The Gathering Flame (15 page)
Read The Gathering Flame Online
Authors: Debra Doyle,James D. Macdonald
Errec saw the two men, and he saw as well the changeable patterns of not-color overlying their presence in the universe. The shift in his vision didn’t surprise him very much. Whenever he let himself go like this the auras came back, the first of the symptoms that had driven him—a merchant-spacer, a qualified navigator—to seek out the Adepts of Ilarna for training. His curiosity stirred a little: these men had the auras of those who are to die soon, and who suspect that they are fated.
Errec didn’t do anything as obvious as turn his attention to the two men, but he listened to what they said. They spoke in the harsh, unmelodious local tongue. Despite his best intentions—maybe because he was so relaxed by the drinks, maybe because he was unable to ignore the source of his pain like another man would be unable to avoid the temptation to press on a rotten tooth—he let the thoughts behind the others’ words take image in his own mind, as he had been trained to do, another life ago, on Galcen.
The images now were unimportant. Women, money, work—the corruption of officials and the recalcitrance of space engines—nothing surprising. Errec stretched out a tendril of awareness and entered the mind of the nearer of the two.
The man he violated never noticed. Errec looked on as if from a distance at what he himself was doing, feeling a mild surprise that he should be doing it again. He wouldn’t have done it, not for cash nor friendship nor for any vows, except that he was too tired and a little too drunk, and something about the men belied the ordinary nature of their conversation. He could handle both of them at once, if need be, but one should be enough … .
He added a bit of compulsion to his invasion of the other’s mind.
Talk about what you’re doing here,
he pressed the man.
Talk about the schedule for today and the next day.
Talk about what you’re doing here,
he pressed the man.
Talk about the schedule for today and the next day.
It was easier now than it had ever been. Errec sat back and sipped his drink. The conversation at the far end of the bar went on at his direction while he listened to the images behind the words: ships lying in ambush, guns, secret orders, an armed freighter named
Warhammer
now standing on its landing legs at Flatlands Field, and the ambush—capture—killing of the Domina of Entibor.
Warhammer
now standing on its landing legs at Flatlands Field, and the ambush—capture—killing of the Domina of Entibor.
(GALCENIAN DATING 959 A.F.; ENTIBORAN REGNAL YEAR 23 VERATINA)
S
OMEWHAT TO his own surprise, Jos found that he liked being in space. During the brief time he’d worked for Rorin Gatt in the port quarter, he’d seen shuttles and stargoing craft lift off from Telabryk Field every day, and had sometimes wondered what it would be like to make such a journey himself. He’d never expected to find out—he didn’t have the family connections to get himself into a work-and-learn berth, or the money for regular schooling, and he for-sure didn’t want to join the Gyfferan Local Defense Force and pick up his qualifications that way. Thanks to the greed of the
Quorum’
s master and crew, he’d gotten off-planet anyhow.
OMEWHAT TO his own surprise, Jos found that he liked being in space. During the brief time he’d worked for Rorin Gatt in the port quarter, he’d seen shuttles and stargoing craft lift off from Telabryk Field every day, and had sometimes wondered what it would be like to make such a journey himself. He’d never expected to find out—he didn’t have the family connections to get himself into a work-and-learn berth, or the money for regular schooling, and he for-sure didn’t want to join the Gyfferan Local Defense Force and pick up his qualifications that way. Thanks to the greed of the
Quorum’
s master and crew, he’d gotten off-planet anyhow.
Jos didn’t waste energy on gratitude. He’d seen and heard enough in the dockside quarter to know what sort of “good master” the captain intended to find for him. Most free-spacers liked their hookers and joyboys fully-grown and Gyfferan-legal, but some didn’t—and anything that enough people wanted, somebody in port would set up a pleasure-house to provide. Underage Client Services broke up such establishments as fast as the UCS inspectors could find them, but not all the civilized worlds were as fastidious as Gyffer.
If the captain of the
Quorum
sold him into a house like that, he wouldn’t last long. The boys in such places never did. So he concentrated on getting as much entertainment as he could out of his time in space, and didn’t think about the future at all if he could help it.
Quorum
sold him into a house like that, he wouldn’t last long. The boys in such places never did. So he concentrated on getting as much entertainment as he could out of his time in space, and didn’t think about the future at all if he could help it.
With the exception of the officers’ quarters and the bridge itself, Jos had the run of the ship—not because the captain and the crew felt any kindness toward him, he knew that, but because they found it easier to let him fend for himself in crew berthing and the ship’s mess than to take care of a prisoner. He wasn’t old enough to be dangerous; and as for trying to escape, it wasn’t like he had anywhere to run.
He spent most of this time down in the engineering control room. The
Quorum’
s chief engineer and his assistant were, if not friendly toward their unwilling passenger, at least tolerant as long as Jos didn’t get underfoot. Mostly they ignored him, and he soon found that he could sit in a corner and read tech manuals by the hour without being noticed. The manuals were homemade hardcopies, thick bundles of printout flimsy clamped together in grubby plastic binders. Jos listened to the interchanges between chief and assistant, and learned that main ship’s memory hadn’t functioned reliably for some time; the hardcopy manuals served as a backup in case of failure.
Quorum’
s chief engineer and his assistant were, if not friendly toward their unwilling passenger, at least tolerant as long as Jos didn’t get underfoot. Mostly they ignored him, and he soon found that he could sit in a corner and read tech manuals by the hour without being noticed. The manuals were homemade hardcopies, thick bundles of printout flimsy clamped together in grubby plastic binders. Jos listened to the interchanges between chief and assistant, and learned that main ship’s memory hadn’t functioned reliably for some time; the hardcopy manuals served as a backup in case of failure.
The manuals were written in Galcenian, the spacer-talk he already knew in bits and pieces from working around the docks. The alphabet turned out to be almost the same as the Gyfferan one, and when the spacers’ language was written down a lot of the words looked almost the same as Gyfferan, even though they sounded different.
Most of the diagrams didn’t even need words at all. With enough study and the right tools, Jos decided, a smart dirtsider would be able to reset
Quorum’
s hyperspatial reference block himself, or mend a leaky tube lining, or adjust a safety override. And getting the tools would be easy. The tool cabinet on
Quorum
didn’t lock properly—it had been jammed in the open position years ago, and had never been fixed.
Quorum’
s hyperspatial reference block himself, or mend a leaky tube lining, or adjust a safety override. And getting the tools would be easy. The tool cabinet on
Quorum
didn’t lock properly—it had been jammed in the open position years ago, and had never been fixed.
Sloppy
, he thought.
When I have a ship of my own
…
, he thought.
When I have a ship of my own
…
It was the first time he’d given a name to what he’d been wanting ever since the moment when he felt gravity let go: not home or safety, but freedom.
The realization almost came too late. From the crude jokes and half-understood comments made in his presence, Jos knew that the captain and his second played this game whenever a likely prospect fell into their hands, and they had regular buyers in almost every port.
Quorum
would be dropping out of hyperspace over Cashel in eight days—and once the ship made orbit, his relative liberty would come to a sudden end.
Quorum
would be dropping out of hyperspace over Cashel in eight days—and once the ship made orbit, his relative liberty would come to a sudden end.
Eight days
, he thought, and turned back with renewed concentration to the diagrams in the manual on tube-lining inspection and repair.
I only have eight days.
, he thought, and turned back with renewed concentration to the diagrams in the manual on tube-lining inspection and repair.
I only have eight days.
ENTIBORAN REGNAL YEAR 38 VERATINA
J
OS PUT on fresh clothes out of the bag that Tilly had sent: another of his respectable dirtsider suits, made out of plain dark cloth in the conservative Galcenian style. He was glad she hadn’t taken the notion to send along his usual portside liberty togs—he was moving among merchants now.
OS PUT on fresh clothes out of the bag that Tilly had sent: another of his respectable dirtsider suits, made out of plain dark cloth in the conservative Galcenian style. He was glad she hadn’t taken the notion to send along his usual portside liberty togs—he was moving among merchants now.
He kept the blaster, though. As the Domina’s bodyguard, he might need to use it.
When he left the refresher cubicle, he saw that Perada had finished dressing as well. She wore a loose gown of filmy blue cloth, and had redone her hair into a half-dozen narrow braids. She wasn’t wearing Tilly’s extra blaster any longer, though, and Jos decided that he missed the effect.
“Time for breakfast,” she said. “Nothing formal—we’re joining Garen in the sunroom.”
Jos nodded and followed her out. He wasn’t surprised when the Tarveet family’s notion of informal dining turned out to involve a room the size of
Warhammer’
s number-one hold, with three of the four walls and part of the roof made out of glass. A sunken pool occupied half the floor space; a table and chairs stood nearby, along with a serving cart loaded with plates and urns and covered dishes.
Warhammer’
s number-one hold, with three of the four walls and part of the roof made out of glass. A sunken pool occupied half the floor space; a table and chairs stood nearby, along with a serving cart loaded with plates and urns and covered dishes.
Garen Tarveet sat waiting for them at the table.
Waiting for the Domina
, Jos corrected himself.
The bodyguard isn’t really here, remember?
Waiting for the Domina
, Jos corrected himself.
The bodyguard isn’t really here, remember?
In more ways than one, it looked like: whoever had set up the breakfast had put down place settings for two, not three. Perada looked in that direction and raised an eyebrow. Then she turned back to Tarveet, who came hurrying forward to meet her with both hands extended.
“’Rada!” he exclaimed. “You’re looking well this morning.”
She took his hands and smiled. “Oh, I
am
well, Garen. And your hospitality is a delight to experience … but I thought I said that Captain Metadi would be joining us.”
am
well, Garen. And your hospitality is a delight to experience … but I thought I said that Captain Metadi would be joining us.”
Tarveet glanced over at Jos. His eyes widened and his cheeks flushed bright red. “‘Captain’? But I thought—”
You thought I wasn’t important enough to count
, Jos finished for him, but didn’t say it aloud. The young man’s obvious embarrassment in front of the Domina looked too painful for him to make it any worse.
, Jos finished for him, but didn’t say it aloud. The young man’s obvious embarrassment in front of the Domina looked too painful for him to make it any worse.
“He probably thought you meant after breakfast,” Jos said to Perada. “Mixed signals, that’s all.”
“Yes,” said Tarveet. His gratitude for the escape hatch Jos had provided was as transparent and almost as painful as his embarrassment had been. “I’d misunderstood … I’ll get someone in here right away … .”
Tarveet hurried over to a comm plate set into the far well and began speaking sharply and earnestly into the audio pickup. While he was occupied, Perada moved a step closer to Jos.
“That was kind of you,” she said under her breath.
“He’s a good kid. There’s no point in making him feel bad.”
They didn’t have time to say anything more. Tarveet had left the comm plate and was coming back to join them.
“The table will be ready in a minute,” he said. “I’m truly sorry, Gentlesir Metadi.”
“‘Captain,’” Jos said. “Owner and commander of the armed merchantman
Warhammer
, Suivan registry.”
Warhammer
, Suivan registry.”
“Warhammer.”
Tarveet’s expression changed abruptly, from embarrassed to excited. “
Warhammer
—you’re the privateer captain who raids the Mageworlds convoys! ’Rada, you should have told me sooner. We could have planned something—”
Tarveet’s expression changed abruptly, from embarrassed to excited. “
Warhammer
—you’re the privateer captain who raids the Mageworlds convoys! ’Rada, you should have told me sooner. We could have planned something—”
“Not while your mother sat there watching us like a State Security agent,” Perada said. “That’s why I wanted to wait until this morning. I hope she’s back in Flatlands by now?”
“She went back after dinner last night,” Tarveet said. He grimaced. “But she left me a long list of instructions on how I’m supposed to treat our honored guest.”
“I hope food was on the list,” Perada said. “Because right now I’m starved.”
“Feeding you was definitely one of the things I was supposed to do,” Tarveet said. While they were speaking, a small parade of kitchen servants had come and gone. The breakfast table now had chairs and settings for three. “Oh, good—it’s fixed. ’Rada, Captain Metadi—if you’d care to join me?”
They sat on folding wooden chairs for their poolside breakfast. The food was good: grilled meats and fresh-baked pastries, both plain and sweet. Perada hadn’t lied about her appetite. Jos made a hearty meal himself, relishing a change from the ‘
Hammer’
s space rations, but the Domina outdid him.
Hammer’
s space rations, but the Domina outdid him.
Tarveet sat and watched them, without doing much more than pick at the food on his own plate. At length he said, “I’ve done everything I could manage from here. About the war, I mean.”
Perada swallowed a last bite of pastry. “Already?”
“It wasn’t hard,” he said. “I’ve had it planned out for a long time, remember? The accounts on Suivi were already there, so I didn’t need to waste time opening them.”
“Ah—
those
accounts.” Perada turned to Jos. “They were part of a galactic economics project, back at school. We were supposed to close them all out after we got our grades, but some people didn’t.”
those
accounts.” Perada turned to Jos. “They were part of a galactic economics project, back at school. We were supposed to close them all out after we got our grades, but some people didn’t.”
Jos wasn’t surprised. Numbered accounts on Suivi Point had made it easy for money to change hands—and forms, from one planetary currency to another—ever since the former asteroid mining settlement had opened up its first banking house. He had a couple of those accounts himself, for that matter, one for his personal funds and another for
Warhammer.
Warhammer.
“Dahl&Dahl?” he said, naming the most freewheeling of the Suivan mercantile houses. Tarveet and Perada looked startled, and he knew he’d guessed right.
“They handle some of House Rosselin’s private finances,” Perada said. “Offworld investments, mostly.”
“They handle a lot of other stuff too. Some of the people who deal with them are a bit rough around the edges.”
Perada seemed amused. “Are they your bankers, too, then?”
“No,” he said. “I like my bankers dull and respectable, thank you.”
“Dull and respectable won’t work for what we’re doing.”
Jos looked from the Domina to Garen Tarveet.
If I didn’t know better
, he thought,
I’d say the pair of them were planning to steal a whole lot of money from someone.
He wondered how much that course in galactic economics had taught them—and why the ruler of an entire planet would need any more money than she already had.
If I didn’t know better
, he thought,
I’d say the pair of them were planning to steal a whole lot of money from someone.
He wondered how much that course in galactic economics had taught them—and why the ruler of an entire planet would need any more money than she already had.
He didn’t have a chance to ask. Tarveet put aside the pastry he’d been crumbling onto his plate and said, “What I was going to say was, I don’t think you’d better stay here much longer. Mother wasn’t pleased—she believes that as long as Pleyver stays out of galactic politics, the Web is enough to keep us safe—”
“And I’m too political for her?” Perada’s expression of injured innocence was a work of art.
“Well … yes. And if you stay, she’ll think you’re trying to—to corrupt me into an off-world alliance.”
“Marriage, you mean?” Perada asked.
Tarveet blushed furiously. “Yes. And she’s dead set against anything like that. If she ever finds out how much I’ve done already, she’ll probably disown me.”
“Ah,” said Perada. “You’re right, then; I should leave here as quickly as possible.” She turned to Jos. “Captain—how soon can
Warhammer
lift from Flatlands?”
Warhammer
lift from Flatlands?”
“Right after I buzz the ship and tell Ferrda to start calling the crew in from liberty,” he said.
“Good,” she said. “We’ll do it. And this time we go straight to Entibor.”
It was one thing to determine upon rank insubordination and near mutiny, Galaret Lachiel discovered, and quite another to hammer out the fine details of the enterprise. Several hours after resolving to take on the higher powers at Central Command, she and Captain-of-Corvettes Trestig Brehant were still hard at work in Brehant’s quarters.
The task that she and Tres had set for themselves was complex. A planetary base, its associated fleet, and an entire roving squadron could not be abandoned to fend for themselves. The two captains had to name acting commanders; had to issue standing orders with instructions on what to do if the raiders came back, and on what else to do if they didn’t; and had to come up with a plausible excuse for leaving Parezul in the first place.
“Not that having an excuse is likely to do us any good if the Mages hit while we’re gone,” Gala said. Her initial surge of energy had faded long ago, leaving only a fatalistic resolve. “They’ll court-martial us for sure.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tres advised. “If Central feels like court-martialing us, they’ll do it whether the Mages hit Parezul while we’re gone or not.”
“You’re probably right.” She uncurled from her cross-legged position on the foot of the bunk and stretched, feeling the crunch of knotted muscles in her back and shoulders. “All the same, if I’m going to get killed, I’d sooner have it done to me by the folks on the other side.”
“So would I, but we may not be able to afford the luxury.” Brehant set aside the data tablet he’d been working on. “I think we’ve taken care of everything we can here; time to figure out what we’re going to tell Central after we show up on their doorstep all unwelcome and uninvited. Whatever we do, it’ll need to look believable from this end, for morale’s sake.”
“Good point. And if we can make it something that’ll get us past the first five or six layers of security, so much the better.” She began pacing back and forth across the tiny rectangle of deck space that Brehant’s cabin afforded. “How about letting the word get around that we’re carrying sensitive intelligence for personal contact transmission?”
Tres nodded. “That’ll even justify taking one of the fast couriers and piloting the ship to Entibor ourselves—no point in pulling some poor kid down the waste chute along with us—and if we talk fast and look arrogant it might even get us all the way in to the fleet admiral.”
“You do the fast talking,” Gala said. “I’ll handle the arrogance.” She smiled, letting her teeth show like a Selvaur from Maraghai. “I can play ‘my relatives outrank your relatives’ all the way
up
to the fleet admiral if I have to.”
up
to the fleet admiral if I have to.”
Brehant shook his head in mock disapproval. “That’s not going to make you any friends in the High Command.” “So nobody comes to the bye-bye party before they shoot me for treason. It doesn’t matter, as long as somebody at Central listens to us first.”
The ride back to the airport from the Tarveet estate was a short one—Jos supposed that the driver had instructions not to take the scenic route this time. Young Tarveet had made his good-byes to Perada after breakfast, back in the sunroom. If the Domina felt disappointed that her old school friend wasn’t going to stand on the front steps and wave farewell as the hovercar pulled away, she didn’t show it. She looked cheerful and pleased with herself, in fact; whatever she’d come to Pleyver for, she’d obviously found all of it she needed.
Politics
, Jos told himself.
Remember that, hotshot. Where she comes from, they play politics like Tilly and Nannla play two-handed kingnote. And that happy little smile means she’s getting ready to reach out and scoop up the pot.
, Jos told himself.
Remember that, hotshot. Where she comes from, they play politics like Tilly and Nannla play two-handed kingnote. And that happy little smile means she’s getting ready to reach out and scoop up the pot.
Be glad you’re leaving her behind on Entibor; these people gamble for higher stakes than you can afford.
The hovercar passed through the gates of the spaceport without stopping for an ID or customs check. Jos wondered if Tarveet had arranged everything with an advance comm call, or if the hovercar’s relay transponder had some kind of “don’t even think about stopping this one” code embedded in it.
Before long the hovercar reached the quarter of Flatlands Field given over to independent merchant craft, and pulled up at the safety line. The
’Hammer
stood on her landing legs in the middle distance—far enough away to make for a longish hike, especially with the Domina’s newly acquired luggage. Jos noted with gratitude that Nannla had thought to bring out one of the nullgrav skipsleds and wait with it.
’Hammer
stood on her landing legs in the middle distance—far enough away to make for a longish hike, especially with the Domina’s newly acquired luggage. Jos noted with gratitude that Nannla had thought to bring out one of the nullgrav skipsleds and wait with it.
The
’Hammer
’s number-one gunner looked worried about something, though.
I’ll have a talk with her as soon as we’ve got the luggage stowed, he thought. It’s no good jumping into hyper with an unhappy crew.
’Hammer
’s number-one gunner looked worried about something, though.
I’ll have a talk with her as soon as we’ve got the luggage stowed, he thought. It’s no good jumping into hyper with an unhappy crew.
The hovercar stopped and the door swung open. Jos got out first—as long as he was on Pleyver, he might as well keep on playing the bodyguard—and stared at the by-now-familiar figure standing on the pavement. Garen Tarveet.
“What are
you
doing here?” Jos demanded.
you
doing here?” Jos demanded.
“I’m coming with you to Entibor.”
“Like hell you are. I didn’t sell you passage.”
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