New Star Rising, page 14
It became impossible to move forward any farther. They got out of the car and pushed their way through the crowd then, finally, up the wide steps to the hall itself. There were human sentries and greeters before the doors. Everyone moving into the hall was being scanned.
Gaubert was standing with the guards, his expression somber. When he saw Bellona, his jaw tightened. He pulled her aside. Sang moved closer.
“You are not expecting to join the family on the dais, are you?” he whispered loudly.
Bellona shook off his hand from her arm. “I am here for my brother, Gaubert. That is all. I can say my farewells from the back balcony as well as I can from the dais.”
Gaubert shook his head. “Your registration has been removed from the inner security zones. Neither you nor Sang will be allowed upstairs. You can join the general population in the hall, although…” He looked over his shoulder, into the hall itself. “I would hurry, if I were you. There isn’t a lot of room left in there.”
Bellona opened her mouth to argue. Sang could see the anger glinting in her eyes.
Gaubert looked at her steadily, waiting for her outburst.
Sang calculated the pressure of the bodies ahead, put their arm around Bellona’s waist and forced her forward, up the final broad step and into the crowd, shepherding her along as one would help the feeble or disabled.
Bellona gasped at the sudden movement, just barely keeping her feet under her. She glared at Sang.
They shook their head. “Anywhere inside will do. Max will understand. He might even approve.”
Bellona remained silent and pushed ahead as Sang was doing. It was a struggle to get through the great doors. Finally, they passed under the lintel and into the cavernous hall beyond. The pressure of bodies slackened and they worked their way to one side of the room, away from the surge of people pushing through the doors.
Bellona finally looked up at the dais and sucked in a deep breath, making everyone nearby glance at her. Some took a second glance, startled. She had been recognized.
The flame that was the symbol of Max’s life was already burning atop the pedestal. Surrounding the flame were all the familiar faces. Sang could name them all without hesitation—Reynard’s brothers and sisters, their spouses and their off-spring. It was a crowded dais.
Directly behind the pedestal stood Reynard Cardenas. He looked as though he had aged a decade since they had been gone from the city. His hair, which had still held black locks, was now almost pure silver. He was staring at the flame, with the gaze of a man searching for answers.
Iulia stood next to Reynard, her head covered by a heavy veil. There was at least a body’s width between them.
The twelve chimes began and the hall fell into complete silence.
Bellona hung her head.
Sang rested their hand on her shoulder and leaned close to murmur in her ear. “Guilt will not serve you here. Watch the flame go out. Honor him. Let everyone around you see that honor.”
Bellona raised her chin again and glanced at Sang. Then she looked ahead, her gaze steady. She did not move throughout the ceremony. When the flame was extinguished, she flinched, but that was the only reaction she gave.
* * * * *
On the way back to New Edsel, the rains began. Water thundered on the roof of the ground car and turned the last of the day into instant night and the silent interior into a muffled enclosure. Bellona appeared unmoved by the torrent. She had not spoken since the end of the ceremony. Neither did she sleep.
Sang did not disturb her reflections. They attempted to pick up the strings of various research projects. Instead they found their thoughts circling around Max. They were intrusive thoughts. Petty ones. Max’s first hangover and the combined efforts of the family to hide the event from Reynard. Max’s first steps as a child, tottering to reach not his mother, but Bellona, still only a child herself yet already his constant companion. There were many memories that occurred to Sang. If they wanted to, they could review Max’s life moment by moment, a luxury that humans did not get to enjoy.
Sang recognized the desire to sink into review for what it was. Avoiding decisions would not help Bellona now. Descending to helplessness because the source of direction had gone would be a waste, which the Scordinii deplored.
We use the parameters that best suit the assignment. How many times had Sang said that to others? The assignment had not changed. Max had been clear. Help Bellona. Only the parameters had changed. Sang would not receive more explicit instructions. They must devise those for themselves.
Sang stared ahead, while in their mind they built a matrix of possible parameters, nodes of decision, potential outcomes and consequences.
When the car pulled up next to the boarding house in New Edsel, the matrix was as complete as current information could make it.
It was very dark outside. It was late and most of the lights, both external and internal, had been doused for the night. What few lights remained reflected off the wet surfaces, making them gleam. Nothing moved in the narrow street.
Bellona stirred and unsealed the car. Instantly, the sound of rain leapt and she recoiled, as if she had noticed the rain only now.
Sang went ahead, to unlock the outer door of the boarding house so she did not have to linger on the sidewalk. The rain was heavy enough that Sang was instantly soaked, even moving the few meters to the door. They palmed the lock and pushed. The door didn’t open.
Vexed, Sang tried again. A lot of water on the palm could interfere with the pad’s function.
Bellona stepped up beside them. “What’s the matter?” She had to raise her voice to be heard.
“It won’t open.” Sang moved back out onto the sidewalk to look up at the second floor, where the boarding house owner had their apartment. There were no lights showing on that floor. Even the minimal security lights that were usually left on in the front foyer were extinguished, for nothing showed through the ground floor windows.
Bellona pressed her hand against the pad and pushed. The door remained closed. She tried again, then grabbed the handlebar and put her shoulder to the door.
Sang watched as she threw herself against the door over and over. Under the noise of the rain, they could hear her swearing. Each bump against the door grew harder and heavier, until she was ramming herself against it, making the bomb-proof door rattle in its sealed frame. The impact drove her backward.
She grew still, staring at the door. The rain was pouring off her in rivulets. Then she ran at the door and kicked it. The kick used up the last of her energy. She put her head against the door and closed her eyes.
Sang hesitated. They knew what had to be done, only there was no one here to take the step. There was only Sang.
They moved to the door and eased Bellona away from it. They put their arms around her and spoke just loudly enough for her to hear above the rain. “It only feels like you are alone.”
Bellona hid her face against their shoulder. Her arms tightened around their neck.
* * * * *
The next day, Sang sold the ground car to a grasping tradesman who understood exactly what he was buying while pretending ignorance to drive the price down. Sang let him push the price down to just above Sang’s bottom line, then walked.
The trader caught up with Sang at the entrance to the trading post across the road and coaxed Sang back. Sang let him add another fifteen percent to the price then they grasped each other’s arms.
They used the money to buy essentials, as all their current possessions, clothes and supplies were still in the boarding house that had expelled them. Neither of them was interested in trying to get anything back.
They met Bellona at the eatery in the main square and listed their purchases, while Bellona played with the hot cakes on her plate.
“Semi-ballistic?” she asked, when Sang itemized the tickets. “To where?”
“Abilio.”
“Where is that?”
“Tertius.” The third continent was in the southern hemisphere. “It will be winter there.”
“Why Abilio?”
Sang grimaced. “It was the closest to a random flag on the map that I could generate. There is absolutely nothing connecting you to Tertius or Abilio. I have no idea what is there. It has no real history and barely enough infrastructure to support fewer than a handful of permanent buildings. We’ll have to figure it out when we get there. Money is going to be the first priority.”
Bellona looked at them. “You’re using first person singular.”
Sang nodded. “Where you and I are headed, they won’t be used to androids. They certainly won’t understand the neutral gender.”
Bellona looked at them for another long moment. “Don’t pretend, Sang. I’m sick of illusions. Let them deal with the truth. It’s not up to you to ease their way.”
Sang drew in a breath, for calmness and to center themselves. “I’m not pretending.”
Chapter Fourteen
Angylia free state, Angyl moon, Yu System.
Ferid kept the man awake with stimulants injected directly into his hypothalamus, taking care not to disturb the buildup of plaque and detritus so the effects of sleep deprivation would be acute. It blunted the man’s executive decision-making processes, keeping him pliant.
The man’s medical knowledge meant he knew what Ferid was doing, which added a degree of fun to the whole tiresome exercise. Ferid couldn’t remember his name. He had identified him by the metal finger, an oddly biobotic feature to find in a free-stater. Three weeks of drinking in the right bars on the right planets had led Ferid to the tidbit: One of Arany’s crew had a metal finger. After that, it had taken less than a day to find the man…and he had a wife.
Ferid displayed the woman for the man to see. It had been difficult deciding how much pain he should put the woman through before offering the man the deal. Too much, and he might decide Ferid was lying about letting the wife go if he talked. Too little, and he might decide that Ferid didn’t really mean to kill her.
The dilemma was another novel aspect to the project. It had provided uncertainty. Finally, though, Ferid had found the balance that provided optimum persuasion.
The man blubbered, torn by competing loyalties.
Then Ferid thought of what to say. Awed at his own brilliance, Ferid leaned closer to the smelly man. His smile was genuine. “No one has to know it was you. Arany will never learn about this.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the breathless moaning of the woman, which destroyed the intimacy of the moment.
The man’s bloodshot eyes gazed at him. Ferid watched hope dawn.
“You’ll let her go?”
“Yes.” She would not be alive when he did let her go, but he would most certainly release her.
The man looked away, toward his wife. He wept again. “What do you want to know?”
* * * * *
The Bonaventura, Free space, Xindar-Coria Confluence.
“Um…boss?” Natasa’s voice carried across the bridge.
Benjamin Arany looked up from the chart he was studying and raised a brow.
Natasa straightened up from where she had been bent over the shoulder of the intern on the scanners. “They’re here.”
“Erium?”
She nodded. Her elongated eyes narrowed even farther. “You sure you want to do this?”
“I don’t think I’ve been completely sure since I kissed Maureen Owenzky behind the woodpile when I was twelve.” Arany dismissed the chart and got to his feet. “We’d better come about and hold.”
Natasa rolled her eyes. “Maybe we should just duck and run as usual. I mean…” She glanced around the bridge and moved closer, so she could lower her voice. “Word is, the Eriumans are more pissy than usual. Some royal son of theirs got killed and they’re grumpy about it.”
Arany nodded. “Maximilian Cardenas. He died in free space, Natasa. That’s why they’re grumpy. They think we did it. You might want to at least try to keep up with the news.”
Natasa grinned. “We didn’t?”
“Kill him? I don’t think anyone in free space is that stupid.”
“Maybe they didn’t know who they had under the knife.”
“The purple uniform should have told them. You don’t fuck with the Eriumans.”
“Right. So why are we fucking with them, boss?” She pointed at the scanner screens the intern had up. The blip was big.
“Cruiser?”
“The Jovian.”
Arany was pleased. The Jovian was one of the big ones, retrofitted to carry fighters in the hold. “Are they shouting at us yet?”
“Boss, you’re on their wanted list. They’re not going to shout. They’re going to shoot.”
Arany looked over his shoulder. “Ready, Dex?”
Dex had his hands over his dashboard, hovering. He nodded.
Arany leaned on the navigation table. “Let’s do this.”
* * * * *
Eriuman Naval Vessel Jovian, Free space, Xindar-Coria Confluence.
Captain Sher Carosa tilted his head, baffled. “Is he…just sitting there?” he asked of everyone, as he studied the screen showing the small, shiny dot.
Pramoda lifted his head. “They scanned us. They know we’re here.”
Carosa frowned. “It is the Bonaventura, yes?”
“Confirmed.”
Carosa sighed. “Free-staters…” He signaled to the mid-shipman, who turned to murmur to the coordinators under his command. “Arany is too critical to ignore,” Carosa told Pramoda.
Pramoda watched the mid-shipman. “Fighters launched,” he confirmed.
Carosa watched on the screen as the swarm of little fight craft speared across open space, heading for the Bonaventura.
“More ships have appeared, sir,” Pramoda said calmly.
“More?” Carosa was startled. “How many?” Now he could see them on the screen. More pinpoints of light, gathering around the Bonaventura. “Magnify!”
The screen zoomed. Now the ships were clear—a motley cloud of freighters and converted ex-military vehicles, reclaimed public transports…in short, the junk of the galaxy.
“Forty-six ships, sir,” Pramoda said. “Forty-seven,” he added as another one appeared.
“Forty-seven freeships, all in one place,” Carosa breathed.
“And they’re not shooting at each other, either,” Pramoda pointed out.
“They’re turning!” one of the bench coordinators called out.
On the screen, the forty-seven free ships were all orienting themselves. One only oriented a ship when they intended to traverse space. Null-space jumps could be taken from anywhere.
“Are they attacking?” Pramoda asked, sounding amused.
Carosa sat up, his heart giving a little squeeze. “When will the fighters reach them?”
“They’re closing,” the mid-shipman said.
Carosa rolled his eyes. “How soon?”
The mid-shipman looked down at his team. “Twenty seconds.”
It was a tense twenty seconds. Carosa stared at the screen, his mind racing, trying to figure out Arany’s ultimate intention. They could engage with the fighters, but what would it prove? They could not take on a cruiser, not even forty-seven of them.
The freeships leapt forward, all of them keeping together in a tight formation that Carosa had time to admire for the coordination needed for such a maneuver. For a few seconds, it looked as though the two sets of vessels would clash head-on.
Then Arany’s ships ducked. There was no better word for it. The dive beneath the flight path of the fighters was a deliberate evasion. The fighters flew over the top of the freeships and Carosa heard the coordinators screaming instructions to flip and chase, rotate, rotate, damn it!
Pramoda stared at the screen with the same degree of curiosity as Carosa. “I do believe they mean to attack. Us, I mean.” He glanced at Carosa. “The fighters will easily catch them. The freeships are not nearly fast enough to outrun them.”
Carosa frowned. Had he missed something? What had he overlooked? He didn’t underestimate Arany. The man had caused more than casual damage to over a dozen naval vessels. He had to know that sprinting toward a cruiser was a fast form of suicide.
He sat up as alarm bloomed hot in his chest and guts. “Get the forcefields up! Now!”
Pramoda passed on the order, then looked at Carosa, baffled. “The fighters will take care of them.”
“All of them? Before they reach us?” Carosa snapped coldly.
“Enough of them to make the rest not matter.”
Carosa shook his head. “Get us out of here, Pramoda. Null jump. I don’t care where. Just do it.”
“Sir, the fighters…”
“We’ll come back and pick them up, if there are any left.” Carosa slapped the arm of his chair. “Now!”
Heads snapped around to look at him.
“Fighters engaged!” the mid-shipman called.
Pramoda frowned down at his bench. “We will be able to jump in sixty seconds.”
Carosa slumped back. “Too long.” He looked at the screen. The fighters were firing at the backs of the freeships. Carosa had seen the fighters do the same with Karassian units. Usually, the ships that were struck bloomed into an instant fireball, that evaporated immediately. A split-second marker of death.
He could see the freeships taking hits. Two of them stopped dead in space. Yet none of them flared into flames.
“They’re all shielded,” Pramoda breathed. His tone said he finally understood. “They’re slower, because they’re shielded.”
Carosa watched the screen.
“They still can’t touch us,” Pramoda added. “The fields are in place. The limited ammunition they have can’t get through.”
Carosa watched the freeship squad draw closer, dread pooling at the pit of his stomach. “Send for assistance.” He couldn’t raise his voice.
“Sir!” Pramoda protested.
“Do it.” Carosa looked back at the screen, at the approaching ships.
Pramoda sent the communications bullet then looked up again. “They’re going to have to break off their approach soon, or they’ll…” Carosa heard his quick intake of breath.
