Land of the Dead (16 page)

“Impact rate?” The
Naniwa
was at very low v as she maneuvered into a parking station a safe distance from the unnamed research station.

“Forty-five percent,” responded the weapons officer. “And we’re nearly dead slow.”

Susan nodded, leaning back in the shockchair. “Holloway, you and Konev work up some velocity metrics for me—how fast can we go, how best to configure the transit deflectors. We need to make headway in this mess. I want something by end of the watch.”

“
Hai
,
Chu-sa!
” both voices chimed together in near unison.

“And get us a name for that station—something simple.”

Holloway smiled tightly. He’d already queried the
Temasek
—the lead of the two Survey Service frigates—for the latest news. “They’re calling it the
Can
,
Chu-sa
. Very imaginative.”

“That will do.” Kosh
ō
considered the threatwell for a moment, trying to map out the local terrain in her mind. This was just the situation—some nasty, unknown patch of space filled with hidden opponents, tangled local politics, and unsteady stellar phenomena—that Hadeishi excelled in.
Nothing drains the strength of your opponent,
he would say,
faster than unknown ground. But if you are alert, even the most treacherous swamp can be your ally, a third arm striking at the enemy.

A message chime on her board interrupted the memory. Susan started to grimace, seeing the
Tokiwa
’s
mon
chopped on the header, but then smiled slightly as the message unspooled.

“
Socho
Juarez, I’ll need a shuttle prepped and a guard-party suitable for the squadron staff meeting.”

The marine, never far away by earbug, replied immediately: “
Hai
,
Chu-sa
. We’ll be ready in fifteen minutes, boat-bay three.”

Good
, she thought, relieved to finally get a chance to meet her fellow squadron commanders and exchange proper introductions with
Chu-sho
Xocoyotl.
Now we’ll find out what the devil is going on out here.

*   *   *

The staff conference room on the
Tokiwa
was crowded, hot, and noisy as the last of the squadron commanders found their seats.
Chu-sho
Xocoyotl’s staff were arrayed along the walls, while everyone else was present at a long oval table which folded up out of the floor. The flag battle-cruiser was an older model than the
Naniwa
, though still in the Provincial class, and this same room did not exist in the current configuration of Kosh
ō
’s ship. If memory served, a suite of Logistics and Supply offices occupied the same internal coordinates.

“Admiral on deck,” barked one of the
Tokiwa
’s marine sergeants and everyone stood.

Xocoyotl was of medium height, carrying a bit too much flesh on his bones, and the color of polished mahogany. His high cheekbones caught a gleam from the overheads as he took his place at the head of the table. “Sit,” he growled—his voice was even deeper in person than over stellarcast.

“Our business here comes under purview of the Imperial Secrets Act,” he said with a scowl. “The Mirror is leading an investigation of some local phenomena and Fleet is providing security for their operations. Beyond this, I am informed we do not need to know
anything
.”

He stopped, glanced around the room at all of the officers, snorted, and continued in the near-perfect silence.

“Survey informs us this area of the
kuub
is tremendously dangerous. It is also uncharted and there are no navigational beacons within range. I expect, therefore, that all watches will be fully staffed and weapons will be maintained in ready status at all times.”

Xocoyotl flashed a tight, frosty smile at Kosh
ō
. “At least one of our ships—the
Naniwa
—has a fresh crew, a fresh captain and has not yet completed trials. I expect the other combatants to make allowance for this when plotting combat vectors.”

To her credit, Susan remained entirely still while the
Chu-sho
went on about the combat patrol pattern he expected of the other ships, and she did not let her outrage show in any obvious way. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she could see some of the cruiser captains glancing sidelong at her in puzzlement.
How could I be more circumspect,
she wondered,
in suggesting that deployment change during transit? Losing one of the support ships would have crippled the entire mission.

“Scientist Cuaxicali? Your turn.” Xocoyotl gestured abruptly at a fat little Méxica civilian in a Survey Service mantle who had been standing by one of the doors. One of the admiral’s aides keyed up a projector panel and the lights dimmed. Cuaxicali cleared his throat, looked at the
Chu-sho
questioningly—received a snarl in response—and then began tapping on a slim silver comp with his stylus.

Behind him the projector shifted aspect and a holo of the surrounding region sprang into view. The collection of ships arrayed “south” of the
Can
appeared with Imperial standard glyphs. “North” of them, a broad area of crimson points appeared.

“Avoid this range of spatial coordinates,” Cuaxicali said, indicating the beelike swarm of scarlet, “if you wish to keep your ship intact. This is the area of our—ah—
the
phenomenon. And it is exceptionally dangerous.”

The assembled captains looked at one another, then a forest of arms went up to ask for details.

“No, no. No questions.” Cuaxicali shook his head nervously. “This is a matter of the utmost security. There is no other information available at this time save what I’ve shown you—a copy of these astronomical charts has already been commed to your navigators.”

“Surely you can tell us what sort of peril to expect?” a loud voice boomed across the conference room.

“I could,” Cuaxicali agreed, attempting a consoling smile. “But for safety’s sake I will not.”

A red-haired
Chu-sa
whom Susan remembered vaguely from Chapultepec stood up and asked, “Begging your pardon, Scientist Cuaxicali, but please explain how can it be safe to not know the nature of our opponent? Or even what it looks like?”

An ill-disguised snort of laughter erupted at the back of the conference room.

Cuaxicali’s face changed abruptly into a sort of maroon-olive. Susan was not sure she’d seen the exact shade before, on anyone, anywhere.

Chu-sho
Xocoyotl stood up and surveyed the assembled officers with one raised eyebrow. The room settled down.

“That is all. Return to your ships. Patrol patterns will be distributed by third watch.”

*   *   *

Five hours later, as second watch was winding down, Kosh
ō
was back on the Command deck in a fresh uniform, her hair slick from a fast shower. For the moment, the bridge was double-staffed as the crew prepared for turnover. Amid all of the commotion, she had taken a moment to comm up the two officers she remembered from the Academy. Both of them—Muldoon on the
Falchion
and Tloc on the
Axe
—had been surprised to hear from her.

“Not often you high-flying battle-cruiser commanders take the time to say hello to the plow horses,” said Muldoon after they’d confirmed a private channel and triggered their own encryption. “But it’s good to see you again, Kosh
ō
-
tzin
.”

“Likewise,” grumbled Tloc. The Ciguayan captain had acquired a bad set of burn scars on the side of his face since graduation day. “How did you get on Xocoyotl’s bad side? I’ve never heard him rip a junior officer like that before.”

“I gave him some advice,” Susan said, shaking her head slightly. “I should have known better.”

Muldoon laughed. “Admirals know all and see all, remember? Just like the upper form prefects on Grasshopper Hill. The Runner said you’d been the wise woman behind that formation change during transit—but I didn’t think he’d take it so hard.”

Tloc grimaced. “I’m on my second posting with him—he knows best and likes it that way.”

Kosh
ō
frowned, feeling worse for having the extent of her misstep made so clear. “My last commander would’ve expected me to suggest a better course, if I saw one.”

“Then you were lucky.” Muldoon’s normally lively tone flattened. “I heard Hadeishi was beached. That’s too bad, everyone said he was a fine ship-handler.”

Susan nodded, once. “Too good, sometimes. I have been reminded—repeatedly—that being very good can lead to believing you can do the impossible
one more time
than you can.”

Both men nodded, sobered. “That’s the truth,” Tloc said, touching the side of his face.

“So what about
this
mess?” Kosh
ō
felt the memory of Hadeishi weighing on her. “What does Painal the Runner say about this most secret of secrets?”

Muldoon perked up, laying one finger alongside his nose. “My money is on a quantum-level distortion. We could see it from here, except it’s invisible to our sensor suite.”

“How could—” Susan started to ask, but Tloc interjected:

“My information says a gravitational distortion’s been detected around a huge volume, all of it clogged with nova debris. Almost impenetrable to scanning … just to twist the screw another thread.”

“And I’ve heard if you run into this phenomena you get cut to bits.” Muldoon made a throat-cutting gesture. “Word is a pair of Survey ships tried to break through and ended up literally dissected.”

Susan frowned. “Do these lost ships have names? Any detail at all?”

“Not yet, but give me some time,” Tloc replied. “I’ve got about a ton of
chocolatl
and
kaffe
in personal stowage.”

Ten minutes later, after arranging a trade to keep the kitchen happy, Kosh
ō
signed off. The second watch was in the process of leaving Command, most yawning, some already busy in conversation with their fellows. The comm duty officer and the assistant navigator were a step slow and Susan beckoned them over.

“Rumor says a pair of Survey scouts caught hold of the
Chu-sho
’s phenomena by the sharp end. See if you can pick out any wrecked ships in the immediate vicinity. They ought to be the other side of the
Can.
Keep your eyes open for
anything
out of place. Something very odd killed those scouts—and I’d like to avoid the same fate.”

*   *   *

The quiet of the off-watch officer’s mess was broken by a soft voice: “
Chu-sa
Kosh
ō
?”

Susan looked up from her cup of tea. It was Navigator’s Assistant Llang, trying to suppress a huge grin. Susan beckoned her over. “We’ve got ’em,
kyo
.” Llang blurted, comp clutched to her chest. “All three. It’s—”

“Not to be discussed here.” Kosh
ō
silenced the girl with a sharp look. The
Chu-sa
picked up her tea and guided the young
Thai-i
back out the door at a brisk walk. “Let’s use my station on the bridge instead.”

In the lift, as the decklights blurred past, Susan considered the young Tagalog lieutenant. This was the girl’s second duty posting—she’d come recommended from the
Mac Allan
, a frigate working shipping lane patrols around Alpha Centauri—and Kosh
ō
was sure she had very little political experience. After a moment she said quietly, “There may be those aboard
Naniwa
who will have lost friends or family in those ships. We do not want to break such sad news in a casual way.”

Third watch should have found the bridge nearly deserted, but when the lift doors rotated away, every duty station was staffed and there were four or five extra bodies present, holding up the walls and checking console diagnostics that had been checked only the day before. Oc Chac nodded as she approached.

“Show me.” Kosh
ō
nodded to Llang, who slipped into a seat at the comm and sensor station. The
Thai-i
’s stylus skittered across the control surfaces with admirable speed. Immediately a series of navigation diagrams appeared and a holo rotated into view, showing the science platform, the debris clouds in the immediate vicinity and then—three sharp taps zoomed the focus far, far down, showing an indistinct smear a goodly distance from the
Can
, deep into the area marked off by the Mirror as out-of-bounds.