Shades of Gray (20 page)

“Eight hundred and closing,” said Banner.

Raising the
Venture’s
nose a fraction, he was acutely aware of the instant response as she began to lift, almost straining against his control as he stepped up above the other ship. She felt like an extension of him now, not something separate. A touch more acceleration . . .

“Closing at three hundred feet, with thirty feet clearance.”

Slowly they began to overtake the
Profit
.

“One hundred feet, holding at thirty feet clearance,” said Banner.

A margin of drift had set in, and carefully he nudged her back on course. Checking the forward view, he saw the ring of beckoning lights ahead. Below him, against all reason, he could “see” the dorsal surface of the
Profit
.

“Approaching zero distance, holding at thirty feet clearance. Docking ring is eighty-five feet in, Captain,” said Banner.

“Acknowledged,” he said, pulling back on the speed as he sensed Banner’s hand hovering near the copilot’s controls.

“Counting from eighty-five now. Eighty feet.”

Slower, even slower, till they seemed to be barely moving, he nudged the
Venture
forward.

“Activating docking beacon,” said J’korrash.

“Sixty feet. Height constant at thirty feet.”

He cut the speed again as the collision warning blared out. “Silence it,” he snapped just as M’kou did so.

“Thirty feet. Height constant at thirty.”

“Prepare to cut engines,” he said.

“Aye, sir,” said J’korrash.

“Ten feet . . . five . . . zero feet. Line above achieved,” said Banner as the docking beacon began to chime gently.

The humming of the motors sank gradually as he slowed for the final time, once again matching speed with the
Profit
.

Briefly, he took one hand, then the other, off the controls to flex them. “Descending now,” he said.

“Copy that,” said Banner. “Twenty-five, twenty ...”

He tuned out the sound of his Second’s voice, concentrating on the feel of his ship, the high-pitched whine of the engines, and his instrumentation as he eased her lower and lower until, with a slight bump followed by a brief grinding noise, they’d docked.

“Cut all engines,” he said. “Engage docking clamps.”

“Engines cut,” said J’korrash. “Docking clamps engaged.”

Mentally disengaging himself from his ship, he closed down his station then leaned back in his chair, feeling drained. He became aware of the sudden lightening of the atmosphere around him.

“Well done, everyone,” he said tiredly as a low buzz of conversation broke out among the crew.

“The
Profit
bids us welcome, Captain,” said M’kou, turning in his seat to look at him. “They say they’ll be ready for us to debark in about ten minutes, once they’ve secured our docking rings.”

He nodded, lifting up his armrest to reach the bottled water and high energy snack packed in there, wondering when he’d learned to fly using his psi senses as well as his normal ones. Ripping open the packaging, he took a large bite out of the fruit and cereal bar.

Around him, his crew were running their own shutdown checks and closing down their stations. He leaned forward, activating the stealth shield around the
Venture
. With that on, as they approached the Orbital, the Venture would be invisible.

Banner got to his feet, stretching from head to tail tip before coming over to stand beside him. “Nice piece of flying, considering how little experience you actually have.”

“It had to be,” he said, accepting the compliment for what it was worth. “We’re riding on top of our fuel tanks, after all. Tends to make one very exacting.”

“There is that,” Banner agreed with a slow grin.

Kusac snorted gently and opened his water, taking a long drink from it. “I only put the wind up your tail once.”

“Sure you did,” grinned Banner, turning away.

 

“I thought I recognized your voice,” Kusac said to the black-pelted U’Churian as he emerged in the
Profit
. “When did you change ships?”

“Some time ago,” said Tirak, holding his hand out in greeting and grasping Kusac by the forearm when it was returned. “Well met, Captain. Are you well?” he asked, a look of concern crossing his face as he saw how thin Kusac looked.

Kusac nodded, moving aside to allow the sandy-pelted male above him to climb down to the deck. “This is Jayza. Captain Tirak of
Watcher 6
. And my Prime crewmembers, Noolgoi, M’kou . . .”

Tirak held his hand up as he surveyed the others making their way down. “Don’t tell me now. I’ll never remember them all. Come to the mess, get a hot drink inside you, and we’ll talk. You can introduce them all there.”

“You know the plan.” It was a statement; the knowledge was at the forefront of Tirak’s mind. He turned his inward, searching for memories of Kaid’s time on the
Profit
.

The U’Churian nodded, ears flicking in assent. “Kezule briefed us himself,” he said as they headed over to the mess. “It’s a bold plan. I like that. We’re to help you take the Orbital, Kusac, guard you and your party.”

Pulling himself back to the here and now, he glanced at the black-pelted Captain. Their species were so similar yet also very different. “I’ll be glad to have you along,” he said, feeling the other instantly relax. “I’m not foolish enough to object to help when I need it,” he said in an undervoice, making Tirak start slightly.

“You telepaths,” the other laughed. “I still find you a little unnerving. It was Kaid who thought you’d refuse us, not Kezule. I’m glad that medical procedure Kizzy did seems to have worked so well for you.”

“Oh, it worked,” he replied, keeping his tone light as they stood back and let the others crowd into the small room. “Are the rest of your Family here? The Cabbarans? I thought that I’d have a word with Naacha, thank him for his help during that time.”

“They’re here, checking over all our suits right now, trying to create a joint communications system. We’ve got another six hours.”

“Five hours, fifty-seven minutes,” Kusac said automatically. “Have you managed to get that link set up to the
N’zishok
?”

“Completed an hour and a half ago,” confirmed Tirak. “No one will be able to pick up our ship-to-ship transmissions. Naacha and Annuur haven’t been able to do much about the suits yet, though. Once down on K’oish’ik, we’ll have to stay in close proximity to each other to be heard with all the interference from the storms they plan to create.” He gestured to Kusac to enter first.

“Captain!” said Sheeowl, getting to her feet as they appeared. “Good to see you again!”

“You’re limping,” said Manesh. “What happened?”

Surprised that Tirak’s security officer had picked up his now slight limp so quickly, Kusac took one of the empty seats. “Got shot in the leg a while back. I’m fine now; it’s more or less healed.”

“Have it checked before you suit up, please. I need to know how it affects you if I’m to watch your back.”

He nodded. “You know about Zsurtul, the Prime Prince . . . Emperor,” he amended. He had to get used to using Zsurtul’s new title—if they didn’t, the youth would never have the respect his position demanded.

“I know. Kezule said his daughter Zhalmo would be his personal bodyguard.”

“She will. She’s with Kezule, en route to meet with Kaid and the young Emperor. She’s good. We trained her ourselves. This is one of her brothers, Lieutenant M’kou,” he said, indicating the young male and watching as the slightly plump U’Churian ran a practiced eye over him.

“We’ve two civilian engineers with us,” said M’kou.“They’re going to take over operation of the weather controls.”

“Understood. They’ll stay in the
Profit
until we send for them, then ...”

“No, they come with us,” interrupted Kusac. “If anything goes wrong—a warning is sent, equipment damaged—they’re right on it, no delays.”

“You’ve forgotten about Annuur and Naacha, and they’re battle trained. I suggest it would be better for them to handle that side until we control the Orbital.”

Reluctantly Kusac nodded. “Very well. Have you contacted the Orbital yet, told them about your engine problems?”

Sheeowl glanced at her wrist. “In ten minutes,” she said, getting up from the table and beginning to squeeze her way out. “I’ll get down to the Bridge now, Captain Tirak. Oh, Captain Aldatan, this is Thyasha, our new comm operator. She’s taking Giyesh’s place.”

Kusac nodded a greeting to the young female, noting she wore her mane of hair shorter than the other two females on Tirak’s crew.

“Tirak, I suggest we retire to your office and go over the plans one more time before briefing our crews,” said Kusac.

“Agreed,” said Tirak. “It’s a little tight for room in here.”

 

They walked down the corridor, and as he opened his office door, Tirak said in a low voice, “Having the young Emperor with us is the only thing that is worrying me about this mission.”

“We need him,” said Kusac patiently, following him in. The office was small, containing only a desk, two chairs, and a couple of cupboards—the usual cramped standard for any ship of this size, no matter the species. “Without his retinal pattern, we can’t reprogram the Orbital weather center or the main Command Room in the Palace.”

“I know. It doesn’t stop me worrying, though. We came prepared. Antipersonnel gas, weapons, and armor. And before you ask, all my team have seen combat—before Jalna,” he added with a grin, going over to the cabinet at the back of his desk.

“Jalna was a lifetime ago,” Kusac murmured.

“It was indeed. Let’s drink to happier times and a successful mission,” the U’Churian said, pulling out a small bottle and a couple of glasses. “Take that chair, and I’ll bring mine around to join you.” He waved the hand with the glasses in it in the general direction of the more comfortable of the two chairs near the desk before depositing the bottle and glasses on the surface and turning back to pick up his own seat.

“Sounds like a plan,” Kusac said, sitting down in the padded wooden chair. “How did you say you came to be on the
Profit
again?”

“I didn’t,” said Tirak, carrying his chair around to the other side of the desk. He sat down with a sigh and reached for the bottle. “You’ll like this. It’s a liqueur, triple distilled and very expensive. It’s made from berries that grow wild on hillsides around our ancestral home on U’Chur. They lay it down for ten years, then distill it, then it’s laid down for another twenty.”

As he opened the bottle, Kusac smelled a light and aromatic scent.

“None of that throat- and gut-burning rubbish you get even in the best bars and restaurants. This is only sold by auction to a very select clientele.”

“Nice glasses,” he observed, watching as the other carefully poured about an inch of the heavy, almost purple liqueur into each.

“Special glasses too,” said Tirak, closing the bottle and picking up a glass to hand to Kusac. “Its name translates to Land’s Blood in your language, and the glasses depict the scene of the Soil Goddess and the Sky God creating the sun and stars.”

He accepted the drink, holding it up for a moment, turning it to see the images engraved within the actual glass itself. “Very beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as what’s in it. Here’s to a successful mission, and happier times,” he said, raising his glass in a salute to Kusac.

“Indeed,” said Kusac, doing the same before taking a sip

The taste was as light and aromatic as the scent, warming his mouth and throat gently as it slid like silk down into his stomach. He was impressed. “This is good.”

Tirak laughed. “I knew you’d like it. I brought it with me to share with you. It’s from my private stock. It’s good for all that ails you, helping whet the appetite or digest the meal. I hear your Governor enjoys it.”

“Then your clientele isn’t too elite,” he said with an attempt at humor. It hadn’t escaped him that Tirak had again neatly sidestepped his question.

“I’m sure some could be procured for you,” chuckled the U’Churian Captain, amused.

“You obviously had some time to prepare for this trip.”

“As you say,” Tirak agreed, putting his glass down. “We were called home to make this delivery. The Matriarch didn’t want genuine merchants going to K’oish’ik at such a sensitive time. And when your request to join your mission came, she gave her consent, said it was good you would have a crew worthy of you.” He flicked his ears in self-deprecation.

“And the body armor you have with you?” Kusac persisted, absently putting his hand up to the back of his neck where a nagging headache had begun to develop. Tirak’s explanation wasn’t entirely convincing, but the pain in his neck and head was distracting him enough to keep him from consciously reading the other’s mind.

“Standard for us. We had it with us when we landed on Jalna, just never had the need to use it when we first arrived or the chance to get into it when we did. As for the rest, not knowing what we were flying into and given the pacifist nature of the Primes, we wanted non-lethal options. I like your new look, by the way. The earring suits you, and the beadwork bracelet is very ethnic—don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before.”

“It’s Prime, made for their first major fertility festival on Kij’ik—they were gifts. As they had no priests, I helped out,” he replied. The pain was beginning to migrate up to the back of his head. It could be postural—he had been pushing himself hard in an effort to get fit again, despite the pain his injured thigh still gave him.

“Sounds like you were kept busy. You’ll have to tell me about it later. What’s this Kezule like? I hear he’s one of the ancient Warrior elite, the ones that killed what they couldn’t conquer.”

“He’s slippery, more kinks in his mind than bends in a stream,” Kusac replied, taking a larger mouthful of the drink. “But he’s also motivated by his sense of honor, and he’s on our side. He’ll do what he said, put Crown Prince Zsurtul on the throne, see him crowned and surrounded by advisers whose judgment and loyalty he can trust, then walk away.”