The Dying Light (21 page)

Two specks of light visible over the piecemeal curve of the station instantly moved toward
Daybreak.
More converged from the far side.

Roche cursed silently to herself as she counted the incoming ships. Half their number alone would have been a problem. The tiny, dartlike craft had none of the brute force of the
Ana Vereine
—were, in fact, less powerful even than
Daybreak
—but they were far more maneuverable. Armed, they could play a significant part in any battle.

In a matter of moments, the singleships reached firing range, and began to pepper the space around the courier with energy. The shots that struck home jolted the ship, provoking more protests from Mavalhin. Roche watched the damage board closely as she flew, but so far nothing crucial had been hit.

she asked the Box.

The ship lurched as cannon fire struck it from the rear. Roche grunted and sent it angling away from its previous course, spiraling erratically to reduce the chances of being hit again. Luckily the damage was minor: a sensor or two, a small percentage of hull integrity; nothing life-threatening.

But the cannon fire was intense. It was only a matter of time before she miscalculated—or the targeters behind the cannon had a stroke of luck—and the courier was seriously damaged. If that happened, they would be dead.

Roche had no time to consider attempting to dock with the
Ana Vereine,
or even determining its location. She just kept her attention focused behind them, on the bobbing singleships and flashing cannon emplacements. Behind the flashes of light narrowly missing the courier, Galine Four loomed like a malignant, worm-eaten moon, much too close for comfort and receding only slowly.

Then something dark blotted the station from view. The black shape angled between
Daybreak
and the singleships harassing it, effectively acting as a shield against the cannon fire. From within the blackness came a barrage of retaliatory fire, destroying first one singleship that attempted to pass it, then another.

Not wasting the opportunity, Roche spurred the courier onward, putting all available energy into increasing their velocity away from the station.

Roche smiled at the sound of Kajic’s voice in her head.

The
Ana Vereine,
camouflaged black, thrust itself into close engagement with Galine Four. Although considerably outsized, it had been designed as a weapon of war, and looked it. Its angular outline was visible through the camouflage like a many-legged shadow blotting out the station’s gray. The sheer power of its weaponry outshone that of the dim, red sun, casting the scene in a variety of short-lived colors, each blindingly bright.

said the Box.

she replied.

Kajic replied.

said the Box.

she said.

She took one last look at the
Ana Vereine.

Kajic’s voice sounded alive with the thrill of battle.

The line went dead, and Roche returned her attention to slipping away from the station.

* * *

Only after Galine Four become barely a blip on the courier’s rear scanner screen did Roche finally feel safe enough to let
Daybreak
fly itself. Programming it to follow a course through the relative cover of Autoville—where, this far out in the system, a solid body every million kilometers constituted a crowded environment—she unlocked her harness and stepped out of the crash-couch.

She stopped beside Disisto. “I’m locking the ship to my implants,” she told him. “You so much as touch those controls and I’ll know about it. Understand?”

The security officer nodded slowly. “Given my situation, I’m hardly going to take any risks.”

She held his stare for a few seconds before moving off to check on Mavalhin. The pilot was unconscious in his seat, blood spreading across his uniform from the wound in his shoulder. When she unlocked his harness, her fingers came away sticky.

“He’s in a bad way,” said Haid, leaning from the other side of the couch to help her lift him out of it.

“If there’s an autosurgeon aboard, we might be able to help him.” She gritted her teeth as they swung him upright. He was heavier than he looked. “The corridor we passed on the way in—the surgery should be along there.”

Together they manhandled him to the courier’s small medical facility. There, they laid him on a plastic stretcher and positioned the autosurgeon over him. The machine came to life with a slight humming sound as it began to take X-rays and ultrasound images of the wound.

Roche took a step back, turning her attention from Mavalhin to Haid. She noticed her friend’s distraction as he quietly surveyed the room.

“What’s up?”

“Huh?” His gaze came back to her. “Oh,” he said, “I was just thinking. It’s kind of weird to realize that the clone warrior was actually here, in this ship, only a few days ago.”

“I know what you mean.” She nodded at the stretcher where Mavalhin lay. “This might have been the very place they revived him when they removed him from the life-support capsule.”

“Do you think he’s left the system?”

“I don’t know what to think.” She folded her arms and leaned against a waste-disposal unit. “I just don’t know how far we can trust the information Rufo gave us.”

“Well, most of it made sense,” said Haid. “At least, it fit what we’ve already learned.”

“
Most
of it, yes. But I can’t shake the feeling that he left the most important bits out.”

The humming from the autosurgeon faded as it finished its examination. Roche read the diagnosis from the small screen: Mavalhin had a shattered collarbone and punctured left lung, and had lost a dangerous amount of blood. The recommendation was for surgery to correct the gross injuries, and a week’s recuperation to reach full health and mobility.

Roche instructed it to begin the operation, and immediately surgical lasers flashed, cutting away the remains of the pilot’s bloodstained and burnt uniform. She told the autosurgeon to notify her when the procedure was finished; then, with a pat on the back and a gesture toward the door, she ushered Haid out of the room.

“Rufo didn’t mention that Galine Four had moved shortly before we rendezvoused with it,” she said as they headed back to the bridge. “He also didn’t mention that he’d had contact with someone outside Palasian System within the last week. And he definitely gave us no reason to suspect that he knew who we were, or that he knew about the Sol Apotheosis Movement.”

“We should’ve guessed the last bit sooner,” Haid said. “He did say he was an expert on history. He could hardly have missed the Wunderkind.”

“I know.” She felt bad about that, but there was nothing she could do to change the past. “He was also reticent in other areas, like the transmissions we picked up coming here. If Myer was near Jagabis when the Sol code was sent, you’d think he would have traced its source.”

“Maybe he did.” Haid shrugged. “Maybe that’s why he was heading out of there when we ran into him.”

“Well, we’ll find out when he’s awake, I guess.”

Haid paused before speaking, his artificial eyes and midnight-black features unreadable. “I still don’t trust him, Morgan,” he eventually said.

“Neither do I, but he
did
help us back there.”

“He helped himself.”

“Perhaps. But it amounted to the same thing.”

“This time.”

Back on the bridge, Disisto sat in resigned silence.

“How is he?” he asked, looking up.

Roche leaned against the main console to face him. “You almost sound like you care.”

Disisto looked offended. “Because we’re on opposite sides, I can’t be concerned? You have a monopoly on these emotions, Commander?”

“Not at all,” she said. “Just wouldn’t have thought it was a required trait for someone working under Shak’ni, that’s all. I mean, he doesn’t strike me as someone who cares about others terribly much.”

Disisto’s face clouded. “We agree there, at least.”

“What does
that
mean?”

Disisto said nothing, but didn’t look away from her.

“Listen,” she said, “I don’t know what you think we are, or what you think we’ve done, or even what you think we
will
do, but I can assure you that you’re wrong about us. I’m not your enemy, and I don’t regard you as mine. It’s the clone warrior we should be worrying about, not each other. If he’s still out there, none of us are safe, and fighting each other will only make the situation worse.”

“Or perhaps he thinks we’re working
with
the Sol Wunderkind?” Haid’s words were to Roche, but his gaze was fixed firmly upon the security officer.

Disisto’s expression was defiant. “That’s what we were told,” he said. “We were warned to expect another one—another clone warrior—and that he would be coming with an ex-COE commander called Morgan Roche in a ship stolen from the Dato Bloc.”

Roche frowned. “Who told you that?”

“The chief, of course.”

“And how do you know he was telling the truth?”

“Why would he lie?”

Disisto’s blind acceptance of what he had been told exasperated Roche. “Did it ever occur to you to ask
how
he knew?”

“Why? He was right, wasn’t he?”

Roche shook her head. “So no matter what we told you, you wouldn’t have believed us?”

“There’s no reason why I should.” His eyes dropped away from Roche’s. “No matter how much I might want to.”

“What?” She leaned in closer now. “What is it you’re hinting at? Why not just come out and say what you want to say?”

“I can’t.” The words were so soft, they could have been mistaken for a sigh. “Rufo has treated me well in the five years I’ve worked for him. I can’t betray him now.”

Roche glanced at Haid, who lifted one artificial shoulder in a tiny shrug.

“Okay.” Roche stepped back, slipping her hands into the pockets of the shipsuit. “So you don’t want to betray Rufo’s confidence, but he’s clearly doing something you disapprove of. Or—” She stopped as a thought struck her. “Or
allowing
something to happen?”

He said nothing, but the muscles in his neck tightened.

“That’s it, isn’t it? Shak’ni and B’shan are up to something, and you don’t like it.”

He looked at her again. “Not Haden B’shan. He’s been with the chief longer than I have.”

“Shak’ni, then. That doesn’t surprise me. So tell us what he’s doing, and perhaps we can stop him.”

When Disisto didn’t respond, anger surged from deep within Roche’s frustration. “Dammit, Disisto,
talk
to me! I’ve got better things to do than play guessing games with you!”

“Why the hell should I trust you?” he said, throwing her anger back at her. “I’ve been told that you’re dangerous, and
nothing
I’ve seen contradicts that! You don’t even try to deny what’s been said about you! The fact is, I don’t even know who you are.” He paused for a moment, leaning forward slightly and fixing her with a cold stare. “So tell me, Commander, just who
do
you think you are?”

Her hand closed into a fist, but she managed to subdue the impulse to strike him. Her anger had little to do with his attitude. In fact, if anything, she understood his point of view. Who
was
she to demand that he compromise five years of faithful service to Rufo? No, her anger came about from what had happened to Cane and Maii.

She let the tension drain from her, leaving just the residue of frustration in her clenched fist. A moment later she released this too, and sighed.

“Look, Disisto, I can’t deny what you’ve heard about me, because most of it’s true. Yes, one of my companions does appear to be a clone warrior, and yes, I did steal my ship from the Dato Bloc.”

Disisto raised an eyebrow, surprised by her sudden frankness. “And the super-AI you held COE Intelligence HQ to ransom with?”

She nodded. “And Haid here is one of the few people ever to escape from the penal colony on Sciacca’s World. You’re in distinguished company, you know.”

“That
is
the truth,” said Haid, grinning.

Disisto looked from Roche to Haid. “I’m sure you think it is,” he said humorlessly. “But that still doesn’t mean I can trust you.”

Roche reached down and unlocked the clasp of his harness. “I guess it all depends on how you look at it.”

“Morgan!” Haid cautioned uneasily.

“Come on, Ameidio,” she said. “He’s not going to betray us—at least not until he’s sure we can’t help him.” She unlooped the strap holding Disisto’s left hand to the palm-link. “Besides, he can’t stay tied up forever.”

Disisto sat up, rubbing at his wrists. “Thank you,” he said, with more than just a hint of sarcasm.