Forever Shores (32 page)

But he fought. The part of him they'd used to bring him and trap him there was made for fighting and he flailed at their fiercely gentling dark. Kept self. Kept something of the same core that he'd found small and hard and so determined in Khoumy, that was so bravely and resolutely there in the haunted, self-haunting mind of Green Glaive, that had risen up as a whispering, stripped nugget of being in the Ship's Eye of
Rynosseros
on that worst of days, that was in the essence of Sajanna Marron Best and the creop Lady Say and others, others. Things of the heart. Things of the dance and the living. Things turning in the light he fought to bring to this enfolding
sleep now
darkness. He spun in the tender grip of their minds, remembering. Became the remembering. Like Khoumy, like Glaive and the rest. Telling what was. Simply yet never simply was.

Rose up to lights running, pouring down, coloured lights flashing and flickering, woke to glinting brass and blue in a different darkness, less blue than he liked or wanted, and sharply edged, framed. But a good dark this. With faces. Faces and lights.

Woke to it, knew it, tried to rise to it, swimming up, plunging forward.

‘Steady, Tom,' Tamas Hamm said, cancelling a year or more by being there. Captain Ha-Ha, trickster of Quaelitz, creature of another time. ‘We flash-stunned every Clever Man we could find. They had to let you go.'

‘Go,' Tom said, marvelling. Tamas Hamm! And the lights! The lights and glinting brass. ‘Serenya!'

‘Hello, dear Tom,' the antique Lady said, and the lights of her Israel Board flickered like jewels across the face of the life-support column positioned by his bed.

They were all there. Mylo. Starman Guy. Tom was in a cabin, aboard
Almagest
, that lean lizard of a ship, a true pirate ship.
Laughing Man
itself. That was sky through the ports and these were friends.

‘Where …?'

‘At the engagement point,' Hamm said. ‘Still cloaked.'

‘You brought down the Kite. Had hangars dug. Underground ambush points—'

‘More this time, Tom,' Serenya said. ‘Tamas arranged for a decommissioned comsat and some other volatile space junk to collide with the tribal sat tracking this operation.'

‘You can do that?'

Hamm smiled. ‘My helpers and associates occasionally can. Only once in the greatest while. Contingency, though not just for this. But this was worth it. This is the sort of thing it was for.'

Tom sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bunk and steadied himself.

‘Tamas—I'm honoured. All of you.'

‘You honour us, Tom. You opened it all up again, you and the other Captains. Things were so fixed. A few of us, myself, others, felt we needed to act. The tribes know so much, do so much, control so much. But they have left openings, weaknesses, chinks in their armour. Forgotten that others were using the old tech as well—
against
them, and
because
of them. They grew complacent with their prescriptions and tribal feuds. Did not see that every other status quo is a going backwards. This will chasten them, sober them.'

‘Unite them.'

‘If you can believe it. But no toner like adversity.'

‘We've been called to the Air.'

‘You have. The Princes are gathering. It's Convocation. Djuringa business. They say you face five hundred ships now. Can you imagine it? One from every tribe, every State. A thousand more watching, running perimeter. We dare not risk it. Not there. But here we can. They did not want you reaching the other Captains. They wanted you back, wanted you alive if they could manage it.'

‘Tartalen is at Azira.'

‘And has things to tell you. Officially. We know. That's what did it. Once back on
Rynosseros
, you can declare official summons and go to him. Make it known. The Order dare not stop you then. But there is so little time and you are here, not with your ship. The Captains are due at the Air in two days. The Order means to delay you. You will never reach Azira.'

‘Unless I can learn something here. Find something to trade so I
can
reach
Rynosseros
.'

‘The way to play it, I agree. Which is why we are still here. Why we have twenty-three Clever Men and as many ships' officers waiting to be questioned. But it has to be soon. The Madupan, San-Mar and Chansallarangi sats have been commandeered. The Emmened grid has released too on tether. We can't stay hidden long.'

‘Show me the Clever Men.'

Hamm turned to his officers. ‘Mylo, Guy, take Tom to see our guests.'

It was a dazzling display on the commons of
Almagest
: the Clever Men in their suits of lights seated in three lines, the jewel-heads standing about them in their glittering distortion masks, brandishing their parrot guns. A second group—the ships' officers—sat as quietly close by.
Almagest
had kites lofted, both for shade and in case of a quick departure: photonic parafoils mostly, but with six death-lamps, as many laser-batts salvaged from the stores of the tribal ships, and two stranger kites shaped like trefoils—likely cloaking assists provided by Tosi-Go or one of the other sponsors.

Tom put on desert shades against the glare and crossed to the seated Clever Men and officers. He stood so he could address both groups.

‘Fleet commander, please stand and declare.'

An older Ab'O among the officers rose to his feet, a fine imposing figure in unmarked fighting leathers, clearly angry but determined to keep his dignity at all costs. ‘Senna Gen Tradu,' he said.

‘Mission commander, Senna?'

‘Fleet.'

‘The mission commander, please.'

A Clever Man stood this time, slightly younger than Tradu, equally controlled, dazzling to look upon. ‘Akidy Jan Tullus,' he said.

‘Other mission command officers, Akidy, Senna? Think carefully.'

‘We all serve the Order,' Akidy Jan Tullus said. ‘Everyone here can be activated to command. But Senna and I lead this operation. We assign.'

‘Good. Then you are responsible.'

Nothing from the older man. A quick nod from the younger.

‘Your mission brief, Akidy, Senna?'

‘We will say no more,' the older Ab'O answered.

‘Then you will all go with
Almagest
.'

‘To what possible end, Captain?' Senna asked.

‘None of your concern. You have struck at a Coloured Captain.'

Senna's anger showed at last. ‘You are a pirate because of Caerdria! You consort with pirates serving outside enemies! You kidnapped the Lady Dusein. Stole a Gerias Kite. We are the legal response to that.'

Tom saw how they meant to play it. No admissions about retrieving lost life experiments, about incepts and scribed DNA. Perhaps they didn't know more, though Tom found that hard to believe. ‘I have a long list too, Senna, and I am the official response to it. I am at the point where twenty-three Clever Men dead are now twenty-three less.
You
have taught me to think like this.'

‘You wouldn't dare,' Senna said. ‘Why would you?'

‘Seven ships against five hundred at the Air in two days. Why would you?'

Senna was silent at that, but Akidy spoke. ‘Who knows what may happen in light—of this?'

‘Then you will use the mindline, Akidy. You will let me know when the call to the Air has been revoked, when the sats are reassigned and the Princes return home. Until then, your liberty is forfeit. You will remain in the hold.'

‘What of our crews?'

‘Confined to the hold of
Charkenter
.'

‘Captain, for how long? Sats are moving, more ships coming in. You know this.'

‘Then your principles count your lives lightly.'

And Tom turned and left the commons. Starman Guy immediately shouted orders. The jewel-heads began escorting the Clever Men below.

When Tom reached the main aft cabin, he found Tamas sitting before Serenya's cylinder, almost exactly as he'd left them.

‘Tamas, I need to see what they now do. Those Clever Men are prime mind-fighters, but they are scientists and strategists too. They will use the mindline, will know that I expect them to. They will probably wait for me in case I follow, try again to achieve what they started. They have nothing to lose. But I need to monitor what they say.'

Tamas frowned. ‘Can you withstand so many?'

‘I have no idea.'

The lights ran on the Israel Board. ‘What do you hope to learn, Tom?' Serenya asked.

‘Whatever I can. When has the Order ever acted this openly?'

‘In exactly twenty minutes, we go,' Tamas said. ‘You need to reach
Rynosseros
. Get to Azira and stop this. We need to reach sanctuary.'

‘Then give me a comm mote to the hold watch crews, both here and on
Charkenter
. If they strike at me, immediate stunning may be needed again.'

In less than three minutes, Tom lay on his bunk in the darkened cabin again with a comm mote at his throat. Serenya remained close by in her support cradle, lights running softly in the gloom, but Hamm went with Mylo and Starman Guy to plan contingencies. They were stranded halfway through an operation and it worried them.

Tom left them to that. With eyes closed and hands folded on his chest, he began the translation. It was like tipping back into himself, and in moments he was in those familiar roiling corridors of aspect, a willing POV in a shadowland that lacked so much form yet seemed to take whatever was brought with expectation and projection. Who knew what it really was, what it remained when no one was there to require sense of it? But at the very least corridors, yes, highways. Ways through.

Nothing waited for him in that underworld that he could tell, though there were lights and voices ahead, energies twisting, glimmering: the Clever Men ranging, calling. Becoming. Powerful translations there, major vectors. And there was urgency everywhere, incredible presence—especially in contrast to the controlled calm of those men earlier.

Mind war ahead, Tom knew. Fiercest of the Heroes: Ashbiani and Colte, Dos and Imbaro, Challamang, Soonol, Anbas and Marduk, aspects assumed and readied.

Tom needed anything but that. If they came,
when
they came, so be it. No choice then. He would learn as he went. But it was the words he wanted, and so worked to unbraid the strands he discovered suddenly there, fingertouch sampling so as not to alert their makers, found that he could do it, no less than those who had come feather-dancing for him earlier.

Much was idiom and dialect, he found, and therefore useless, but he worked through them all, unpicking, sorting the strands.

‘… tegana mestu pa sokas, argenna re digan …'

‘… don't see how they could possibly …'

‘… enja—enja—enja piatu—enja—enja …'

‘… within twenty-seven minutes. Delaying them further may …'

‘… to deal with Ha-Ha once and for all if only …'

‘… Imbaro—Imbaro—Imbaro—Imbaro …'

‘… secanta a tenti pos a. Ginas by, ginas by intani mas …'

‘… sometimes, but we will need to ask, and perhaps there …'

‘… Vanu—
ay es
Vanu—Vanu—
ay es
Vanu—Vanu …'

‘… as you say, marsan, we can manage more, but only …'

‘… that title. I have sent to activate Carlyr. Sent to confirm …'

‘… some way to distract these guards while Maku uses …'

Tom snatched at that one thread, that key word, marsan, and the reply, found it again and forced location, found it where he'd expected it to be, not on
Almagest
at all, but farther off, in the hold of
Charkenter
, yes! He ranged out, making the path, knowing shapes would come just as the words had, Heroes, deadly protectors, vectors, whatever they were. But needed to risk it, needed that one. Saw the Heroes looming—scraps of Gris and Vanu, rare and powerful, bright Colte as well—and so vocalised to Hamm and the others. Intended to at least.

‘Be ready
Charkente
r
! Hidden Clever Man. Mission commander. I will shout in their minds. One at least will respond. Stun him!'

Tom said it again in case the words hadn't formed, then yelled down the line, sent the shout of naked force, the word suddenly there, a truer name of power than he had realised.

‘Rynemonn!'

Heard the chaos ahead, the shrieked response, fierce and involuntary, heard voices muttering, saw the entoptic spread as mindline phosphenes cohered and delivered the yield.

Biaime, it was! A splendid Imbaro, finest he'd seen since Anna Kemp, the great War Owl rising up there on its own. Never truer. Never more deadly. This hidden one was good.

Tom reached for Soonol, Colte or Challamang, any that would come, but even as he struggled for hold on Colte saw Imbaro vanish, wink out just like that, and knew what had happened in the outer world at this dangerous moment.

The hidden Clever Man had been found and stunned.

Tom plunged back through the quickening night, away from
Charkenter
, snatching at threads in case, reading the new turmoil there.

‘… did you feel it? That was him. That was …'

‘… has struck at us. Has to be, and I say we lose no …'

‘… anyone? Can anyone tell? I'm not getting …'

Then Tom struck up into the day, rose up inside his mind and looked out through his eyes again. Hamm was there, and Starman Guy, and Serenya of course, and the aft cabin of
Almagest
, but
Almagest
moving, he knew it at once. Reeling from his quest, Tom frowned at the sensations of motion, bewildered.

‘We have him, Tom,' Hamm said. ‘Cleven Nos Peray. The real mission commander. He is safely on
Sycorax
and we are moving in time with her. We'll send you across on a bosun's line.'