Linesman (34 page)

Into a ship full of Lancastrian soldiers, comatose on the floor.

One—a woman with a bird tattooed on her face—it reminded him of Rebekah's butterfly makeup—had fallen awkwardly, a leg twisted underneath her. Another was propped up against the wall, as if they'd tried to hold on, then slid down.

•   •   •

ABI
jabbed him with her blaster. “Move.”

The smell that floated up and around him reminded him of the Juice his father used to smoke, and made his eyes
water in the same way. His knees buckled as he realized. It
was
Juice. Or something from the halla plant, which was used to produce Juice. Probably the flower, which was reputedly used as a fast, knockout drug.

The reason for Wendell's people remaining in their space suits came clear.

The Lancastrians weren't dead. They were drugged.

And so was he now because he'd breathed the same drug in. He struggled to stay conscious, knew he was losing the fight.

He blacked out.

•   •   •

THE
lines were calling him. Urgent. Frantic. Loud.
“Ready to jump.”
The urgency reached fever pitch.
“Conscious. Conscious. Thinking.”
The noise surrounded him.

Ean's heart was thumping in time to line eleven. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't hear.

The lines clashed together in a discordant cacophony. The deep, stressed notes of line nine were strongest.

Somehow, through line one, he made out angry voices.

“Heart attack.”

It wasn't a heart attack. It felt like the lines were trying to restart his heart, all of them doing it together, not quite at the same time.

“For God's sake bring him out of it now. He's obviously had a reaction to the gas.”

Ean felt the hiss of something against his face, and a bitter cold washed through him even as the clear notes of line ten started.

It was the longest forever he'd been in. He was trapped here, unconscious, never going to get out. He screamed until his voice was gone, and he kept screaming long after.

•   •   •

AS
consciousness returned, he could feel the lines fragmenting around him, breaking under the onslaught of his screams. His lines. Line eleven was there, strong but powerless against him. Him! Ean was the one fragmenting the lines.

He started to sing, but he had no voice.
“I need line
voice,”
and, miraculously, line eleven heard him and gave him some line to use.

He started at line one, singing them together, stabilizing them. All six ships were there. Afterward, they joined their voices with his to help him with the line twos. Lines were communal, they helped each other.

Line three. By the time he reached line four, he had a veritable chorus of support. The singing got easier and faster, and the fragmented higher lines were knitting back together without his help.

He strengthened the bad lines. The higher lines on both media ships, particularly the Galactic News ship. He was right. You
could
mend the lines in the void. There was no distance.

He even sang line eleven, which had been there all the time and been very patient with him. He didn't realize how much the line needed it until he sang it, and line eleven surged back strong and relieved.

•   •   •

THEY
were out of the void.

His heart tried to beat eleven-time. He found it hard to breathe.

JORDAN ROSSI

ORSAYA DECLARED MARTIAL
law on Confluence Station at 00:00 hours. At 00:01, the first Gate Union battleship arrived. Rossi heard it through his tainted lines. And the next, and the next. By 06:01, there were six battleships surrounding Confluence Station.

By 08:01, two massive passenger cruisers had appeared as well.

Rossi heard them all arrive.

He was back where it had all begun.

He could feel the confluence. It was like a poor man's version of the
Eleven
. A tantalizing glimpse of what he had lost. A hint of what it could have been.

He should have gone prepared, with a blaster of his own to use on Wendell. He should have used it.

He stood at the Plexiglas window of the viewing station. Three other linesmen were there. One of the twins from House of Laito, Nina Golf, the ten from Aquarius, and Geraint Jones from his own house.

Not his house anymore, he reminded himself. Did Jones know of Rossi's changed circumstances yet? Would he care?
To a linesman, the only important thing at the confluence
was
the confluence.

None of them so much as glanced at him. Why should they? He wasn't wearing house colors. They probably didn't even notice he was there.

He leaned against the Plexiglas and tried to lose himself in the glory of the confluence, but he had experienced a true eleven. He couldn't do it.

Orsaya believed the confluence was another
Eleven
, and based on what Rossi had experienced, it was probably true. And while Orsaya might have staked her career and her home world on finding it, the linesmen had tried for six months and not succeeded. Even Orsaya's pet crazy would have difficulty. Lambert could have it if he could find it, for the confluence was nothing compared to the
Eleven
. Rossi wanted the glory he was sure of.

Come to think of it, if Orsaya brought Lambert here to the confluence there would be no one to get in the way of Rossi's acquiring the
Eleven
. So instead of moping around here feeling sorry for himself, he should be planning how to return to the alien ship.

Rossi pushed himself away from the glass to go find himself a drink. He had plans to make.

Normally, he could have commandeered a shuttle easily simply because he was a ten, but the station was under martial law, and all the shuttles were on standby to ferry the inhabitants off the station onto the waiting passenger ships. He could see them now on-screen, station staff and linesmen alike, milling around the emergency evacuation points where they had been ordered to assemble, the first of them being shepherded on board.

The linesmen weren't going willingly. As soon as they realized they were being taken off station they staged a mass breakaway.

He was still trying to bully a shuttle out of the station commander when Orsaya arrived. The bastard had to have called her.

She was talking into her comms. “Leave the linesmen for the moment. We'll round them up later.”

On-screen, the soldiers stopped trying to round up the linesmen and concentrated on shepherding the station staff onto shuttles. The linesmen disappeared quickly.

Rossi knew where they'd all be. At the viewing station. That's where he would have gone.

Orsaya watched with Rossi. “We should leave them all on station,” she said. “It won't make one iota of difference right now.”

He had no idea what she meant. “Worried they will interfere with what you are trying to do?”

Orsaya looked old and tired. “I'm trying to save their ungrateful lives. What we are doing is dangerous, Linesman. In case you forget, the
Eleven
has destroyed two ships to date, and the lines alone know how many shuttles. We are bringing a ship like that out here, into a populated area. I want everyone on a ship, ready to jump. Just in case.”

“Us, too?” Sometimes he wondered if line eleven was addling his brain. All he'd needed to do was prove he was a linesman, and they would have shipped him off station.

“No. Not us. But we're going in with the only weapon that has any chance against it.” Orsaya straightened and turned away. “And while it's nice to see you finally trying something, Rossi, don't. You're my backup plan. Lambert will be here in half an hour. We wait for him.”

Wendell was half a galaxy away, surrounded by hostiles. Rossi judged his chances of success at less than 50 percent. Still, Orsaya put a lot of faith in Wendell's delivering.

“I can do this without Lambert.” Orsaya would wait for the other linesman. If they let Rossi onto a shuttle now, he'd be away before they even realized he was gone.

“Have you seen what these ships can do?”

Of course he had. Firsthand, which was more than she had.

“Rebekah Grimes didn't know how to contain it. Go too close, and you will set off the automatic-defense system.”

“And Lambert won't?” She put a lot of faith in her pet wonder boy. Rossi didn't care. He wasn't going anywhere near her imaginary ship, so that wouldn't be a problem. Even so, he was glad to hear another ship arrive then, something to
distract her. “Markan has arrived,” he said. Two more ships arrived in quick succession. Markan hadn't come alone.

Orsaya stopped and looked at him, and it was only then that he realized it wasn't something linesmen generally did, identify ships through their lines. Lambert's taint was stronger than he realized. Lines, but if such a short time near the crazy bastard could do that to someone, imagine how bad it would be if you were around him all the time.

Or how good it could be.

He pushed the traitorous thought away.

•   •   •

AHMED
Gann came looking for Orsaya.

“I came in on one of Markan's ships,” he said, at Orsaya's raised brow. “Markan doesn't know I'm here.”

Orsaya's brow raised higher.

Gann looked around quickly, as if afraid Markan might interrupt them. He spoke rapidly. “We may have underestimated Markan and Hurst's ambition. And the strength of the Sandhurst faction.”

Orsaya didn't look surprised. Rossi didn't think she was surprised. “Do you think it will amount to anything?”

“I'm more worried than I was a few hours ago,” Gann admitted. “I thought everything was going to plan. Until Hurst started pushing the “crazy Ean Lambert” story, and “Lancia owns his contract, so we're letting the enemy in.” It didn't help that the linesmen are complaining to anyone who will listen about being kicked off station.”

Eleven of the tens complaining were from Sandhurst. And seven of the nines. Iwo Hurst would have manipulated the complaints. Rossi had seen him do it before.

“That's the thanks we get for trying to save their lives,” Orsaya said. “Linesmen don't seem to have a brain among them.”

She had better not be including Rossi in that damning statement, and he'd bet there was one other ten she wasn't including either.

Gann was always poker-faced on the vids. The expression he made then surprised Rossi, it was so readable. Disgust.
Resignation. “They're drugged out of their brains, and we're taking them away from their addiction.” Gann made another face. “And Hurst is dangling the threat of linesmen walking away.”

“We don't need to worry about their walking. We haven't had any top-level linesmen except Lambert for six months.”

“I know that. They know that, too, but Hurst is a skilled manipulator, and they're genuinely worried about a lack of high-level linesmen.”

Surely the Alliance had more to worry about that than Gate Union did. After all, the only high-level linesman they had available to them was Ean Lambert. Rossi pondered that as he watched the politician and the soldier talk. Gate Union—whether led by Roscracia or by Nova Tahiti—would still win against the Alliance. Even if the Alliance did have the
Eleven
.

“As soon as you bring that ship out, Markan and Hurst are done.”

“I hear you.”

Rossi didn't hear a thing except the words Gann was saying, but there seemed to be a hidden meaning, for Orsaya looked troubled. Maybe she wasn't sure she could bring the ship out.

“They've nothing to lose now, and they've still got a lot of followers.”

“So it comes down to what we always worried about?”

“A coup,” Gann said, softly. “And to work, it has to happen
before
you take the ship.”

A coup. Rossi was half-inclined to believe Gann was hallucinating. Yet Orsaya believed him, and while Orsaya was gullible about one thing—Lambert—she had never been stupid about other things.

Rossi laughed. Or tried to, anyway.

Gann left as secretly as he had arrived. “I'll see what more I can find out.”

Orsaya watched the door a long moment after he'd gone. Eventually, she sighed and looked away.

“It's hard to save people from their own stupidity,” she said to Rossi, as she took out her comms and tapped a code into it.

Rossi had no idea what she meant.

“How does a war start, Rossi?”

He was glad she didn't seem to want him to answer that. She was the soldier, after all. Not him.

“Simple things. Stupid things. Greed or need. And some people can blind themselves to the long-term consequences for a short-term gain.” She sighed again. “And some people can also blind themselves to facts. Have you ever hunted were-cats?”

She couldn't be asking a serious question. He was a linesman, not a hunter. Were-cats were massive game animals, as big as humans, and they considered humans their prey. They were native to the Wallacian worlds. A goodly portion of income from the smallest Wallacian world was derived from were-cat hunts.

“No. I thought not.” It didn't surprise him that Orsaya had. “The thing about were-cats is you hunt them for weeks. You chase them halfway across the country. And just when you think you have them cornered, that's when they're most dangerous. That's when most people are killed in were-hunts. Right at the end, when they think they've won. But they haven't.”

“And you consider yourself a were-cat.”

Orsaya smiled a death's-head smile. “Not at all. No, the Alliance is the were-cat. Just when you think you have them beaten, they turn around and fight some more. And Roscracia and the people working with them are the deluded hunters who think they're moving in for the kill.

“We were able to hold Roscracia back until Iwo Hurst decided to take over the line cartels, and they realized they could help each other. The only thing that has stopped them so far is the fact that all the top-level linesmen were at the confluence.”

Standing here, talking politics, wasn't going to get Rossi his line any faster, but politics were Rossi's bread and butter. “You act as if you don't want this war. As if you're scared the Alliance will win. Isn't that self-defeating in itself?”

“Oh, I don't think they'll win,” Orsaya said. “But it will go much closer than the Sandhurst/Roscracia faction believes it will.”

Orsaya's comms beeped. She checked the message, nodded to herself, and keyed in another code. She paused, finger ready to connect. “The problem is, Rossi, that the Sandhurst faction will destroy the Alliance. Utterly. And they'll do it by denying them access to the void because the cartels control the jumps and Redmond control the line supply. Imagine what not being able to move through the void will do to civilizations used to faster-than-light travel.”

“Surely that could only be to your benefit.” So a few worlds—like Lancia—would drop back to sublight speeds. Interplanetary trips that took months and years rather than hours. Never being able to move outside your own solar system because everything was too far. No one would miss them. Except Rossi would miss Lancian wine, and Grenache, and a few other things.

Yet there was something about the way Orsaya looked at him.

“Twenty worlds in Gate Union derive most of their income from Alliance worlds. Destroy the Alliance by restricting access to the void, and you have effectively destroyed twenty Gate Union worlds as well.” She flicked on her comms before Rossi could answer. “Markan. What are you doing here? This is my operation, and you're not part of it.”

“Changed orders,” Markan said smoothly. “Surely you've received them by now.”

“No. I haven't.”

“I'll bring them to you, Admiral.”

“Do so.” Orsaya flicked off. “He's got more balls than Lady Lyan,” she said to Rossi. She flicked on again, presumably to one of her own people. “Markan's coming here. Since he hasn't tried to take over the station yet, I'm guessing he's delaying.”

The voice through the comms—Orsaya's second, Captain Auburn—said, “We haven't had any notification of a coup from Gate Union headquarters yet. He'll probably wait for that.”

Rossi shivered at the casual way she said it. Ahmed Gann might not be expecting a coup, but Orsaya was.