Edward M. Lerner (32 page)

How would anyone know if another group of human troops were aboard? Lothwer had concentrated his troops and sequestered the rest of the clan; few were in the halls to spot more intruders. Only major corridors had crowd-control cameras. If other invaders avoided those main halls, Mashkith had no hope of detecting them from the bridge.

Proof would come when troops were diverted to look for it. For now it was enough to put himself into the head of the enemy commander. More humans
were
onboard. They would move quickly aft, away from the diversion. The most valuable objective in that direction was the engine room.

“Firh Glithwah,” Mashkith called to the squad commander securing the bridge. His niece.

“Yes, sir.” She had been but a cub when the voyage began. Now she was taller than he.

“Half your squad on urgent sweep aft. Immediate report of any findings. New defensive position: engine room.”

“Sir!” In a flurry of crisp orders, she divided her squad. They would circle around the battle to get to the central-core elevator.

The known invaders had become lost on their way to the bridge. Any other invaders would be equally as confused from the interior reconfiguration. Everyone in the clan, however, could access an augmented-reality map or room overlay at will. Use it.

A panicked alert from a damage-control crew on deck eighty-six turned conjecture to certainty. What Mashkith had been about to do on mere speculation was still appropriate, and a faster response than any possible troop redeployment.

“All lights off aft of deck six.” As an afterthought, he added, “Except the herd area.” There was no reason to disrupt the prisoners’ accustomed docility.

The sudden darkness was complete, stygian. Untold tons of rock and metal, all the more real for their invisibility, loomed in Art’s imagination. He broke out in a cold sweat. His heart raced. Nausea surged, and he thought he would pass out.
Don’t you dare faint.
The helmet lamp he switched on by reflex blazed like a lighthouse, screaming his presence to anyone on this deck. He switched it off, to shuffle as quickly as he dared toward a glimpsed nearby door. Gunfire reverberated from the deck below. Where was the next stairwell?

Art reached the wall and groped until he found a latch. With his helmet partially hidden behind the door, he risked another quick flicker of light. The tiny equipment closet revealed in an almost stroboscopic flash made his eyes go round.

Inside, to relive his worst childhood nightmare? Outside, to stumble in the dark where he was much more likely to encounter Snakes than friends?

Teeth clenched, he went in and shut the door. “Carlos?”

“Kind of busy.” Gunfire and small explosions were louder over the briefly open radio channel. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know exactly. Still on the deck where you asked me to do mapping.”

More short bursts. “Can you lay low for a bit? Good.”

Inside the pitch-black closet, the walls gathered.

Rumbles like distant thunder rolled through the prisoner sector, followed on occasion by the barest hints of vibration. Dangling vines, lacy clusters of needles, and bouquets of delicate fronds all quivered. Ambassador Chung’s renewed insistent pounding on the intercom had evoked a new result: disconnection.

Gwu and a small team worked to clear an experimental garden plot. It would be planted with terrestrial seeds provided by the K’vithians. Had human authorities noticed or commented upon their purchase? she wondered. Prior to the Himalia disaster, “for the novelty” might have been a sufficient explanation. After the disaster … these seeds were one more indication the K’vithians had planned all along for human passengers.

She leaned hard on a long-handled hoe, struggling to uproot a sinewy loop of bluefruit vine. In time, once the shock wore off, surely the humans would help. It would be their only alternative to synthesized pap. It would be something to do.

On what basis did she ascribe certainty to prospective human behavior? A few shifts sharing the same space? One long, traumatic conversation?

Whether that session had meant anything to Eva, it had been profoundly moving to Gwu. Even dear Swee was one of the crew-kindred, one for whom, and to whom, she was responsible. Whatever her relationship with the humans, responsibility was not involved. For the first time since leaving the Double Suns, Gwu had been able to unburden herself.

The root-loop tore free of the packed soil, and she sidled to the next. The need for oneness with nature—even the inherently simplified nature of a habitat biosphere—was innate. The humans, like the K’vithians, did not understand that. Mashkith always seemed amused when she labored alongside the crew-kindred. Eva, without the condescension, emanated the same surprise. Gwu turned her frustration to a tough root, as though it personally had denied her the wisdom to bridge the chasm between species.

Eva and Corinne emerged from a stand of mixed ornamental trees, where they now convened regularly. They were fools if they thought the K’vithians did not overhear them. Gwu hoped they were suitably circumspect. Even her own recent cathartic release had been limited to information the K’vithians must know or suspect she knew.

Eva approached. “May we talk?”

“Of course.” Gwu dropped her hoe. “About what?”

Eva stood silently until the next rumble sounded. The soil-covered deck vibrated beneath them. “About that. I believe a rescue attempt is underway.”

T’bck Ra had told her the same, a confirmation Gwu dare not communicate. “I would be happy for my new human friends if they could go home.” Would we, too, be allowed to go home? “Do not invest too much hope in unexplained noises.”

“I say this assuming we are being overheard. We must be prepared to help. We must
plan
to help.” In the already familiar stiff manner of humans, Eva swiveled her head to sweep her gaze through a half-circle of arc. “You Snakes, I know you are watching and listening. You better watch us! We won’t go down easily.”

Taunting the armed K’vithians was folly! Gwu supposed the threat would divert some few more resources to watching them and guarding access to the prison areas. To the extent of that redirection, the threat might assist the rescuers. She struggled to recover another fragment from her long-ago study of humans, something about windmills and madmen. Eva’s dare to their captors was so … quixotic.

And yet, what had caution accomplished for the crew-kindred?

Gwu’s thoughts swung around and around as her new friend returned to the cluster of humans. Rescuers were aboard the ship—outnumbered, would-be rescuers surely doomed to captivity or death. Could her people swing the balance? Could the few human prisoners, now abruptly scattering in pairs as though in search, make the difference?
Harmony
had never carried weapons, and the K’vithians had certainly not provided any to the crew-kindred.

The humans’ defiance was somehow bracing. Gwu recovered her hoe and began hacking at the tough vines, the jarring blows oddly satisfying. Suppose, she thought, just suppose. What
could
we do?

Art stood in inky darkness, shoulders hunched to the extent spacesuit and closet walls would allow, shivering. The traumatized six-year-old who had never left him wanted only to scream. He clamped his jaws before any sound could escape. What else could he control?

Occasional rumbles and vibrations gave witness to the battles still ongoing. Enigmatic commands and clipped, desperate reports over encrypted net channels did the same. He could do nothing to influence those events, either.

He had reached graduate school before admitting why, really, he had made his career choice. Engineering meant understanding how things worked, how to prevent accidents, how to recover from accidents if necessary. Becoming an engineer was a way never again to be a helpless observer to disaster. Never again a victim.

How did that work out for you, Art?

He pulled in a long, deep breath. The pressure suit fought his attempt to expand his ribcage. He ignored that as beyond his control, directing his awareness to his diaphragm. In … hold … out. In … hold … out. Even … gentle … breathing. He added images of lapping waves, sparkling sun, seabirds wheeling and piping overhead. Slowly, the panic ebbed.

Guilt replaced the panic, and was just as unproductive. What could he do?

He pulled up the mission’s consensual tactical display. The detailed—and false—map on which the raid had been planned was gone. A patchwork of discovered passageways and featureless terra incognita replaced it. Scattered ‘bots, like so many modern electronic breadcrumbs, marked a path back to the launch bay. The two raiding parties were at opposite sides of the ship. Replaying recent status updates showed the decoy team pinned down and Carlos’ team under assault.

What
could
he do?

Terra incognita stretched all around him, interrupted only by the path threaded by the fast-moving special-ops team. Would following them be wise? Probably not. But he
could
work on the map. With a thought, he superimposed over the map the positions of every gnat-sized ‘bot. Carefully, he set several to exploring. The little devices flew down corridors, and into and along air ducts. The ducts allowed him to circumvent many closed doors.

“Carlos.” He netted an image “Snakes in combat armor headed your way.”

“Welcome back.”

“I only caught the end of a group going around a corner, moving faster than the ‘bot could follow. I saw eight.”

“Thanks. Keep watching.”

The map began filling out, although at the ‘bots’ bug-like speed, exploring the whole ship would take days. Days they did not have. Art gave himself a silent cheer after two ‘bots made it between the closing doors of what appeared to be the main central elevator. Most enemy troop movements traversed the ship by elevator. He sent one ‘bot after a big group of Snakes in armor.

Uh-oh. He netted another image. “Carlos. There’s a bunch setting up outside the engine room.” There was no answer. “Carlos? What do you need?”

A loud rumble, and another tremor shook the floor. “A new plan would be handy.”

Mashkith circled the current tactical holo. The main human assault team remained surrounded and immobilized, although by fewer troops than had originally blunted their advance. Lothwer still had more than ample resources to defeat or destroy them. At the opposite end of the ship, Glithwah directed a hastily gathered second force. They had blocked the advance of the second raiding party, whose existence she had confirmed, and secured the engine room. Armed patrols now swept the ship from bow to stern, seeking the source of slowly spreading encrypted radio chatter. Reserves were positioned at several spots throughout the ship.

All the military police were now under Keffah’s command, to reinforce security in and around the prisoner area. Eva Gutierrez’s words were almost certainly empty bravado—but what if she incited her cohorts to foolishness? Abduction of the human experts had cost too many lives—on both sides. Mashkith did not intend to lose any of them—or their expertise—now. Would a show of force intimidate them, or spark their slaughter? Claws extending and retracting in repressed rage and frustration, he refined Keffah’s orders: The prisoners were to be contained but otherwise ignored unless overtly hostile acts threatened.

Protected: bridge and engine room, family barracks and farm/prison, supplies. Deployed: prepositioned reserves and active patrols in search of the unexpected. Everything is under control, Mashkith told himself. Everything is firmly under control.

It did not feel under control.

A large chunk of Art’s ever-evolving map was a sealed-off region protected by lightly armed guards. Behind the barriers, a good third of the ship remained unknown. He directed more and more ‘bots at the enigmatic zone, to be stymied each time by locked-and-guarded doors and heavily filtered air ducts.

It was a mystery that would have to wait. The ‘bots also showed patrols sweeping the hallways, opening doors. In a few minutes, the turn of his deck would come. His closet torture chamber and haven would be revealed. Guided by IR images captured by the ‘bots, Art crept toward an empty stairwell. The door closed silently behind him as, in his augmented vision, the elevator opened to admit five armed Snakes onto his deck. He retreated up the stairs to the deck they had just vacated, cringing at every soft scuff of his boots.

He had not seen Centaurs or human prisoners. He had not seen into the sealed region. Coincidence? Probably not. He had also not yet seen any significant plant life, and there had to be a biosphere, a sustainable oxygen source somewhere.
Victorious
had launched from Alpha Cen with a Centaur-friendly ecosystem. The ship must still have one, behind filters rigged to impede sulfur contamination.

With any luck, he would be undisturbed for a few minutes in a laboratory just checked out and cleared by the patrol. He settled to the floor, his back to a sturdy cabinet. In the map, ‘bots now surrounded the unknown zone. He switched encryptions to diplomatic-mission standard.

For all his confident theorizing, it was a relief to finally “hear” Eva’s voice.

Humans roamed the farm, exploring the limits of their confinement. They searched cabinets and storerooms, seeking for Gwu knew not what. Weapons, she supposed, recalling Eva’s brave words.