. He turned around-
And felt his eyebrows lift. It was a young woman.
Or rather, three young women. All in Copperhead uniforms.
"Please-sit down," Clipper said, jumping into the conversational gap as surprise momentarily froze Quinn's tongue. "You'll have to excuse my friend-he's a little shy."
"That must be it," Quinn growled, throwing him an annoyed glare. The number of female Copperheads in the Peacekeepers could be counted on maybe two pairs of hands. To find three of them on theTrafalgar wasn't something he could reasonably have anticipated.
Clipper, on the other hand, had seen them coming across the room. He might at least have said something.
"Doesn't look all that shy to me," the first woman said, studying Quinn with an analytical eye as the three women sat down at the table. "More likely a little punch-drunk."
"We could hear Samurai taking you apart clear out in the corridor," the second woman added dryly.
"My reputation precedes me," Quinn murmured.
"Don't let it worry you," the first woman advised. "Samurai has a personal grudge against the Copperhead screening changes you helped institute. Most of the rest of us have pretty much come around to the idea that it was a necessary evil."
Which was not the same as saying they agreed with what he'd done. Or approved of his role in bringing the changes about. "If I hadn't thought it necessary, I wouldn't have done it," he told them.
"Of course," the first woman said. "I'm Commander Mindy Sherwood-Lewis of Sigma Five, by the way: Dreamer. This is my tail, Karen Thompson: Con Lady."
"I'm Phyllis Berlingeri: Adept," the third woman said. "I handle tail duty for Ed Hawkins: Hawk. He's off running some checks on our Catbird."
"Honored," Clipper nodded. "I'm Thomas Masefield-Clipper-commanding Omicron Four. Maestro here you already know. What's this personal grudge of Samurai's?"
"Oh, the sort of thing you'd expect from someone with Samurai's neo-Bushido philosophy," Dreamer said, waving a hand. "He was with Zeta Five when the new screening orders came down. You were in long enough to know about Zeta Five, weren't you, Maestro?"
"I would have to have been comatose not to have known about them," Quinn said. Copperhead Unit Zeta Five was a legend even in the rarefied atmosphere that public opinion reserved for Copperheads in general. They'd been the Peacekeepers' point men on Tal during the brief war against the Bhurtist Independists nine years ago. Even the Bhurtala generally credited Zeta Five's performance with convincing the Independist leaders that their escalating aggression toward Commonwealth citizens would gain them nothing but swift and ignominious defeat. "It was the best Copperhead squadron that ever flew."
"Won't get any arguments from me on that," Dreamer agreed. "Unfortunately, the new screening procedures bounced three of their pilots into noncombat jobs. Samurai's brother among them."
"I'm sorry." Quinn looked across the room, to where Dazzler and the rest of Clipper's squadron were mingling with tentative sociability with the other Copperheads, Samurai remaining conspicuously and scornfully aloof. Like Samurai, Dazzler too had had a brother dropped from Copperhead training by the new psychological restrictions. Unlike Samurai, Dazzler had come to realize that the cut had saved his brother from a life he wasn't suited for and didn't really want. "I don't suppose it matters that it might have saved his brother's life."
"Not to Samurai," Con Lady said. "Life means less to him than personal honor."
"But don't worry about him," Adept said. "He'll be fine once we get down to business. Anyway, the tac coordinator will sit on him if he gets out of line." Dreamer pointed over Quinn's shoulder. "Speaking of whom, here he comes now."
Quinn turned to look and for the second time in two minutes found his eyebrows lifting in surprise. The middle-aged man striding between the tables toward them-"Iniko!" he said, scrambling to his feet.
"Welcome aboard, Maestro," Wing Commander Iniko Bokamba said, his voice gravely official, his expression just short of a grin. "It's good to see you again."
"Likewise," Quinn assured him as they gripped hands. "When did they call you back to active duty?"
"About six hours after I sent Clipper off to join your quixotic rescue mission," Bokamba said, his grin turning into a wry smile. "I was sure they'd tumbled to the falsified orders and were there to haul my aged hide in front of a Peacekeeper firing squad. But luckily I kept my mouth shut; and lo and behold, all they wanted was to put me back in uniform. Congratulations on your success in finding Commander Cavanagh, by the way. All of you."
"Thank you, sir," Quinn said. "I'm relieved you didn't get into trouble over your part in it. They never even mentioned your name at the hearings-I was afraid they'd buried you away in a hole somewhere."
"Oh, they did," Bokamba countered, waving a hand around him. "What do you think the job of tac coordinator is, anyway? Glorified pack-mother, that's all. They might at least have given me something to fly."
"Uh-oh," Con Lady said, getting to her feet. "I sense a long reminiscence of past days of glory coming on."
"Me, too," Dreamer agreed as she and Adept also stood up. "Definitely guy talk. You'll excuse us?"
"If we must," Bokamba said, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "It's sad, Maestro. These young folk-no deference to their elders. Have you ladies studied tomorrow's practice schedule?"
"We've gone over it twice," Dreamer said.
"Go over it again," Bokamba ordered. "All of you. I'll see you in the ready room at oh-five-thirty tomorrow."
"Right." Dreamer winked at Quinn. "Welcome to the slave shipTrafalgar, gentlemen. See you tomorrow."
"Good-bye," Clipper said with a nod.
The women threaded their way back between the tables and chairs, pausing to chat briefly with others along the way. "I'm surprised to see women aboard," Quinn commented, waving Bokamba to one of the vacant chairs. "Especially considering theTrafalgar's mission."
"Yes," Bokamba said, gazing down at the tabletop as he traced imaginary lines on it with a finger. "I must admit to certain personal reservations about women in combat positions. Particularly expeditionary forces like this one, as opposed to home or national defense. Cultural prejudices; I doubt you of NorCoord would understand."
"We do try to maintain a degree of chivalry ourselves, you know," Clipper reminded him. "Still, cultural biases or not, the Commonwealth's not in any position to play favorites. If the Zhirrzh are going to be stopped, it's going to take everything we've got."
"I suppose so." Bokamba looked up again. "Speaking of which, Adam, may I say how personally pleased I am that you've decided to rejoin the Copperheads? I'm looking forward to working with you again."
"Thank you," Quinn said. "I'll do my best to justify your confidence in me."
"I'm sure you will," Bokamba said with a mischievous smile. "Especially since I'll be riding tail for you tomorrow."
Quinn frowned. "They told me on Edo that they'd be providing me with a new tail man."
"He's supposedly on his way," Bokamba said. "Presumably he'll get here before we actually leave for Zhirrzh space. Until then I'm afraid you're stuck with me." He leveled a finger at Quinn. "All the more reason for you to show up tomorrow knowing what you're doing."
"Translation: get ourselves back to the ward and start learning the maneuvers?" Clipper suggested.
"Exactly," Bokamba said. "And take the rest of your squadron with you."
"Right," Clipper said, standing up. "Come on, Maestro. Mom says we have to study."
Bokamba shook his head. "These young folk," he sighed. "No deference to their elders."
There was no signal Aric was able to see or hear; but suddenly one of the two Yycroman males guarding the unmarked door shifted his rayslicer to point at the ceiling. He snapped his snout, clicking the long rows of teeth together. [Son of Lord Stewart Cavanagh,] he said. [You are summoned. Come.]
"Thank you," Aric said, standing up and stepping to the door, his heart pounding in his ears. He'd dealt with Yycromae before, certainly, in the normal course of CavTronics business operations. But never like this. "May I ask-?"
[You are summoned,] the male repeated.
Aric nodded silently, all the stories he'd ever heard about Yycroman males and their hair-trigger tempers flashing through his mind. The first male opened the door and stepped through. Aric followed, the second male falling in behind him.
He'd expected the door to lead into an audience chamber. To his mild surprise it opened instead directly onto a stone staircase leading downward. The first Yycroma led the way down and into a maze of narrow corridors, connecting with and branching off from theirs at seemingly random angles. A few minutes later they reached the end of a corridor and another door. The Yycroma opened it; lifting his rayslicer again, he stood aside. Swallowing, Aric stepped through the door.
And out onto the observation platform of a huge underground hangar.
He stopped just inside, gazing down in amazement at the perhaps fifty Yycroman freighters laid out in neat rows stretching back across the brightly lit work floor. Hundreds of Yycromae were moving purposefully around: carrying loads and driving lifters, working singly or in pairs beneath or on top of the freighters, conversing briefly in small groups before scattering their separate ways. The air was filled with the rumble of conversation, the flickering flash of welding torches, and the smell of hot metal and chemical affixers and sealants. The whole scene had the surreal atmosphere of a giant anthill populated by furry biped crocodiles.
Furry biped crocodiles busily converting freighters into warships.
There was no doubt about that. Those smooth multiple-cylinder modules being attached to some of the freighters' undersides were clearly space-to-space missiles. Probably of Russian or Nadezhdan manufacture-he could see Cyrillic characters on the spares stacked on the floor beneath his observation platform. Some of the ships were being fitted with antiquated but still lethal Celadonese shredder-burst guns; others already had ultramodern NorCoord 110 mm cannon mounted to them. Targeting lasers were all over the place, as were numerous oddly shaped modules Aric had never seen before but which were marked with Yycroman lettering.
[You are the eldest son of Lord Stewart Cavanagh?]
Aric jumped, spinning around to his left. A Yycroman female stood there, dressed in the elaborate ceremonial helmet and tooled cloak of a high-ranking government official. Flanking her were yet another pair of armed Yycroman males. "Yes," he acknowledged. "I'm Aric Cavanagh."
[I am Klyveress ci Yyatoor,] the female identified herself. [Twelfth Counsel to the Hierarch. I welcome you to the Yycroman world of Phormbi. I and the Yycroman people are in your debt.]
Aric grimaced. This was about to get very sticky. "No, actually, ci Yyatoor, I don't think you are in my debt," he said.
Her face changed subtly. [What are you saying?] she demanded. [That you did not bring the command/switching modules I requested?]
"I'm saying that, legally, I can't give them to you," Aric told her, knowing how ridiculous the words probably sounded. A lone human surrounded by Yycromae on one of their own colony worlds was hardly in a position to make lofty pronouncements of NorCoord law. "The Pacification treaty explicitly forbids NorCoord citizens from supplying items to the Yycromae that could be used for military purposes. This room makes it abundantly clear that that's precisely what you want the modules for."