The Rifter's Covenant (66 page)

“Here we go,” Marim
muttered.

“Ivard, take us in
to eight light seconds, 180 from the skipmissile tube.” That would keep Telvarna
safe from the destroyer’s main weapon.

Ivard keyed his
console again. The fiveskip burped. “
Satansclaw
plus 8.1 light seconds.”

“
Satansclaw
?” Vi’ya repeated. She had not
permitted herself to hope that she would know whoever was sent to meet her.
“Tallis Y’Marlor,” she breathed.

“If he’s still
alive,” Montrose rumbled. “He was always one for skulking behind the action.
Dol’jhar might have replaced him early on—he never would have survived fighting
the Navy.”

Vi’ya poised her
hand over the skip pad until Ivard reported, “Scan shows 180-degree
orientation,” said Ivard. He paused. “No rotation detected.”

“Barrodah has
apparently ordered a peaceable approach, whatever they might wish,” Vi’ya said
calmly.

Ivard concentrated
on his console, watching for any attempt on
Satansclaw’s
part to bring their main weapon to bear.

“Message incoming,”
Lokri reported about ten seconds later, his voice languid. “Onscreen.”

The older members
of the crew all recognized the tall, dark-haired man, who now sported an eye
patch. He wore a gaudy, tightly-fitted uniform of no recognizable affiliation.
Marim wondered if the eye patch was an affectation.

“
Satansclaw
to
Telvarna
, this is Captain Tallis Y’Marmor of the Karroo Syndicate.
You are to approach within one light second to these coordinates.” Ivard’s
console blurbled momentarily. “I will establish a hyperwave connection via my
ship to Barrodagh.”

A light flickered
on Lokri’s console and he nodded at Vi’ya, who said, “Acknowledged.” She glanced
at Sedry, active at her console.

“Yeah, right,” said
Marim acidly. “One sec from a destroyer, even one run by that nullwit Tallis.
Why don’t we just skip into the singularity and get it over with.”

“That will put us right
behind the
Satansclaw’s
radiants,
where it is most vulnerable,” said Sedry. “And, given the naval data on
Satansclaw
, they’ve nothing covering
that bearing that could punch through our shields before we could skip, so it’s
also where we are least vulnerable.”

“Ivard, set your
console to Sedry’s feed, for skip on missile traces,” said Vi’ya. “Sedry, be
ready to fire on my command.”

As soon as the
Satansclaw
emerged, Sedry had called up
the tenno battle glyphs. She hunched over her console, hands poised above the
keys. Fire Control was new to her, but combining dataspace with commands was
old; after a week of sim-practice, she felt as ready as she would ever be.

She gritted her
teeth. Now, instead of annihilating data structures, she
might be annihilating human beings. At least the enemy would be
Dol’jharians, or the Rifters who had allied willingly with them; she would
never rid herself of the stain of the blood of those she’d sworn to protect who
were killed at Arthelion.

Vi’ya spoke a
command, and they felt the internal tug of skip.

“One light second, relative
velocity 1.5 kiloclicks 180 from
Satanscalw
,”
Ivard said.

“Incoming,” Lokri
added, sitting up straight. He hit the control and once again they all looked
expectantly at the screen.

Tallis Y’Marmor
appeared, looking slightly annoyed. Around him, his bridge crew sat stone-faced
as he said, “I’m patching you through to serach Barrodagh’s hyperwave channel.”
The screen blanked.

Lokri’s console
began to chitter quietly as the
Telvarna’s
encryption systems negotiated with the Dol’jharian channel. He grinned. “In
other words, Barrodagh won’t let him listen in.”

By the way that
Marim crowed and Ivard snickered, Sedry suspected this crew had had some kind
of dealings in the past with Y’Marmor. She’d ask Montrose later.

The screen
flickered, and a narrow face appeared, dark eyes studying them sourly. Behind
Barrodagh was an uninformative gray background.

As he and Vi’ya
began their dickering, Sedry ran her hands lightly over her keys. It felt odd
to sit at the console where the now-Panarch had sat not so long ago, and fired
on Eusabian’s flagship.
Alt L’Ranja
gehaidin!
was the code to activate the tenno, some kind of motto and
apparently a private joke between Markham, the previous captain, and Brandon as
a young krysarch.

Vi’ya had told
Sedry that she could recode it, but she had chosen not to. She’d rather adapt
to their lives.
She wanted nothing
more than to forget her past and to make a new identity. And it had pleased her
inordinately to discover that this was a normal aspect of the Riftskip: that
most people came to it leaving behind an entire life. No one had asked her any
questions at all.

The big screen
flickered as Barrodagh vanished and an image of Tallis bounced into place.

“Is it settled?” he
asked.

“It is,” Vi’ya
replied.

Tallis nodded, his
fingers making finicky movements on the arm of his captain’s pod. “Welcome to
the fleet. Before you make your last approach, I would like to invite you
aboard my ship for a conference. There is much information we could profitably
share, and I believe I can entertain you tolerably well.”

Vi’ya hesitated
fractionally. “I accept.”

“I shall send a
barge,” Tallis said grandly.

Vi’ya acknowledged,
then terminated the transmission.

“Barrodagh wants
me, so he won’t play any tricks,” Vi’ya said. “And this is Tallis, after all. Maybe
I can find something out that will help us.”

“I want to go,”
Marim said. “I’ll find out whatever you want.”

Vi’ya shook her
head. “Jaim only. I want to look as formidable as I can.” She smiled grimly. “If
he’s survived this long in Dol’jhar’s employ then he has learned something. You
can be sure that he will be prying at me for whatever he can get, and they will
all be watching for any sign of weakness.”

Aboard the
Satansclaw
, Tallis inspected the dining room and ordered
a slub to wash down the bulkheads. Again. Everything still seemed greasy after
Anderic had nearly killed his crew fighting the logos.

Tallis sniffed
delicately. Sometimes he could almost fancy he smelled traces of the disposer backup
that had almost washed him out of Recycling on a tide of excreta. He hoped it
was an artifact of memory. It would not do to have that Dol’jharian woman come
aboard and smell bilge.

He wished he’d thought
to tell her to leave those little brainburners behind. Ought he to have a
mind-blur running, in addition to the Negus extract he had taken to blunt his
emotions? No, it would look weak. He’d rely on the drugs.

He’d met Vi’ya once
or twice at Rifthaven. She’d been a second then, standing silently behind their
yellow-haired, renegade nick captain as they dickered with the Karroo
merchants. Would she have any aesthetic appreciation for his ship, or would she
act the brute like those nullwit Tarkans on Arthelion?

After hovering in
uncertainty, he decided to meet the barge. He wouldn’t lose prestige, really.
After all, he had invited her. And maybe they’d get to some real talk the
faster.

He stood outside
the lock, with Kira Lennart at his side. As a second, Lennart was
reliable—unfortunately she was also his rival for Luri’s affections. Luri.
Tallis winced, hoping Luri would not decide to make an appearance and ruin
everything with her flirting.

The shuttle landed
in the bay, and the ramp came down. Two tall figures descended, one in black,
the other in gray. Tallis let out a slow breath of relief. No brainburners. But
he had forgotten how tall she was; her eye level was slightly above his,
forcing him to lift his chin in order to meet her slanted black gaze.

Her eyes really
were black—he remembered her tempathy and looked away quickly, gesturing a
welcome with one of those aristocratic Douloi modes. He had practiced it in his
cabin, and thought it added the right suggestion of a blend of refined tastes
and command.

“Welcome aboard,
Captain,” he said. “I took the liberty of having a meal prepared. I’ve equipped
my galley with a cook from the Apanaush school on Rifthaven—” As he spoke, he
remembered belatedly that her own physician was a Golgol chef, and winced.
“This way,” he said hastily, glaring at Lennart, who didn’t quite hide a smirk.
Damn her—of course she knew that, too.

He led the way up
through the ship, feeling that this, at least, would compare favorably to what
must be cramped quarters aboard that little Columbiad. His first order when he
had regained his ship had been to put everyone to work scrubbing. Not just to
restore things to the proper state of cleanliness that his fastidious senses
demanded, but to underscore that he was in command.

That reminded him
of the logos, still lurking in the system. It seemed under control; he couldn’t
find the handbook anywhere, so he couldn’t run the diagnostics. But he’d find a
way to remove it, even if he had to go to Barca and pay again.

When they reached
the dining room he dismissed Lennart, using the words and gestures he had
prepared. She gave him one cold look and left, her resentment obvious.

The Dol’jharian did
not seem to notice; at least there was no expression whatever on that smooth
face. She was much younger than he’d assumed, he noted with surprise as she sat
where he indicated, and accepted wine. The tall, long-faced man in gray stood behind
her chair, his stance characteristic of an Ulanshu master, powerful even when
still.

Vi’ya also
reflected that stillness, indicating that she could take care of herself, and
Tallis fretted inwardly, wondering if he had lost prestige by not having a
bodyguard. Casting his mind wildly over his crew as he sipped his wine, he
wondered who could even remotely affect that kind of stance? Fourth-level
Ulanshu, it’s got to be, he thought. Why hadn’t he stayed with it—or found
someone who had?

The steward served
the food, and for a time they talked of Rifthaven. Vi’ya seemed interested in
this topic, so Tallis brought her up on the latest news—as if he’d had liberty
with the others and hadn’t been stuck in the bilge. There was no way for her to
know that, he assured himself. At the same time he tried to
underscore—delicately—that she was behind the times because she herself had
been a prisoner.

Which she
acknowledged with a matter-of-fact attitude that Tallis found disconcerting.
“The nicks allowed us a few news-feeds, but it was mostly filtered stuff about
Rifter atrocities and Navy triumphs,” she said.

“Must have been few
of those,” Tallis said, snickering.

She lifted one
shoulder slightly. “Some of their losses did tremendous damage to Eusabian’s
ships, if they didn’t completely lie.”

Tallis remembered
some of the rumors he’d heard on Sodality channels and nodded. “True. You think
they’ll come on the attack, then?”

She smiled
slightly. “They do not discuss their strategy with prisoners, but it seems
obvious, does it not?”

She had finished
eating. Tallis summoned the steward to bring the dessert. “Did you see anything
that can give us a tactical edge?”

She gave her head a
single shake, not quite a nod. He’d seen that gesture before, in those chatzing
Tarkans. “They took great care to keep us from seeing anything of value. On the
way out, though, I noted many badly scarred ships.”

Tallis lifted his
wineglass in salute. “We still have the skipmissiles.”

She then posed her
own question: “How are the Syndicates holding up?”

He sighed.
“Eusabian’s pulling everyone in against this attack. People have made fortunes,
but no one can use any of it sitting out here. At least we aren’t on that
stinking Suneater.”

“Bad, is it?”

“You’ll see,” he
said, trying not to gloat. If it was half as bad on the inside as its outside
appearance indicated, it must be a literal hell. But no Rifter knew, for none
were allowed on the station. No need to tell her that.

He wondered if the Negus
was working. Her face was impossible to read. He hoped so, for he hated the
dreams he’d had the one time he’d tried the drink itself on Rifthaven.

Then he went on:
“Syndicates are chaotic. Charterly’s dead, I heard. Eichelly and Neyvla-Khan’s
entire fleet, gone. Diamond’s dead, too, though she got duffed by the Rifthaven
triumvirate. No one is happy—but what’s there to do until this chatzing war is
over, the nicks gone, and we can go back and enjoy our take?”

Over coffee they
talked some more about different ships and captains. Tallis did not learn much,
and he found himself fiddling nervously with his silverware and glass—anything
to avoid those black eyes.

It was a relief
when she got up to leave. As Tallis followed the tall bodyguard down to the
hatchway, he watched their cat-silent walk, their controlled movements.

They’re tough, and they know it, he thought enviously as Vi’ya ducked through
the barge lock.

When the lock
closed behind them, he returned to his cabin, feeling that, considering
everything, it had gone very well. Though she hadn’t asked once about Hreem,
and he knew very well they were deadly enemies.

In his cabin, he surveyed
himself in his mirror, still holding the image of the gray-clad bodyguard in
mind. No weapons, no fancy uniform, but that drivetech still managed to convey
an aura of power—he and Vi’ya both.

Tallis frowned at
his reflection. By comparison he looked . . . soft. Refined,
that was a better way to put it. Yes, refined.

He remembered Hreem—the
very opposite of refined—and grinned at his reflection, thinking: Hreem still
thinks he killed her at Dis, doesn’t he?

Tallis had long
suspected, from the intensity of the opprobrium with which he cursed Vi’ya and
her crew, that Hreem was afraid of Vi’ya and her brainburners and her
Ulanshu-trained bodyguard.