Shadow of the Swan (Book Two of the Phoenix Legacy) (4 page)

“Holy God, Jan, don’t be—” He stopped abruptly as the S/V doorscreens clicked off, and his first response was only surprise and annoyance. His second was a sudden, almost uncontrollable anger.

Predis Ussher.

He strode into the room as if he belonged here, ignoring Alex entirely, turning on Barret with unmasked hostility.

“Jan, what the hell
happened
? You lost half the Solar Fleet in one day!”

Barret stared at him in bewilderment, and Alex silenced the rebuff that came to his lips, watching Barret’s reaction.

“Predis, I . . . I know—”

“You
know
! I should
hope
you know what you’ve done! You’ve thrown away two years’ work, damn it! You’ve put us so far back, the God knows
when
we’ll catch up!”

Barret was visibly trembling. “Predis, I know exactly what I’ve done, and I’ve already ten—”

“Fer Ussher, you’re out of bounds,” Alex cut in, his incisive tone bringing Ussher’s head around with a quick snap; he seemed to become aware of Alex for the first time.

“I’m a Council member, Commander, and nothing pertaining to the welfare of the Society is out of bounds to me.”

“Until the Council decides otherwise, this falls under the jurisdiction of FO. Under any circumstances, it isn’t your prerogative to place the blame.”

“The placement of blame is clear. Jan was in command—”

“If blame is placed on that basis, it’s entirely mine; I’m First Commander of FO. As for Jan, he handled an unexpected and disastrous situation very well. He’s served the Phoenix all his life with courage and dedication. He doesn’t deserve your contempt, Predis, and I won’t tolerate it!”

Ussher glanced at Barret, finally recognizing his chagrin. The mental shift of gears was ludicrously obvious.

“Perhaps I
was
hasty, but the shock of seeing—”

“You were more than
hasty
,” Alex said tightly. “First, you have no right to be in this room; second, no right to interfere in my command; third, no right to accuse unjustly a man you
call
a friend.”

For a moment Ussher didn’t respond, his mouth a thin white line. Then he looked at Barret again and seemed to capitulate. But it was only for Barret’s benefit; Alex hoped he had some faint realization of that.

“You’re quite right, Commander. I
am
out of bounds. Jan, I can only beg your forgiveness. I have the highest regard for your ability; you know that. Please, I hope you’ll accept my apologies.”

Barret managed an uncertain smile. “It’s . . . all right, Predis. I understand.”

Alex’s jaw clamped tight. Barret understood nothing. But apparently he found Ussher’s contrition convincing. Alex watched numbly as Ussher turned and made his exit without so much as glancing in his direction.

In the silence that followed, Barret stared at the dark haze of the doorscreens, and perhaps he wasn’t entirely convinced; he was frowning uneasily. Alex motioned toward the chair near the desk.

“Sit down, Jan. You aren’t on the firing line now.” He waited until Barret sagged tiredly into the chair. “Before that untimely interruption, you made some thoughtless remark about resigning. But I won’t accept a resignation. You made a costly error, Jan. If in the future you repeat that error, I’ll reconsider my refusal, but I don’t think that contingency will arise. You may as well put that insignia back on.”

Barret stared at him, then looked down at his own hand; he seemed to have forgotten he was holding the insignia.

“I’m not sure I deserve your faith.”

“You wouldn’t have it if you didn’t. Jan, FO can’t afford to lose you. It’s as simple as that.”

Barret seemed to consider that, then sighed his acceptance and replaced the insignia, his hands trembling slightly.

“Alex, why did you defend me against Predis? You could’ve let me take the blame; it’s mine to take.”

“It isn’t Predis’s to give.”

Jan paused, again staring at the door. “I’ve never . . . seen him like that.”

Alex smiled faintly. Ussher’s temper might be his undoing one day. He wondered if the Phoenix had time enough to wait for that day.

“Jan, you’re exhausted. You’ve been on duty with the Solar Fleet for—what? Three months? You need some time off. Leftant Commander Gavin’s in command at Rhea now. I’ll tell him to stay under cover; Confleet will be out in force, and we’ll need time for repairs. I want you to take a week’s leave, beginning tomorrow morning. And I believe Nina’s saved a few free days for your return.”

Barret smiled wistfully at his wife’s name and came to his feet; it was obviously an effort.

“Thanks, Alex. But right now I should be in the hangars.”

Alex nodded. “I’ll join you in a few minutes.” He accompanied Barret to the door, watching him as he set off down the hall, weariness in the angle of his shoulders and in every step. A hard lesson, Alex thought bleakly, learned the hardest way. Then his eyes narrowed. Predis Ussher had just turned into the hall. He stopped when he met Barrett, and they talked briefly, then walked on together and disappeared around the first corner. When a black-clothed figure approached Alex, he was still so preoccupied it was a moment before he recognized him.

Ben Venturi. Apparently, he was recently returned from the Cliff in Leda; he was still in his SSB uniform.

“Ben, you have the prisoners lined up?”

“Yes. One of Erica’s crews is working on them now. There’s a couple of Grade 6 comtechs in the bunch.”

Alex’s eyebrow came up. “Selasid?”

“No, Confleet. They were hitching a ride to the Charon base aboard the freighter.”

“Too bad you didn’t turn up some gunnery officers. Jan thinks they have some new guns on the Falcons; possibly X
⁸
s. Ben, I’ll have to get back to the hangars.”

“I’ll tag along.” Then, as they started down the corridor, “Have you talked to Andreas today?”

Alex nearly stopped, his frown returning.

“Damn. I had a call message from him, but I was on the SynchCom monitors at the time.” He noted the suspicious eye Ben turned on a pair of FO crewmembers as they passed. The suspicion wasn’t for these particular men. Ben had something on his mind; something private. “What’s this about?”

“I’m not sure. I just transed in from Leda an hour ago. Andreas left a call message for me, too, but when I returned it, he was out of the lab. In the infirmary.”

Alex paused as they reached the main corridor, numbed by the soft sounds of pain-born moans nearly lost in rushing footsteps, mechanical clatterings, urgent voices. They turned down the corridor toward the hangar, and there was a paradoxical privacy in the confusion; no one had time or inclination to listen to them. Ben’s jaw muscles were bunched as he watched the stretchers moving out of the hangar.

“Damn, what a mess. Alex, I talked to Erica, and she saw Andreas earlier today. She said we’d better get together. We’ll meet in HS 1 at 18:00.”

“All right. I’ll be—” He quickened his pace as they approached the hangar doors. A loader piled with plasifoam cartons loomed in the opening, blocking the flow of traffic.

“Leftant Spense, what in the God’s name do you think you’re doing?”

The man driving the loader brought it to a jerking halt.

“Uh—well, this stuff’s from the freighter, sir. I’m taking it up to SM.”

“At whose order?”

Spense licked his lips uneasily. “Well, Fer M’Kim said he wanted his techs to check—”

“Fer M’Kim? Am I to understand you’ve been transferred to Supply and Maintenance?”

“Well, no, but—”

Alex cut in coldly, “The crews come first, Spense. If you don’t know that by now, you don’t belong in FO. The cargo stays until the last of the casualties are evacuated. Clear the corridor!”

“Yes, sir.” Resentment slipped through in Spense’s eyes, then he turned to look backward as he guided the loader into the hangar.

Alex said under his breath, “Damn fool.”

Ben laughed. “Maybe, but you’d better watch him.”

“Yes, I know. He’s one of Ussher’s loyals.” He started into the hangar with Ben close at his side.

“And he talks a lot.”

Alex glanced at him, then moved to one side of the doors and stopped, distracted by the harried activity. The statistics of catastrophe were all too tangible here.

“What do you mean, he talks a lot?”

“Just that Predis is up to his old tricks again: the gossip routine.”

“Which of us has he chosen to defame now? Me?”

“Yes.”

Alex gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Well, I’ll give him credit, he’s tenacious. And intelligent to a point. He has yet to launch an innuendo campaign against Andreas. When he’s confident enough for that, we’re in trouble. Is Spense carrying the word in FO?”

“Right. And Sargent Hicks.”

“Tom Hicks? He won’t be doing any talking in the future. He was aboard the
Magna
. She took a direct broadside and exploded.”

For a while both were silent, Alex concentrating on the berthing and evacuation crews. The pumps hadn’t yet succeeded in clearing all the sea water; the floor was an abstracted glare of reflected lights. Finally, the last of the casualties and medsquads passed on their way to the infirmary.

Alex asked absently, “What word is Spense carrying, by the way?”

Ben sighed. “That you barely escaped a court-martial when you were in Confleet. For cowardice, the way it’s being told; refusal to fire under orders.”

Alex felt every muscle tightening, and there was that mental shift that always accompanied any memory of his past, an inward jar like an MT trans. He was here and now, then suddenly he was elsewhere and elsewhen, in that other world that seemed so remote; a play remembered from an old vidicom screening. And like a waking dream, an image was in his mind: the smoke-shrouded fields of Alber.

“Predis is hitting a little close to home.”

“And below the belt—as usual.”

“Ben, have you any idea what Andreas wants to talk to us about?”

Ben’s tone was low, pitched for Alex’s ears only.

“Erica does. Andreas thinks he may be close to a breakthrough on the LR-MT.”

A breakthrough
.

Alex didn’t move, the physical stricture only reflecting a mental process, one familiar and practiced: holding back a hope. They had all hoped too many times, and the hopes had died in mathematic dead ends.

“Did Andreas use that term—a breakthrough?”

Ben laughed. “No. According to Erica, he said he’s working on a ‘promising approach.’ But
he
asked for this meeting. That must mean something.”

Alex’s breath came out in a sigh. The hope wouldn’t be put down; he could only contain it within tolerable limits. It must come soon, an end to these long months of waiting that slowly ground into years. For the Concord, for the Phoenix, for his own sanity, it must come soon.

But his voice was level, and he managed a brief smile. “I guess we’ll just have to wait until this evening.” Then he stiffened, watching two figures emerging from the captured freighter. Predis Ussher and John M’Kim. “I wish to hell Predis would keep his nose out of FO.”

Ben nodded. “I could say the same about SI. What’s he so damned interested in now?”

“Weapons, no doubt. Half the cargo on that ship is Confleet armament. Last week when we took those new Falcons, he was talking about a ‘real offensive.’ And I call
Spense
a damn fool.”

“Commander?” The voice came from the comcenter deck. “Captain Dolf wants to see you in Hangar 3, sir.”

“Thank you.” Alex paused only long enough to glance back at Ben. “I’ll talk to you this evening.”

Occasionally, Alex Ransom considered the meaning of words like “home.”

He paused inside the doorway of Erica Radek’s office, noting the spray of yellow orchids on the deck. Twelve levels below, adjoining his office in FO, there was an apartment where he lived, or at least slept. But he didn’t call it home. Home didn’t exist for Alex Ransom, and his thoughts seldom strayed into such blind alleys except when he was tired.

“Hello, Alex.” Erica turned off the reading screen on her desk and leaned back, her smile warming her gray eyes.

“How are you, Erica?”

“Better than you are, probably. Have you had supper?”

“No, I haven’t had time.” He had started for one of the chairs in front of her desk, but detoured to the ‘spenser, then with a chilled vaccup of concentrate in hand, continued to the chair and sank into it. “I saw Andreas in the infirmary. He’ll be delayed for a while. What about Ben?”

“I don’t know. He’ll get here when he can. And I’m glad you arrived early; it’s been a long time since we’ve had a chance to talk together.”

“I’ve missed that, Erica. By the way, any recent reports on our Bond project?”

“Yes, I had some reports from the Terran chapters today. I’ll have a tape capsule for you tomorrow, but in general the news is encouraging on that front.”

“Good.” He tasted the concentrate, frowning slightly. “But I’ve been letting it slip lately, and it’s too important. Especially now.” He paused, wondering why he’d added that. “What else was in the Terran reports?”

“There were several items. For one, the House of DeKoven Woolf is celebrating the birth of a son today. Justin DeKoven Woolf.”

Again, that inward jar. Then a feeling of relief that had no personal overtones. There were never any personal reactions after that initial, fleeting disorientation.

Justin DeKoven Woolf. Son of Lord Phillip and Lady Olivet Omer Woolf; first born of the House. This was the second child born to the Woolfs; the first was a daughter. Alexandra. He didn’t dwell on the irony in that name.

“Well, that’s definitely cause for celebration,” he said. “Justin. That would be in honor of Lady Olivet’s grandfather. Very politic.” He laughed curtly. “But Selasis certainly won’t be celebrating. The lack of a male heir was his only weapon against Woolf, since the Directors are standing pat on his succession to the Chairmanship.”

“Alex, I have another piece of news from Concordia, and it isn’t so good.”

She paused, and he had to ask, “What is it?”

“There’s a rumor circulating that Orin Selasis is negotiating a marriage with Eliseer.”