The Rifter's Covenant (46 page)

Barrodagh held his
face still with great effort, but his heart raced. He remembered the sucking
fistula that had opened in the sleeping chamber he had recently had to abandon.
What if it had been larger—much larger? He hastily suppressed the image.

“Things? What
things?”

“We’ve fed it
water, sucrose, vatbeef, substances like that. The Ur-fruit nearby seem
somewhat less noxious. But I’m not sure the station correlates these substances
with us. Certainly, it has no way of understanding their relation to us, that
they are food.”

“What do you want
to do?”

Lysanter hesitated.
“I think we should feed it a human body. Dead,” he added hastily. “And you
needn’t kill anyone for it, of course. It’s not that urgent.”

Barrodagh stared at
him. The Avatar had commanded them to bring the Suneater up to full power. Did
Lysanter imagine he would allow anything so trivial as a life to stand in the
way of executing that command? But the scientist was from the Panarchy.

“We could feed it a
live human, if you think it better,” said Barrodagh cruelly, enjoying the way
Lysanter flinched.

“No, that would be
moving too fast.” Lysanter looked straight back at him. “What if it thought it
was supposed to swallow living humans? Our quarters might not be safe.”

Not it was
Barrodagh’s turn to flinch, and the uncontrollable reflex made him furious.
You did that on purpose.
The scientist
knew about his problems with his room. Oh, Lysanter would pay for that and many
other slights, someday. For now, however, he had to accept it.

“Very well. As it
happens, there are two corpses available. Two grays got into a fight. One died,
the other was executed. They have not yet been rendered down and recycled. I
leave it to you to choose. Or take both.”

Barrodagh’s com
beeped.

“Hyperwave from
Flower of Lith
,” came the report. “For
you, from Norio Danali.”

Hreem’s tempath.
What did he want? To volunteer? The same thought must have occurred to
Lysanter, for the scientist’s face brightened.

Not until I have a
lot more mind-blurs
,
Barrodagh
thought.

“I’ll be there
shortly.” He turned to Lysanter. “Make the arrangements and notify me. I will
observe.”

He left, walking
swiftly. Having Norio would be two-edged. He was a powerful tempath and the
worst kind of mindsnake, from reports; but without him, Hreem would be far more
vulnerable. Barrodagh might even finally get someone on his ship.

Vi’ya stepped
aboard the
Telvarna
and breathed
deeply.

The tianqi had been
shut down so the air was still and slightly stale, but she breathed it in
slowly, savoring the smell of home.

Reaching the
bridge, she smoothed her hands over her console before she sat down. Utter
quiet surrounded her, outside and inside.

Finally she touched
a key and started up life-support. With a subdued whoosh the tianqi started
circulating air. She felt a gentle draft on her cheek and smelled the clean
scents that Markham had programmed in from his memories of Lusor.

She powered up the
automat section of the galley, then sat back, reviewing her plans with
painstaking care.

If Lokri was not
granted his freedom by legal means, Vi’ya would free him—but she’d have only
one chance. Every eventuality had to be foreseen and planned for.

The first step had
been taken before they left for Gehenna. Through Marim she had inserted a worm
into naval dataspace to scout through the system for the records on
Telvarna
. That told her where the
critical engine parts were stored. Marim identified the ones that could be
built by dismantling other devices, and which would have to be stolen from the
high-security lockers.

Shortly after her
return from the Gehenna mission, Vi’ya activated the second segment of the worm
and Marim had begun her work. Before she joined the Dis gang, she had been a
thief. Under Vi’ya’s orders, and with the help of the worm, Marim embarked on a
series of careful temporary thefts—nothing disappeared, or at least at first.

She took oddments
of a weird variety, some on the list of controlled parts, others having nothing
at all to do with engines. Each item reappeared some time later, its
disappearance traced to a computer error planted by the worm. No alarms had
been raised, and soon Vi’ya had seen the result she had hoped for: the harassed
quartermaster’s staff detuned the inventory monitors to make them less
sensitive to stock fluctuations.

Now Marim had room
to work, and she began stealing the engine parts that couldn’t be built from
other things, one by one, the least crucial first. And now that they had a few
of those, it was time for Vi’ya’s next phase: access to the
Telvarna
.

She had not known
how powerful Eloatri’s influence was until she asked for, and got, permission
to sleep aboard her ship.

She had merely
mentioned during Manderian’s most recent visit how badly she slept in a
building crammed with other human beings, most of whom were under great stress
due to the crowding. And what a relief it would be to be aboard her own ship,
away from everyone. It was an experiment, no more than the first—and
easiest—plan for gaining access to the
Telvarna
.

Too easy, she had
thought. Expecting it to come to nothing, she had not even planned beyond the
conversation with Manderian.

But within six
hours after that talk, she found a drop waiting, from Eloatri herself. Under the
sigil of the Digrammaton was a statement granting permission for Vi’ya to pass
through the Cap to her ship any evening she felt the need. No explanation
followed, just a route, passcodes, instructions regarding inspections, and a
warning that breaching any of the seals on the engine room would result in
immediate revocation of the pass.

Now she had to deal
with the frequent cursory inspections of the outer seal that were the norm, and
the less frequent but more stringent inspections of the inner seal. Breaching
the latter would probably have to wait until the judgment had been passed on
Lokri at his trial. She sighed, thinking of the two small parts in her pockets.
She ought to get those stashed away, but it felt good to sit and blend with the
silence for a time.

She closed her eyes.
And recoiled when she sensed a familiar psychic signature, sun-searing in its
proximity.

She turned, and
Brandon appeared, his step slow, his smile contemplative beneath the
cobalt-blue eyes.

“Permission to come
aboard?” he asked, palms out apologetically, since he was already on board.

Her mouth had gone
dry; she dipped her chin in assent.

He prowled from
Lokri’s console, silent and dark, to the nav console, then hitched a narrow hip
against the pod. The hour was early and he was dressed only in shirt, trousers,
and boots, which meant he had sidestepped some Panarchic obligation in order to
come here.

“You told me when
we first met,” he said lightly, “that you had destroyed all of Markham’s
effects.”

“I destroyed
everything tangible, which was what you asked,” she said.

He lifted a hand in
an airy gesture. “Thus discounting the captain’s log, which I found later.” He
touched a console. “And a record he’d apparently meant to send to me.”

“They were not
tangible effects,” she reiterated. He was angry. When had she seen him so?
There had been no hint of it when last they met. It sent her senses reeling in
shock, making it hard to think. “And I did not want to give those to you.”

He lifted his head
and smiled briefly. “I was to find them, yes? To prove what?”

She said nothing.
The two engine parts dug hard into her hip; she forced her muscles to relax.

He walked to
Marim’s console. His fingers traced the keys restlessly, bare of intent. “Did
you read the one he meant for me?” he asked at length.

“Yes.”

“What message did
you see there?”

Where was this
leading? “It was a political indictment,” she said.

He moved to Ivard’s
console. “It was a political indictment,” he repeated. “Do you believe in
ghosts?”

“No.”

“The question would
not seem frivolous if you had been haunted by Semion’s specter, as I have.”

In recent days they
had talked enough for her to have noticed a pattern. Brandon could be
disarmingly frank about any subject, including himself. At other times the
conversation would proceed at right angles to the real question; at those times
it felt to Vi’ya like a duel, fought with invisible weapons. Not being able, as
yet, to divine the underlying question she had feinted, deflected, and riposted
in self-defense.

So it seemed he had
come today intending to try with the thrust direct.

“Three of Semion’s
captains have managed in a formidably short time to break and scatter my Navy
almost as successfully as Dol’jhar’s fleet,” he said. “How doesn’t matter. I am
trying to figure out why.”

‘My Navy’
.
“You have your laws and regulations,”
she said. “If your people disobey them, you punish the disobedient.”

“But they don’t
disobey,” he said.

She sat back,
trying to appear relaxed. “You told me some days ago that Koestler is
maneuvering politically to try to secure command of the attack on the
Suneater.”

“Yes.”

“Have you made a
decision?”

“Yes. Based on
military reasons. But for political reasons I haven’t said anything yet.”

Vi’ya nodded. “Ng.”

“Why do you say
that?”

This, at least, was
a straightforward enough subject. “I have watched several times the combat logs
you gave me. Though it is dangerous to say what-if about battle because too
much depends not just on the moment but on where one happens to be, and—”

“And one’s angle on
the action,” he said. “Given. Go on.”

“They are both
experienced, courageous, excellent commanders. But Ng has the edge for two
reasons. One: she brought to battle the new tenno. Two, she figured out the
weakness in the Dol’jharians’ dependence on the Urian weapons and
communications.”

“Intellectually,”
Brandon said. “Koestler seems to have figured it out kinetically but was just
too late to use it. About the tenno: Ng did not invent them.”

“One of her
officers did. But she sought that officer out, for the same work Semion’s
captains, or at least Semion, had dismissed as frivolous. Within the context of
battle she gains the credit.”

Brandon moved back
to Damage Control, his fingers still restless. “Think about their styles of
command.”

Vi’ya closed her
eyes, trying to bring back images of the often-viewed logs of their recent
battles. She remembered the bridges of the cruisers—so much alike, orders given
in much the same language.

“Can you see
Warrigal on
Astraea
’s bridge?” he
asked.

“Yes . . .”
But as she spoke the word, she knew the picture would not resolve. “No.” She
looked up. “No one offered Koestler information, much less observations, which
Ng did permit. So Koestler selects for obedience, not initiative, yes? And
perhaps shuts out those whose mentalities do not match his own?”

“Not Koestler,”
Brandon said.

Vi’ya had not moved
from the captain’s pod. Brandon also stayed where he was, the width of the
bridge between them.

“Semion,” she said.
The surface question fell into place then. “He built his own Navy, did he not?
Within the superstructure of the Panarchic Navy, and completely according to
its rules. Yet their allegiance was to Semion. Not as the heir-symbol, but to
his person.”

“Right,” he said.
“He put twenty years into creating a highly-trained elite guard that would obey
him without question.”

So this is a
question of allegiance? she thought.

“My task is to
bring them back—if I can,” he said. “But trust has to go both ways.”

A month ago Vi’ya
had had three questions. The first two had been answered: Brandon had chosen to
return to the world of his ancestors, and he knew that Vi’ya, a Rifter, would
someday leave his world.

The third question
remained: Would he try and stop her?

She said, “What do
you have to offer them in place of their old covenant?”

“Only the truth.” He
opened his hands. “That allegiance to a single individual produces a bond only
as strong, or as wise, as that person. But a covenant with a position, a role,
a symbol, if you will, draws greatness from each member’s talents and wisdom. If
it is kept by everyone, of whatever status or degree.”

The superficial
subject was Panarchist politics. The subtext was Panarchists vs. Rifters. The true
question was Panarch vs. Rifter captain. “But everyone does not keep it,” she
said deliberately. “Or we would not be having this conversation.”

And watched the
impact of the unspoken in his eyes.

All of the
intensity went out of him, no longer hiding plain human exhaustion. The duel
was over. He had disengaged, and thrown aside his weapon.

The radical
alteration in his emotional spectrum left her, as it often did, fighting for
balance. Reaching back for the superficial topic, she asked, “How much time do
you have?”

“Until Omilov has
his Suneater data ready to present, and until the admirals know how many ships
we will have for an attack,” he answered with a slight smile. She braced
herself against the sense of regret that he could not hide, and below that
self-mockery. “In the meantime,” he went on, straightening up and walking
slowly toward her console, “there is Lokri’s matter. I would like you to meet
with Sedry Thetris, who has been datadiving for Ixvan.”

Which was his way
of telling her that her efforts had been detected.

Revealing, at last,
the motivation for this meeting.