Ruler of Naught (33 page)

As soon as she was out he shut the hatch and locked it,
futile gesture that it was, then prowled around the cabin, as uneasy as he was
angry. Granny Chang’s was still days away, but the horror at Dis had obviously
unbalanced every one of the remaining criminals who held him, his father, and Brandon
prisoner. He brooded afresh, wondering if the three of them would survive that
far.

“Emergence pulse, battlecruiser, six light-seconds.” Ng
could hear Wychyrski’s excitement speeding up her bridge cadence.

Grozniy
shuddered. “Tactical skip executed,” said
Navigation. Ng’s stomach lurched. The aftermath of the augmented session in the
sims was still very much with her.

The flash of tension the two announcements brought to the
bridge of the
Grozniy
dissipated when SigInt continued, “ID confirmed:
Mbwa
Kali
, Captain Mandros Nukiel, commanding.”

Ng sighed in relief. Her gamble had paid off.
Mbwa Kali
was just coming off out-octant patrol, as
Grozniy
had...
was it
really only ten days ago?
Rather than head straight for Arthelion—where she
could be sure the next necessary step in this war could be executed—she’d opted
to make sure Nukiel didn’t emerge into an ambush, and that he found out about
the war as soon as possible.

They’d arrived at the Glorreicke system, yet untouched by
the war, two days ahead of
Mbwa Kali’s
ETA. The wait had been hard, and
she didn’t know if she was waiting for a ship that had already heard about the
war, unlikely as that seemed. Krajno had made sure that no one but his captain
had time to worry about that. He’d driven the crew unmercifully in drill after
drill and Nilotis had been even harder on his tacticians.

But Nukiel had been almost exactly on schedule. So now she
had an even tauter crew, tacticians—including herself—with greater facility in
the new Tenno, and she’d just doubled her forces.

“Navigation, take us in to ten thousand kilometers.
Communications, open a channel and hail him on emergence.”

A window ballooned on the main screen as the
Grozniy
shuddered back into fourspace, revealing Nukiel’s lean, dark-bearded face.

His forbidding expression eased as communication was
established on his end. “Captain Ng. A pleasure. What brings you here, waiting
with such an urgent summons in the tacponder?”

So he doesn’t know yet.
Ng was at a loss about how to
tell him. She’d met him just once, and from reviewing his records while waiting
for rendezvous, she’d obtained an impression of a somewhat rigid character,
known for a by-the-book approach. Not surprising in the scion of one of the old
Douloi families of the Tetrad Centrum. However, a brief conversation with an
officer who’d served under him had revealed him to have a surprising streak of
tolerance for off-the-axis officers and a willingness to consider new ideas if
well presented.
Well, this certainly qualifies.

Before she could reply, Nukiel looked aside at someone just
out of view of the imager. He listened, then turned back to the screen, now
concerned.

“Excuse me, Captain Ng, our scan reveals some damage to your
aft beta section. Do you need assistance?”

That made it easier. “Thank you, no, Captain Nukiel. It’s
worse than it looks, and a great deal better than it could have been.” She took
a deep breath. “I regret to be the one to inform you that Eusabian of Dol’jhar
has abrogated the Treaty of Acheront. He has apparently discovered some Urian
installation that has enabled him to arm several fleets of Rifters with superluminal
communications and weapons of unprecedented power. They have struck at targets
throughout the Thousand Suns.” His disbelief was expressed by nothing more than
a widening of his eyes. She continued, speaking just a shade faster. “We
believe that Arthelion has fallen and the entire royal family, with the exception
of the Panarch, is dead.” She paused, then added the clincher: “I’ve already
dispatched a courier to Ares with what we know.”

He looked at her in silence for a long beat. She could see
him struggling to come to terms with her information.

Finally he spoke. “I see. Request permission to come
aboard.”

Ng smiled, relieved. “You’re very welcome, Captain Nukiel.”
By offering to come aboard the
Grozniy
to discuss strategy, Nukiel had
tacitly admitted her superior rank.

After arranging a time, they signed off, and Ng left the
bridge to prepare. She knew what she wanted to do, and despite her ranking
Nukiel, it was always better to convince than to order—especially with fellow
battlecruiser captains, whose independence was a byword in the Fleet.

o0o

“It’s still hard to believe,” said Nukiel, his gesture
taking in both the tac-holo in the center of the plot room and the main viewscreen,
“despite the utterly convincing evidence you’ve shown me.” He fingered his
beard, frowning. “You say the Rifters captured at Treymontaigne spoke of a
‘suneater’?”

“So the Archon’s forces told us, and the interrogation
records they supplied had some more details, including data from personal
devices. But they invoked the Covenant and wouldn’t give up their prisoners,
and we found no survivors in space, nor any recoverable data.”

Nukiel shook his head. “What you did learn was bad enough.
Superluminal communications, overpowered skipmissiles, Eusabian of Dol’jhar
occupying the Mandala. Makes nonsense of every Standing Order that even comes
close to applying, not to mention that the last one referring to the fall of
Arthelion dates to the time of the Faceless One.”

Rom-Sanchez watched, fascinated by the interplay between the
older captain of the
Mbwa Kali
and Captain Ng. Even with the Navy’s
complex rank-point system that took into account not only seniority but
experience and talent as well, it was often difficult for older officers to
yield gracefully to younger ones of equal rank who outpointed them.

Nonetheless, although Nukiel’s face was not that of a man
accustomed to following—one would not expect such in the command pod of a
battlecruiser—he appeared comfortable with the situation. The other officers
who had accompanied him to this meeting appeared less so. One in particular,
Lieutenant Nardini, a husky man younger than Rom-Sanchez, radiated well-bred
impatience.

“Yet you’ve already evolved a Tenno set to deal with this...
hyperwave.”

“Yes,” Ng replied. “Sub-lieutenant Warrigal here developed
them, with the help of several other officers and crew, most notably Lieutenant
Rom-Sanchez, who fought the ship with me at Treymontaigne.”

Rom-Sanchez’s ears burned at the handsome acknowledgement,
then he stifled a grin as the new sublieutenant belatedly looked up. Deep in a
boswell privacy with the tactical officer from the
Mbwa Kali
, Warrigal
had obviously experienced again the shock of recognition that was part of
coming to terms with a sudden promotion. But she certainly deserved it.

“They’re brilliant, Captain,” said the short, stocky woman
from the Mbwa Kali, her face alight. “And we should be able to bring them up in
our system without much trouble.” Rom-Sanchez struggled with his memory.
Lieutenant
Commander Rogan.

“Her mod package for your tactical department is part of the
full upload already in your computers,” Ng continued as the two tacticians
returned to their discussion. “But as you can see, obtaining one of these FTL
comms is of critical importance. Without it, we have no chance of anticipating their
moves—it would be like trying to overhear a spread-spectrum burst with your
ears.”

“Even with one, there’s no guarantee that we could use it.”
Nukiel held up his hand as Ng prepared to reply. “I’m sorry. It’s taking some
time to get used to this. You’re right, we have to try. What do you suggest?”

“We need to force a large number of Eusabian’s allied ships
into conflict, so that in the fog of battle we can attain our primary goal:
concentrate on one ship, board it, and capture the FTL device. In my opinion,
there’s only one way to do that—a counterattack on Arthelion, which is exactly
what Eusabian, given his cultural background, will expect.”

“Excuse me, Captains,” the young officer next to Nukiel
interrupted. “If their weapons are as powerful as you say, we’d take tremendous
losses, unless we made maximum use of ruptors and skipmissiles, which wouldn’t
leave enough of a ship to board.”

“That’s true,” replied Ng, unruffled by his outburst. “We’ll
have to use a lazplaz to disable target drives, while other ships keep off any
possible assistance. We will take losses, but such is war. The alternative is
surely defeat.”

“I agree,” said Nukiel. “When do we leave?”

Ng hesitated. “Captain,” she replied, “I would prefer that
you proceed to Rifthaven to monitor ship activities there. When you review the
full record of our interrogation of the Rifters from Treymontaigne, you’ll see
that the Syndics of Rifthaven are apparently deeply involved in this. There is likely
as much chance of you obtaining an FTL comm by intercepting traffic from
Rifthaven as we have in the heat of battle, and at a far lower cost.”

Nukiel was silent, a sour expression on his face.
Rom-Sanchez guessed he was struggling with his desire to join battle with the
Rifters who were tearing apart the Panarchy, aided very little by the
realization that Ng’s suggestions—which could easily be made an order—made
perfect sense. Lieutenant Nardini scowled.

“In addition,” Ng added, “you may find out a great deal more
from interrogation of the Rifters you capture, and you will be closer to Ares
there than we will be, if Ares is still where my records put it.”

Nukiel finally nodded. “I agree.” He glanced at Nardini, who
was biting his lip. “I’m no young firebrand, aching to close with the enemy,
but I still don’t particularly like it.” He grinned wryly, an expression that
made him look less forbidding. “You’ll undoubtedly find some ships already
massing off Arthelion, almost by definition the ones who for the sake of the
Fleet and Fealty have to be kept from command of such an effort. I’d surely
like to be there to see you deal with them.”

Ng betrayed no reaction other than a polite nod. Rom-Sanchez
clamped down at the surprise he felt at Nukiel openly referring to fact that
captains posted nearer Arthelion—apart from Narbon—were generally distinguished
more for their political than their tactical skills.
They’ve probably been
blown away already
.

“Very well, Captain Ng, Rifthaven it is.” Nukiel stood up.
“Thank you for your hospitality. We’d better both move on this immediately—the
Avatar will certainly waste no time.”

Just before he reached the hatch, he paused. “By the way,
Captain, are you any closer to your port wriggles?”

Ng smiled, this time not hiding her surprise.

“Towards the end of our patrol we encountered the
Hainu
destroyer
squadron on patrol. Captain Hayashi said to remind you, if we ran across each
other, that your twenty-five years are almost up.” Nukiel smiled. “He’s
scheduled for the Poseidonis System about the time you’d pass by on your way to
Arthelion—not too far out of the way, I’d think. That way you can make sure of
at least one destroyer squadron, which you’ll need to keep the
Fist of
Dol’jhar
pinned down while the rest of your fleet goes after the FTL comm.”

Ng flushed. “Thank you,” she murmured. “That’s an excellent
suggestion.”

Rom-Sanchez’s stomach sank. Hayashi again! He had a strong
intuition that the name meant more to Ng than the bet did.

o0o

When Marim woke on the day they were due to reach Granny
Chang’s, she reached for her boz and tabbed the locate to see where everyone
was. Montrose in the galley, Jaim in the engine room, Vi’ya on the bridge,
Ivard safely in the dispensary. Asleep, she hoped, because she was getting
tired of his clinginess, not to mention his increasing weirdness with the Kelly
ribbon.

Lokri was in the rec room. She sighed, because she knew who
he was with.

It’s Markham all over again
, she thought a few
minutes later, as she hit the rec room hatch control with her fist. Except that
Brandon Arkad was nothing but a pretty face. Was Lokri really turning
sentimental? In her experience, only the very young and the very old fell for
pretty faces.

There they were, bent over the Phalanx console. Lokri
couldn’t get the Arkad’s attention any other way than by playing that game.
Like they were a couple of underage street rats. True, the Arkad was really
good. Didn’t that suggest he was nothing but an overgrown boy, to waste his
time on games that were only worthwhile if you went places where the betting
was high? And why would he do that, when the Arkads owned more planets than
they could visit in a lifetime!

She leaned against the inner wall, studying the two while
they were wholly absorbed in the game. Both of them very, very pretty indeed.
Lokri’s skin was that lovely shade of rare teakwood, his pale eyes a startling
contrast. Except that one was still swollen to a slit, and the other surrounded
by ripening bruises. He sat there with one shoulder higher than the other, the
bit of his wrist visible showed the edge of a cast.

Marim had been surprised that Lokri had been willing to let
the Arkad see him in this state. Usually, when Lokri set his sights on someone,
he was especially careful with his appearance.

What was it he saw in the Arkad? Markham L’Ranja, you could
understand. He’d blazed in with this aura of glory. Marim had known within days
of meeting him that he would split off the best of the old crew and start his
own gang, and she’d made sure she was in it. The Arkad? All he had was his
looks. History—bang! All over. Fortune, gone. Holdings? Being looted by the
likes of Hreem, and all Brandon did was sit there and play game after game. Or
delve into the comp. Marim could have told him that
that
was a waste of
time. Anything good was encrypted so deep that it would take a top noderunner
to sniff a trace.