Edward M. Lerner (37 page)

With a snarl, Lothwer launched himself into yet another furious circuit of the deck.
I cannot allow the old fool to treat abject defeat as strategy.

“Your action a rebellion,” Mashkith netted. Before him, Lothwer floated erect and unrepentant. He had been insubordinately slow to honor the summons.

“My duty now at the front, not the Foremost’s cabin.”

“Defiance of my direct order.” Mashkith evoked a holo from archived surveillance-camera data, and let Lothwer watch himself visit various storerooms. All were on the forward deck bordering the human-controlled region. The satchel Lothwer carried became less and less bulky as he progressed. “Explosions in three of these rooms. Pretext for your assault.”

Lothwer fought back a blink-blink. “Inspection tour. Subsequent human attack validation of my suspicions.”

“Ruptures all downward through floor.” Do you think I am a fool? Explosives, had they been placed by the humans on the ceiling of the deck
they
controlled, would have burst upward.

“My action necessary. Our victory imminent.” Lothwer made no attempt now to suppress the double-blink of condescension.

“Our casualties excessive and avoidable. Your action mutinous. Keffah now my tactical officer. My orders to her: disengagement of our forces from herd and onboard humans.”

“And then submission to humans.”

“And then trade with humans.” Mashkith suddenly felt old. “If still possible after recent crew casualties. Potent appearance of our fleet essential to our negotiating position. Your confinement to your cabin, in immediate effect.”

“My leadership necessary for victory.”

How could Lothwer not see it? His disobedience might have cost the clan victory—although their concepts of victory surely differed. Could Arblen Ems still stage a sufficient show of force to instill caution in the approaching fleet? “To your cabin at once, Lothwer.”

“And after your ignominious surrender, Foremost?”

In his anger, Mashkith almost missed the expectant gleam in Lothwer’s eyes. “Your alternative?”

“Battle to the death, not surrender in shame. Glory and revenge. Greatness of Arblen Ems for all time in the memory of Hunters and humans and herd.”

Mashkith had devoted his life to the clan’s renewed greatness. To him, greatness meant accomplishment and influence and growth—with survival a precursor to all else. This twisting of his dream sickened him. “Guards,” he netted. “Confinement to quarters of Lothwer.”

He had failed as a mentor. He must not, and would not, fail the clan as its Foremost.

“In the eye of the storm.”

With only the slightest of variations, that expression, like the twisting storms created by planetary spin, was shared by all member species of InterstellarNet. For most of his life, Mashkith could only observe great cyclones from his exile in the cometary belt. How strange it was to have crossed interstellar space to first experience one. How profusely his hosts had apologized when a parade in the K’vithians’ honor was delayed for a day by a hurricane that skirted Washington! How unnecessarily! Little did they understand how the experience had exhilarated him.

Great forces surrounded Mashkith again. The enemy fleet would be upon them by the end of the watch. The enemy combatants aboard
Victorious
were quiescent, but might be spurred to action at any time—and soon, if not already, the fleet would reestablish radio contact despite the clan’s best efforts to prevent it. The pressures had led his tactical officer, and perhaps others among the crew, to the brink of mutiny.

The eye of the storm: great danger from every side.

Had he sufficiently considered the danger from his erstwhile lieutenant?

Glory and revenge. What had Lothwer advocated? The exact words were recorded in Mashkith’s implant. “Battle to the death, not surrender in shame. Glory and revenge. Greatness of Arblen Ems for all time in the memory of Hunters and humans and herd.”

Great danger. Great forces. Lothwer. Suspicion others in the crew might also be on the brink of mutiny. A horrible possibility took shape in his subconscious mind—a possibility that became all too real when he discovered a bound and gagged guard inside Lothwer’s cabin. Lothwer himself was absent.

Mashkith raced across the ship, hoping desperately to be mistaken.

When all is lost, Lothwer thought, a grand gesture remains.

Did the Foremost think to hold
him
prisoner? Did Mashkith think to immobilize him through the mock respect of posting only a token guard? Perhaps. If either was true, that was but one more manifestation of weakness.

Those who had served under Lothwer aboard
Valorous
knew his worth. A netted request to a few loyal subordinates set him free. As, in its own way,
Valorous
would set them all free.

Glory and revenge.

If Mashkith was correct, deadly force would be required to eliminate this peril. He could more quickly reach Lothwer—again, if he was correct—than he could overcome the inevitable questions and doubts of crewpersons asked to attack on sight one of their own. And any random crewman or—woman whose help he sought might turn out to be an ally of Lothwer.

Mashkith sped through the long corridors, ignoring the surprised expressions on those he jostled in his haste. His worst collision coincided with another of the occasional wobbles that continued to disable the fusion drive. Panting, he entered
Renown
, still docked where it had returned from the rescue of
Valorous
. The herd lifeboat remained in the belly of
Renown
. And in the belly of that lifeboat remained enough antimatter to spawn a cataclysm.

Corridor surveillance showed Lothwer, carrying a bulky satchel, approaching the airlock whose flexible docking tube Mashkith had just crossed.

Mashkith triggered a release, and the docking tube drifted free of
Renown
. “No closer.”

“Only a moment’s delay,” netted back Lothwer, his avatar insolent in tone and pose. His pack floated as he struggled to get into one of the emergency pressure suits stored by the docking bay.

“A sufficient delay.” Mashkith slapped the emergency power-up. He buckled himself into the pilot seat as fuel pumps pressurized for the chemical maneuvering rockets.

“No!” Lothwer stopped mid-change and slapped the airlock’s emergency override. Both hatches slid open. Lothwer jetted out with the escaping air, mouth agape, screaming to release the gases bubbling out of his lungs. He slammed into the hull of
Renown
, not far from its airlock, the bulging pack hanging by its strap from his hand.

The pumps were barely pressurized. They might suffice to make the engines sputter; they would not quickly move a warship. Mashkith fired the forward attitude jets anyway. An edge of flame washed over Lothwer. Mind to mind, he screamed.

The flames detonated the explosives in the satchel. Mashkith’s final thought, as he lost consciousness, was relief that the shrieking had stopped.

New screeching roused Mashkith from his stupor. Vaguely, he decided, the noise resembled a vacuum alarm. The sound was too weak for a vacuum alarm, though, and it was fading fast….

He straightened in his seat with a start, fighting to undo the buckles he had just struggled to fasten. He screamed, open-mouthed, as Lothwer had moments ago. Mashkith’s lungs ached, and beneath their nictitating membranes his eyeballs felt on the verge of rupture by the time he had an emergency patch in place. As cabin pressure returned, he sprayed about liberally with a fire extinguisher. Then he checked status.

Renown
’s nose had crumpled. Its co-pilot and astrogator consoles were reduced to sparking, smoking scrap. The pilot’s console was sufficiently operable to show a spectrum of alarms in near and far red. A glance through the main viewport revealed
Renown
slowly recoiling from the docking airlocks. Crunching noises overhead proved a slight vertical component of motion that had not been visually certain. Scraping persisted as the ship continued its backward slide.

How long before the lifeboat’s antimatter containment system failed?

The fifth internal sensor he tried imaged the interior of the scoop tank. The lifeboat Lothwer had dubbed
Valorous
had torn loose from its moorings and was in a slow spin. Its cockpit viewport pulsed with the painfully bright yellow lights used by the herd for its alarms.

Art awoke instantly to the TEOTWAWKI alert from Mashkith. “Dr. Walsh, I cannot overemphasize the urgency of this communication. This translator derives from the one you call Pashwah. If that AI is not totally trusted by you, link in any you choose.”

“Joe,” Art netted. “Done.”

“An act of suicidal sabotage has occurred. One of my crew.” A smoke-filled cockpit pulsating luridly replaced Mashkith’s avatar. “In the hold of this warship, the only fully fueled Centaur lifeboat, the lifeboat your people pursued, is about to lose its antimatter containment. It likely holds more antimatter than what remained behind to destroy Himalia.”

“What can we do?” Frantically, Art sent a TEOTWAWKI alert to Carlos.

“We must get this lifeboat off
Victorious
, and far away.”

“Why tell me?” A corner of his attention noted Carlos linking in. The flashing of the red lights was becoming stroboscopic. Hypnotic. But was it real or simulated?

“I am telling you so your fleet does not make the mistake of attacking me as I launch. My first show of good faith: About forty UP ships will be here within an hour by your reckoning.”

“Forty-two ships,” came Carlos’ aside. His special-ops team had made direct contact not quite two hours earlier over UPIA spacesuit radios. “What’s Mashkith up to?”

Carlos had asked the right question. “Why should we trust
you
, Foremost?”

“You have no reason—yet.” His avatar made a circular head motion. “But without your trust we will all die. You have sensors on all decks. Have your translator report what I am about to announce.”

An intercom boomed all around, in the shrill, warbling voice of a Snake. “It’s Mashkith,” Joe said. “That’s confirmed by voiceprint. The same announcement is being made on all decks.”

“What’s he saying?” Carlos asked.

“The Foremost is surrendering—but to K’Choi Gwu ka.”

Renown
grazed a docked scoopship before drifting out of the landing bay. Through the pilot’s viewport,
Victorious
loomed like a small world. No, it
is
a small world, Mashkith thought, and my whole clan is on it. Only I can save them.

But would the clan heed his words?

“Arblen Ems: Our deeds epic, our accomplishments larger than life, larger than the vastness of interstellar space. Sadly, courage and devotion not guarantors of success. The shortcoming all my own.” Who but himself could he blame for his misplaced trust in Lothwer, for instilling in Lothwer great tactical skill without the dedication to the clan to guide it?

They had come
so
close. Had
Valorous
not been detected after Himalia, or had Lothwer kept faith only a little longer, the clan would have escaped. Even now, but for Lothwer’s despair, they would all have
lived
with all the glory anyone could want. In the sense that thriving despite the hostility of others can be revenge, then revenge, too, would have been theirs.

At the last, the only lesson Lothwer had learned was to have a back-up plan. He had brought explosives, not relied upon activating the lifeboat’s interstellar drive to trigger catastrophe.

The humans are right not to trust me, Mashkith thought. They are right not to trust
any
Hunter—but unless he could inculcate trust now, all would die. “Clan mates, your bravery and sacrifice commendable. The time now for wisdom. Resources of this vast solar system too much for the most valiant Hunters. Attack imminent of great human fleet. Requirement now of your bravery and wisdom: recognition of harsh realities.”

It was the most critical speech of his life, yet only the merest fraction of his attention could be allotted to delivering it. A few attitude jets still worked, and sporadically a little of the flight automation. As Mashkith spoke, he struggled to reorient the ship. After each gentle nudge of his jets, the unmoored lifeboat within bumped yet again against some part of the hold. For the clan to survive, he must quickly move
Renown
far away. If one of the onrushing human ships merely reduced its deceleration, it would be quickly upon him. And were it to attack….

“Clan survival imperative above all else. The consequence: this directive from me as Foremost of Arblen Ems. Immediate submission of all Hunters to the original Foremost of
Victorious
: K’Choi Gwu ka. Handover of all weapons to the ka and her crew.”

As
Renown
’s battered nose finally swung around to point outward from the Sun, away from the pursuing fleet, he began gently to accelerate. The lifeboat, with a soft crunch, came to rest against the stern of the tank. Its cockpit was ablaze with yellow. How long did he have?

“Suicidal despair already by some. Result: the attempted destruction of all. The Foremost’s final duty: removal of this deadly peril from
Victorious
.”