A Choice of Treasons (57 page)

She started sobbing again, and he held her like that for a long time, neither of them speaking, while slowly her grief dwindled to a quiet whimper. After a time he could feel her weight leaning heavily on him, and he knew she was half-asleep with exhaustion. He let his arms relax a little but she clutched at him desperately. So he picked her up, marveled for a moment at how small she seemed. He expanded the field on her grav bunk, laid her down gently in it. But she wouldn’t let go of his hand, so he lay down beside her and wrapped his arms around her.

“You come with me,” she said. “You and me. We can go make babies somewhere, someplace where they’ll never find us. We can live normal lives, not wonder every moment if today is our last day alive. Will you do that with me?”

He nodded, realized she couldn’t see the gesture, though with his cheek resting against hers perhaps she could feel it. “Ya, I will.”

“Promise?”

“Ya, I promise.”

After that she slept, though it was fitful and she whimpered a little from time to time. He slept a little, but mostly he laid awake and made plans. He planned how he and she would desert as soon as he could figure out a way. He knew more about these things than her. He had a considerable amount of pay in his account and he knew how to withdraw it slowly over a period of time so it wouldn’t draw any suspicion. A bribe here, a bribe there, steal a small courier ship and get lost out on the fringes where, rumor had it, there was no war.

But first, he had to get the empress back in one piece.

He whispered softly, “Ya, Maggie, I promise.”

CHAPTER 25: SARASAN

“Mornin’ cap’em.”

York stood outside Richard’s cell, looked the fat, little pirate over carefully. Richard grinned at him. “There are certain advantages for a pirate who don’t look like a pirate, Cap’em.”

“So you’re admitting to piracy now, not legitimate salvage operations?”

Richard’s grin broadened. “Well now, Cap’em. Just between us girls, it wouldn’t do me no good to deny it, would it? But don’t be expectin’ me to be so free and easy in a court o’ law.”

York shook his head. “Admiralty Court, not court of law.”

“Aw cap’em! Can’t you cut a poor down-and-out fella a break?”

“You killed my friends.”

Richard shrugged. “And you killed most of me crew.”

“Were any of them your friends?”

Richard winked. “Touché, Cap’em. But you and me could be friends, you know? We’re a lot alike, you and me.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Well now, Cap’em.” Richard leaned back in his seat, raised a hand and started ticking off points on his fingers. “You’re Ballin—
Butcher Ballin
. I could use me a nickname like that. Good for the image, if yer a pirate. Yer also a marine, and the SDO—the most bloodthirsty son-of-a-bitch of an
imper
anyone’s ever heard of. Yer a
lifer
, and you’ve managed to survive for more’n twenty years out here. That’s a rare commodity, Cap’em. You don’t have no prospects for the future: we both know they’re gonna take yer command away from you as soon as you get Her Nibs back to His Nibs. And then that little twat of a princess’ll probably have you up on charges. Have I got it right so far, Cap’em?”

York’s crew had obviously been rather talkative, though Richard was probably good at wheedling information. It occurred to York he could have Richard and his crew tanked; then no one could talk to him, but he was reluctant to do that even to the likes of him. “Go on,” he said.

Richard stood, crossed the small cell and faced York through the plast bars. “When you go back they’re gonna take this fine ship away from you, Cap’em. And then they’ll treat you no better’n they’re gonna treat me. But you don’t owe them nothin’. Nothin’ at all . . .”

Richard let that hang for a long moment. York prompted him, “And?”

The pirate waved a hand, indicating the ship around them. “Look at yer opportunities here, Cap’em. You got a beautiful ship—a fightin’ ship like no freebooter ever dreamed of. You don’t owe them nothin’. In fact it’s them what owes you—after you been fightin’ for ‘em for so long.” Richard leaned close and spoke just above a whisper. “You don’t have to go back, Cap’em. You don’t have to let ‘em treat you like shit, after all you done for ‘em. You just don’t have to.”

“And what are my alternatives?”

Richard shrugged, looked about carefully to insure no one else could hear. “Come with me to Andyne-Borregga. I could show you the way, Cap’em. With this ship and crew, and with the cargo you’re carryin’, you could buy yourself a good captaincy in the Mexaks. Start workin’ for yourself for once.”

York stepped back from the cell. Richard had caught him completely off balance. The infamous free port of Andyne-Borregga—center of operations for the Mexaks, haven for smugglers and pirates, center of commerce for contraband weapons, drugs—whose location was auspiciously a well kept secret. York knew better; it was impossible to keep secret the location of a major center of commerce, even if the commerce in question was mostly illicit and illegal. York didn’t doubt that it could be found and taken by a large and determined fleet. But Borregga was rumored to be well protected by its inhabitants, and even if it was destroyed, the illicit traffic would just crop up elsewhere in short order. So the empire and the Directorate tolerated its existence because it served a basic purpose and it wasn’t worth the trouble. Some effort was made to limit access; its location had never been on any charts that York had seen. And, of course, the Borreggans themselves wouldn’t tolerate the presence of an imperial cruiser, unless someone like Richard could help them gain entry.

“Cargo?” York asked. “What cargo do I have that would be of any value to the Mexaks?”

“Come on, Cap’em,” Richard said, tapping the side of his head. “You got to start thinkin’ creatively. Her Royal Sweet Ass’ll command a high price anywhere, especially from the
feddies
. And that little bitch of a princess and the rest of them are gravy, free and clear. What a team we’d make, eh Cap’em, Red Richard and Butcher Ballin?”

That left a bad taste in York’s mouth, not because of what Richard suggested, but because York was tempted to accept the pirate’s proposition. He didn’t say anything, just turned on his heels and marched out of the brig.

“Hey, Cap’em,” Richard called after him. “Where ya goin’? I thought we had a deal.”

York called Alsa Yan from the terminal in his office. “Tank Richard and his entire crew. Tell Palevi it’s my orders.”

Yan frowned and said, “Very good, sir,” but York could see the question she didn’t ask mirrored in her face.

“I don’t want him communicating with anyone on this ship. He’s tricky and dangerous.”

“Yes, sir,” Yan said skeptically, then switched off her terminal.

York had lied to her. He really didn’t want Richard communicating with him.

“Damn!” Add’kas’adanna swore, looking at her screen. “Damn, and damn again!” She activated her com. “Martak, come in here immediately.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”

Add’kas’adanna shook her head, looked at her screen again. It had become almost a morning ritual—splash a little water on her face, get a cup of hot caff, and then, before anything else, sit down and pull up the map of probable
Cinesstar
sightings. But that morning it had been different. She’d become so used to looking at the same unchanging map of sightings she recognized the difference immediately. At first she’d been excited, thinking a recent sighting had been logged while she’d slept. But then she pulled up the full report—filed hastily nine days ago by Captain Jewel Thaaline of
Pride of Altalane
, then misfiled for god knew how long before being properly routed to Add’kas’adanna’s intelligence officer.

Thaaline had been tracking
Cinesstar
since Dumark, actually engaged the
imper
once, took some damage, was forced to give up the chase temporarily and lost the trail. But Thaaline had finished by recording her own hunch that, while
Cinesstar’s
trail appeared to be headed for Aagerbanne, she thought it was a ruse, and the
imper
was actually headed for Sarasan.

Add’kas’adanna looked at her screens again. She had new data, new sightings, much more information than Thaaline, and it was obvious the
imper
was headed for Aagerbanne. But Thaaline’s confirmed sightings made it clear which of the other sightings were false, and which were real, and that gave Add’kas’adanna a much clearer picture. The
imper
should have reached Aagerbanne at about the same time the shooting had started, had probably transited right into it, for all she knew. He couldn’t have reached Aagerbanne before that—her neural interrogation of Sayalla had confirmed the
impers
still hadn’t located
Cinesstar
. So the
imper
had probably waited for her to withdraw, and when she’d done so, she’d passed right over the top of him.

Her intercom bleeped and her yeoman announced, “Commodore Martak is here, ma’am.”

“Send him in,” Add’kas’adanna barked.

Before Martak even sat down she was grumbling orders at him. “Reposition the entire fleet. I want a small strike force—ten of our fastest ships—under my personal command. We’ll drive straight for Sarasan. I want the rest of the fleet spread out between Aagerbanne and Sarasan. He’s out there somewhere, and we’re going to catch him.”

“Captain, I’ve got a hot one here.”

Jewel looked up from her screens, made eye contact with Soe in the cramped confines of the
Pride’s
bridge. “It came in on general broadcast, coded
top priority, for your eyes only
. I don’t even have the cipher key to decode it.”

Jewel nodded. “Send a copy down to my cabin terminal. I’ll look at it there.”

Now what
, she thought. They were in a good position—approaching Sarasan at a reasonable velocity. They had options now: they could throw warheads at the
impers
if they wanted to, or sit tight if that seemed the right thing to do. As long as DCO didn’t mess it up for them.

Jewel stood stiffly, turned to the ladder at the back of the bridge, tossed over her shoulder, “Mister Soe, you have the bridge.”

Down in her cabin the coded, top priority message was waiting for her. She punched in the cipher key, waited a few seconds for the computer to decipher the message and bring it up on one of her screens.

The picture showed Illcall Terman seated at his console, a trickle of blood streaming down his cheek from a cut over his right eye, more blood drizzling out a nostril, running past his lips and dripping off his chin. The left shoulder of his tunic showed the unmistakable signs of a flash burn, the kind caused by something exploding nearby.

As the recording began a choking cough racked his entire frame, and that brought up a mouthful of blood. Jewel heard pounding in the background and muffled shouts.

The coughing stopped, Terman looked into her eyes and she had to remember it was only a recording. “I don’t have much time, Jew. They’ll be in here any minute—”

He started coughing again, and Jewel wanted to shout,
Who’ll be in there any minute?

“You’ve got to trust me on this one, Jew. I don’t have time to explain, but the
impers
want to burn that
imper
cruiser as much as we do . . . But we don’t . . . I mean he’s gonna end the war. He’s gonna end the damn war . . .”

There was an explosion in the background—Terman’s picture shook and a chunk of debris barely missed taking off his head. “Don’t let them burn that
imper
,” he shouted into the pickup. “Just trust me, Jew. Don’t let—”

Terman’s head exploded in a shower of bone and brains; his body rocked forward, slammed against the console only inches from the pickup, then everything went still.

Jewel waited, looking at Terman’s open, dead eyes for an eternity. Then a dim, shadowy figure approached him carefully from behind, and, finally assured that Terman no longer posed a threat, stood erect. Terman’s corpse still blocked most of the figure, but then it pulled him clumsily out of the way by the collar of his tunic and dropped him to one side.

“What was he up to?” the figure asked someone.

“Hell if I know,” the someone answered.

“Look!” The figure pointed at something on the console, a finger only inches from the pickup. “He was broadcasting something.”

“Shit! Still is broadcasting. Kill it.”

The figure reached out, slapped at the console and the picture went blank.

Jewel stared at the blank screen for several minutes. Terman was an old friend. She could count the times they’d met face-to-face on the fingers of one hand, but they’d met by screen hundreds of times over the years.