The Rifter's Covenant (13 page)

Once more the
Barcan exile bowed and then withdrew, the shestek falling from his flesh and
wriggling away as he departed the Labyrinth. He would return to the
Flower of Lith
, where Hreem would remove
his collar. And then, if fortune smiled on them in the struggle with
Neyvla-khan, his Rifter captain would wear an even stronger collar, invisible
and irresistible, enslaving him to the Matria of Barca.

And then, with the
Panarchy swept away, the Thousand Suns would lie open to their blessed
fecundity.

Their path to the
starboard lock of the
Shiavona
took
Lochiel, Messina, and Bayrut first to the dispensary. The plangent booming and
keening of the Kelly’s trinat echoed down the corridor in spite of the closed
hatch.

“Why do they keep
playing that thing?” Messina winced.

“It’s music to
them,” Lochiel reminded her, giving her mate’s shoulder an affectionate rub.

“They seem to play
it every watch,” Bayrut commented from Messina’s other side. “They don’t even
bother to take it apart each time anymore.” He laughed. “If I hadn’t known what
it was first time I saw it, I would have run out of the dispensary—hell of a
thing to see when you’re going in for medtech.”

Messina shook her
head, her brow tense. Lochiel guessed that Messina was more sensitive than most
to the overtones generated by the bizarre Kelly instrument, which did look
something like some kind of ancient torture device.

“Every time I hear
that music I feel like I’ve grown a third leg,” Messina muttered.

“Funny,” Bayrut
retorted, “it doesn’t do that to me.”

Messina elbowed him
and he sidestepped, chortling, as they reached the dispensary hatch.

The keening music
stopped as Lochiel tabbed the annunciator, and Shtoink-Nyuk2-Wu4 swirled out,
undulating in triple-time.

The Marine guards
at the hatch saluted them. Lochiel acknowledged, making some effort to hide her
sourness at the sight of nicks on the
Shiavona
,
although she had to admit that in Cameron’s position she would have done the
same. She was still worried about some of the crew, despite Cameron’s assurance
that the bonus chip on the
Shiavona
and all its crew was sequestered, and would be wiped at the completion of the
mission. There were a few who couldn’t believe that.

The shuttle took
them quickly to the
Claidheamh Mor
,
where they found the captain and officers from all the ships of Cameron’s
squadron already in the plot room.

Cameron greeted
them in civilian language, with careful politeness. Lochiel responded with
equal care, aware of the humor narrowing her cousin’s eyes. Their reunion had
been joyful, once away from official protocol, and now they shared an
undercurrent of adventure that echoed their childhood escapades.

“There’s been a
change in the situation,” he said after the introductions were over. “The
Barcans somehow managed to trap both Rifter fleets by extending the resonance
field.”

“But the damn
Barcans’re still not fighting,” Captain Agenes said. The old woman looked more
impatient than the young ensign at the com console.

“Can you blame
them?” Meliarch ZiTuto said, opening a hand.

These were the
people Lochiel would be working with on the coming attack; she always learned
everything she could of her allies as well as her enemies.

“The Barcans were
xenophobic even before they started hearing about the disasters from the rest
of the Thousand Suns,” the Meliarch went on. “We can be assured that any info
relayed by the Rifters will show no naval victories.”

“And now they have
to choose between Neyvla-khan and Hreem the Faithless as their new
‘protectors.’” Commander Thad spoke up. She was maybe thirty, first officer of
the
Shamsin
, her throaty soprano
conveying cool amusement.

“So the implication
is, we can’t expect any help from the Barcans?” Lochiel asked, watching the
gazes turn her way.

“We can’t even be
sure they won’t fire on us,” Commander Kor-Mellish said, her face somber. “EM
from Barca indicates little confidence in the Panarchy.”

“They probably
figure they can strike a deal with Eusabian,” Captain Bonxer put in.

“To whom the Ban
means nothing.” The new speaker was Commander Gyisquil, armorer on the
Claidheamh Mor
—a tall, thin man with a
long, deeply lined face.

“Ogres.” Bonxer
scowled. “That’s what Eusabian wants.”

Cameron swiftly
outlined the tactical situation. He and his officers had evolved several plans.
None of them had been very satisfactory—there had been no secure way to contact
Hreem beforehand, and no way to predict how the Barcans and Neyvla-khan would
react to the emergence of a ship allied with him.

“But now, since the
Barcans popped out the resonance field and interdicted fiveskip, the Rifters
are on more predictable courses with a smaller drunkwalk spread, so we can
probably get a tightbeam to Hreem. Can you think of anything you could say to
Hreem to slow down his responses, at least?” he asked. “Maybe a feint for the
Barcans and Neyvla-khan to read, to set them up as well. We’ve got some new
possible tactical sets here.” The plot-pane came to life.

“That could give us
more time to deal with Neyvla-khan,” Refren ZiTuto put in.

Several stirred,
and the back of Lochiel’s neck tightened at the cold venom in the man’s voice;
she thought, I’m going to hear that from all the navy, considering what
Neyvla-Khan did to Minerva
.
Even
though she had no emotional ties to the Panarchy’s Navy save through her cousin,
the vid of the slagging of the Naval Academy and Minerva had given her
nightmares.

A privacy came to
her from Cameron.
(He lost his lifemate
on Minerva.)

Lochiel
acknowledged him with a flicker of a glance. She turned her attention to the
tactical display, and considered the political possibilities. Hreem’s hatred
for Neyvla-khan was legendary, and more than reciprocated. “I can tell him
you’re part of Charterly’s fleet that didn’t have the Urian gear, so you
skipped out when things went sour at Dolorosa,” she began.

Then she remembered
something Shtoink had said, after their first visit to Cameron’s destroyer. The
Kelly had been fascinated by lance technology—they seemed to find something
about it uproariously amusing.

“Wait. How about a
lance attack on the outer moon—” She squinted at the plot. “Avasta?” She turned
a doubtful look at ZiTuto. Why hadn’t they considered this? “You can fit lances
for asteroidal operations, right? Take over the lazplaz installation bearing on
the likely engagement space to use against the Rifters?”

He acknowledged
with a curt nod. “Tesla mole. Throws rock like a fountain from Haruban’s Hell.
And Avasta’s perfect for that, since they moved it into that orbit about a
hundred years ago. The Barcan response’d be slowed down, thinking at first that
the lance impacts and tunneling were seismic activity from tidal stress.” His
dark, chiseled features settled into grimness. “But we can’t get them to the
moon without detection. There isn’t time.”

“It’d take too long
to approach in real time, but the skip pulses of the delivery ship’d give you
away,” Messina spoke up, her navigator’s mind grasping the essentials
immediately.

ZiTuto acknowledged
with a gesture, almost a salute.

“I don’t suppose
you can disguise the signature of the lances like you can the other ships?”
Bayrut asked. Lochiel nodded. ECM could alter the signature of the destroyers
and other vessels to closely match the older ships characteristic of Rifter
fleets.

“Too much engine in
relation to their mass.” Lochiel identified the speaker: Lieutenant Commander
Abramson, an expert in ECM from the
Kilij
,
the third destroyer of the naval squadron.

“And the situation
is too uncertain to wait,” added Cameron. “The Barcans could strike a deal with
Eusabian at any moment.”

During the silence,
several looked grim, and more than a few seemed to be exchanging privacies.
Lochiel hoped they were trying out ideas, and not slanging the Rifters.

“Stealth fiveskip,”
Shtoink said, while Nyuk2 and Wu4 keened in counterpoint.

Meliarch ZiTuto
looked askance, his lips tight.

“No such thing,”
said Captain Agenes.

“Perhaps,” replied
Shtoink. The Kelly intertwined their head-stalks in a complex pattern that
Lochiel recognized—only two of the three sensory clusters would be visible from
any given point around them.
Enigmatic
mode.
She was constantly amazed at the similarity in the role of gesture in
both Kelly and Douloi communications. “But do the Rifters know that? Or the
Barcans?”

“There’ve been
rumors on the RiftNet,” said Messina.

Mutters and shifts
of excitement went through the officers; a few covert looks were sent Lochiel’s
way. Yeah, not a lot of trust there
.

“Hreem would
concentrate here, then.” Bonxer pinpointed a slice of orbits from his console.
“He’d actually want to take higher orbits, to be shadowed longer by Barca from
the other moon’s weapons fire.”

“Neyvla-khan would
be only too happy to take the lower orbits at first, but he’s a clever
chatzer,” Captain Agenes added. “He’d suspect something eventually.”

“But he’d be
concentrated here, at first.”

Comments
overtopping each other elicited slashing lines and evolving blots of color as
the tactics emerged. It wasn’t perfect, but it removed many of the degrees of
freedom available to their opponents.

“It’s too bad we
can’t really do it,” Cameron said. “We’ll already have Hreem set up for a destroyer
sortie, but we’d set up Neyvla-khan for decimation by Avasta, if we could grab
the weapons, and the Barcans wouldn’t know where to shoot from the other moon.”

“Neat,” Kor-Mellish
said, then in a lower voice, “But impossible.”

Someone sighed;
ZiTuto glared at the plot pane as if willing a solution to reveal itself. Messina
glared as if trying to force some sense onto the confusion of alternatives.
Cameron caught Lochiel’s eye, and her boz pinged.
(We’re seeing the visceral impact of Eusabian’s hyperwave on tacticians.)

Lochiel grimaced
back at him.

In reality, facing
opponents with near-perfect communications, the
Shiavona
would have to commence the attack by taking out the
weapons on the outer moon, timed to coincide with a sneak-missile attack on the
Rifter ships, and then, after taking out the outer resonance field, a general
engagement. And no one could predict what the Barcans would do.

After an interval
of fruitless speculation, Cameron suggested they break, as the watch was about
to change anyway. He invited the three Rifters and the Kelly to the officers’
mess along with his executives and Meliarch ZiTuto, while the others returned
to their ships.

ZiTuto produced a
set of Kelly drinking bubbles, and Cameron watched in fascination as Shtoink-Nyuk2-Wu4
drank from each other’s bubbles in a triply syncopated rhythm of intertwined
head-stalks. He was glad the bubbles were heavily tinted: the thick, chunky
appearance of whatever the Kelly were drinking, or rather ingesting, made his
bile rise.

“It’s too bad you
couldn’t bring your trinat,” Bayrut said.

The man’s heavy
face betrayed no humor, but Cameron sensed some teasing.

“I’m sure Messina
misses it.” Bayrut added, causing a blush in the gray-eyed navigator.

Lochiel’s tousled
brown hair bent close so all they could see was Messina’s neat black hair;
Lochiel whispered something caused Messina’s shoulders to shake with silent
laughter.

Messina was almost
always in the middle of the three—
a human
trinity
, Cameron noted idly, and smiled at the unexpected reminder of the
Kelly. Only humans weren’t Kelly. He wondered how the three of them balanced
their relationship; he knew they’d been together for twenty years. Cameron
himself couldn’t manage a single relationship for much longer than a tour of
duty.

Shtoink bent her
head-stalk toward Bayrut, twisted it so that first one pair of eyes regarded
him unblinkingly, and then another pair. Is one of their three eyes dominant?
Cameron wondered.

“Wethree could do
that, yes,” the Intermittor said, and Nyuk2 and Wu4 hooted briefly.

Cameron was pleased
to note that he could now tell the two other Kelly apart. He thought of them as
males, although he knew they weren’t.

“But then, in all
fairness, wethree would have to grant Messina’s likely request.”

Bayrut mimed
question.

“Wethree should
have to grace you with an advanced case of Yaffidian Bungee-Balls, rendering
you unable to walk without tripping.”

Commander
Kor-Mellish snorted into her drink, then inhaled and choked as general quarters
blared through the ship and the comscreen lit up.

“Captain,” a young
lieutenant reported. “Three ships, clustered on zero-zero, one thousand
kilometers out. There was no emergence pulse—they were just there!” He looked
down at his console and his eyes widened. “They’re Kelly. A third of a
Fox-class tripod.”

A window offered a
view of the intruders, one ship larger than the other two, inversely mirroring
Kelly biology.

“Maintain status,
shields up full,” Cameron snapped, turning to Lochiel’s Rifter Kelly.

A sharp scent
redolent of cinnamon and burnt leaves rose from them, which Cameron was now
sure was amusement.

“‘In sweet music is
such art, killing care and grief of heart.’” Nyuk2 nudged Messina gently, then
the Kelly made a triple deference to Cameron. “Our gift to you: there are
more.”

Cameron struggled
to assemble his thoughts. The Kelly ships had appeared in the heading that made
them most vulnerable to a destroyer’s weapons, an unmistakable sign of benign
intentions. But without an emergence pulse! And how had they found them?