Plan B (37 page)

"Unless flying it held the best chance of their survival and the survival of kin."

"Necessity," the Yxtrang said surprisingly and Val Con nodded.

"Necessity."

"Necessity," Shan agreed. "I only wonder if your lady will see it."

"Ah." Val Con moved his shoulders. "My lady may not. But I expect that my captain will."

The channel light came on and Priscilla depressed the switch.

"Command helm."

"Captain, we got a reply from the broadbeam."

Such rapid reply could only mean a pinbeamed message. Priscilla smiled.
Good. We found Erob's in-house
.

"To my screen three, please, Rusty."

"Sent." The channel stayed open, which was odd. Priscilla looked to screen three.

"Pod seventy-seven?" she demanded, staring at the terse announcement that this unlikely entity was on-line. "Rusty, did you get a fix on the origin of this?"

"It's coming out Erob's territory," he said and now she knew why he had left the line open. "Not the house. Mountain range toward the coast. Here."

Another window opened on her work screen, marking Pod 77's location on the planetary map. She upped the magnification, zooming in close, and called for place name display. The red counter was in her hand, alive with Shan's presence.

"Well," she said into the open channel. "Whatever it is, it lives on Dragon's Back Mountain." She sat back in the chair, feeling an electrical something, like a looming thunderstorm, stir the still ship air.

Dragon's Back Mountain
. Priscilla drew a careful breath. Korval and Erob. Allies down the centuries. And a—pod?—situated on Dragon's Back Mountain. A gift, perhaps? Korval tended to protect its own interests closely, and Erob was seated upon an outworld, far from the homeworld's assistance, should it be attacked.

The counter blazed against her hand and she abruptly recalled yos'Galan's butler. A modified war robot, as Shan had told her, and, with its other duties, entrusted with the defense system surrounding Korval's valley.

Merciful Mother
.

"Priscilla?" Rusty's voice carried concern. She shook her head, focused her thoughts.

"Yes. Rusty, do me the favor of sending to Pod seventy-seven in—in the code I will upload to you in a moment. Inquire into the state of its defenses."

"Defenses? Priscilla, how do we know it's not some wise-ass Yxtrang radio jockey, having himself a giggle?"

"We don't know that until it replies to us in our own code," she said, reaching to her board. Quickly, she ran her fingers over the sequence, accessing the captain's key file. She requested and received Korval's House code, uploading it to Rusty with a finger-tap.

"There. Send the message, please, Rusty. And wire the reply directly to me, whenever it comes in."

There was a momentary hesitation, then, "Will do. Tower out."

"Command helm out," she absently, her fingers moving once again across the board, requesting information available to the Captain's Key, relative to Pod 77 or Dragon's Back Mountain, Lytaxin.

They were moving out this evening, bound for the quarry and points beyond. Meet Yxtrang before they knocked on the door, that was the gig. Surprise them, maybe. Buy time.

Time for the rest of the defense forces to man the serious talking points. Time for Val Con and Shan and Beautiful to steal the fighters and start their runs.

It was the planes that decided her on Erob's ruined airfield for the Irregular's hold-tight.

"No use stealing the damn' things if you can't bring 'em home," she'd pointed out at the coordinating meeting. "We'll secure the airfield." She looked up and met Jase's eyes square across the table. "No problem."

He'd nodded after a second, and that was that. The only thing she had to do now was make good on her bet.

And not worry.

Walking toward her quarters to get her gear together and maybe grab an hour's nap, Miri snorted. It was funny how in the thick of things you never had time to worry. You dealt with whatever the gods of battle sent against you and mostly you weren't even scared.

Before and after—that was the time for nerves and terrors. Double, if you had a lifemate and a new brother and the man who'd guarded your back against his own laying their lives out in a cockamamie death-defying gamble.

She'd already come up with a dozen ways for them to die before they even got to the planes. Miri moved her head, shaking away the tally of possible destructions, but she couldn't shake away the knot in her gut or the cramp in her chest.

She turned right, nodded at the sentry and stepped into the dimness of her quarters.

Val Con got up from the edge of the cot, came two steps forward and opened his arms.

She flung forward, catching him in a hug as desperate as his own, thought to look at his pattern and felt the chill tingle of his fear in her blood even as she raised her head to meet a nearly savage kiss.

They made love like it was battle-practice, hard and silent and fierce, and when they were through, she held him tight against her still, one fist twisted in his hair.

"Damn you, don't die."

Warm breath exhaled into her ear. "I love you, too, Miri."

He pulled away and they straightened their clothes, found discarded weapons belts and buckled them into place. Val Con touched her cheek.

"I will meet you at Erob's airfield, tomorrow afternoon." He lay a finger across her lips and she felt a ripple of dark-edged humor go through him. "No problem, eh?" The finger lifted.

Miri smiled, though it was hard to see him through the tears.

"No problem."

Tactical Defense Pods 72 to 83 were retired from the Korval fleet with the building of the
Felicitous Passage
, two hundred fifty Standard years ago, according to the sealed file the Captain's Key had accessed.

Red counter gripped tight in her hand, Priscilla learned decommissioned Pods 72 through 76 had been donated to the scouts.

Pods 79 through 83 were used as live target fire in a series of defense exercises during a period of heightened Yxtrang activity.

Pod 77 . . . She scrolled down the file. Theonna yos'Phelium, delm, had bestowed Pod 77 upon Korval's staunch ally, Clan Erob. Then ordered the report Priscilla now perused sealed. She frowned, leaned back, and then touched the scroll key again, searching—there.

Pod 78
, the last entry stated simply,
is on Moonstruck. Refer to Plan B
.

Her frown deepened. Refer to Plan B? But surely—The screen shimmered and a message box appeared in the bottom left corner, rapidly filling with text.

TACTICAL DEFENSE POD 77 ON-LINE.

WEAPONS CHECK.

INITIATE SCAN.

LONG GUN CHARGED.

SCAN CONCLUSION: MID-ORBIT HOSTILITIES.

INITIATING SECONDARY SCAN.

TARGETING COMPUTER ON-LINE.

TACTICAL COMPUTER ON-LINE.

SCAN CONCLUSION: INVASION CONDITIONS.

MANUAL OVERRIDE DISALLOWED.

ALL SYSTEMS ON-LINE.

ALL SYSTEMS ABLE.

AWAITING TARGET.

The scout's plan was simple: Steal three fighter-bomber craft from those grounded at Field Headquarters, lift and destroy planes, ammunition, armor, and similar other targets before they could be brought against the defenders.

It was a plan somewhat short on detail, but Nelirikk never doubted it would succeed, to the glory of captain and Troop. It was much too audacious to fail.

For this venture, Nelirikk had sacrificed the mustache and the unsoldierly hair, and stood once again in Yxtrang uniform, the officer to whom it had belonged having no further need. He had modified the rank-marks, so that he became an Adjutant of the Inspectors Office, and the scout's brother had with wonderful skill painted the appropriate
vingtai
on his face.

"Remember to clean this nonsense off once you're safely away," Shan said, standing back to admire his handiwork. "You do look fierce, if I say it myself. One might very easily mistake you for an Yxtrang."

This was a pleasantry, such as Nelirikk was coming to expect from the scout's brother, who was by no means as imbecile as he sometimes spoke. Accordingly, he bared his teeth in a grin, displaying the
vingtai
to best effect.

"Terrifying," Shan announced, his face betraying no noticeable terror. "I may swoon in fright."

"Why not sit down, instead?" the scout asked from the doorway. "And allow Nelirikk to decorate you?"

"No need of that," Shan said, turning to put his brush by. He turned back and Nelirikk gasped, hand slapping his sidearm even as his brain told him that it was impossible that a major of inspectors should be standing before him when only a moment ago—

"
Hold
!" And that quickly it was the scout before him, face full of danger, poised on the balls of his feet, having taken up the position of shield to—

To who other than Shan yos'Galan?

Carefully, Nelirikk moved his hand from his gun. Carefully, he inclined his head.

"Forgive my error," he said in the full formality of the Liaden tongue. The scout settled, head cocked to a side.

"And yet it was not an error," he murmured in Terran. "Your whole body screamed astonishment and alarm. You went for the gun as defense. But, enlighten me—what did you see?"

Shan cleared his throat. The scout spun on a heel to face him.

"I suspect he may have seen a Inspector Major here among us. At least, that was the impression I was trying to convey." He looked up, silver eyes catching Nelirikk's gaze. "I gather the illusion was convincing? How gratifying."

"Convincing," Nelirikk agreed, hoarsely. The scout shook his head.

"I saw you turn to put the brush away," he said to his brother. "I saw you turn back and Nelirikk reacting to threat. There was no inspector major here."

"Ah." The silver eyes widened slightly. "Perhaps now?"

Nelirikk gulped, but this time managed to stand calm as the major loomed over the scout, face pitiless behind the tattoos of rank and accomplishment.

The scout shrugged, read Nelirikk's face with a quick green glance over the left shoulder, and looked back to the major.

"Nelirikk is convinced, in any case. I see only yourself."

Shan smiled and became once more a slim man of slightly less than middle height, slanting white eyebrows showing pretty against the smooth brown skin of his face.

"Recall that you were the only one of us who could curb Anthora when she was in a mood to have her way. It's doubtful that we'll meet with an Yxtrang of such discriminating will. And if we do," his mouth tightened. "If we do, I'm afraid I have other defenses."

"Do you?" The scout sighed. "These are new abilities, brother?"

Shan nodded. "I warn you that the explanation will be a thing devoid of sense. Though I am, of course, willing to try."

"Leave it for the present," said the scout, "if it's nonsense. When this is over, let us share a glass or two and tell each other fantastic stories."

"Done."

"Done," the scout echoed and stepped aside.

"So the two of you, fine-looking pilots, both, will proceed boldly across the field, pausing only to distribute explosives at likely looking Communications centers. You will then claim your planes and board. In the meantime, I will advance by a more circuitous route and stealthily steal my own. We will then proceed as discussed, each making at least one pass over the airfield before peeling off in his assigned direction. Questions?"

There were none. They had been through this before. And, after all, the plan was simple.

The scout nodded. "Good. It's time we were gone."

In one hour, Standard, the Yxtrang Eye would be fully open, at once clearing a firing path from the battleship to Erob's House and placing the thickest layer of shielding ships between the battleship and the
Passage
.

Priscilla had run the math a dozen times in the last few hours, assigned the tactical comp to find the means by which the
Passage
could divert, prevent, or minimize the Yxtrang's beam.

The answer came back negative.

She had copied their situation files and downloaded them to Pod 77. What, if anything, that ancient non-sentient made of those facts, she had no idea. Subsequent efforts to engage it in dialog had met with no response. Perhaps it had simply stopped functioning.

Ren Zel, hastily briefed on his return to the bridge, stood silent, his eyes on the screen displaying the movement of the Yxtrang shield.

"No answer whatsoever?"

"Nothing," Priscilla said. "I wonder if I've offended it."

"Overloaded it, possibly," he returned, eyes still on the screen. "You say it is very old, and a defense logic. It would perhaps not be equipped to sift through such levels of data as the
Passage
—" He stopped and drew a slow, careful breath.

"Or perhaps it is."

Priscilla looked to the screen, saw the message window filling with words.

TACTICAL DEFENSE POD 77 ON-LINE.

DOWNLOAD DATA ANALYSIS COMPLETE.

DEFENSE PLAN FORMULATED.

PHASE ONE ENACTED.

UPLOADING TO MOBILE UNIT TARGETING COMP.

Ren Zel flung forward, clearing a tertiary screen and accessing the targeting computer in three rapid keystrokes. Priscilla sat rapt, the red counter in her hand, watching the words form on the screen.

ESTIMATED TIME UNTIL OFFENSIVE ACTION: 43 UNITS.

SYNCHRONIZING MOBILE UNIT TARGETING COMP.

"It's uploaded settings for guns seven and nine," Ren Zel told her, fingers moving across the board, "and instructions to fire to those coordinates in forty Standard minutes."

TACTICAL DEFENSE POD 77 ON STAND-BY, CONDITION ORANGE.

The words stopped and Priscilla stirred at last.

"Remove Pod seventy-seven's instructions from the targeting command queue, please, First Mate."

He spun his chair around, showing her a face which was entirely devoid of emotion.

"I cannot," he said quietly, and she read the effort he expended to hold to calmness. "The file is sealed."