Land of the Dead

In the dead fleet aboard the Naniwa

Oc Chac, Helsdon, and Konev cursed in unison, levering at the hatchway into Main Command with a magnetic ram. The compartment frame had warped in the last exchange of shipkillers, though their continued survival spoke volumes to the resistance afforded by the hexacomb armor between the primary and secondary hulls. Kosho hung back, one arm tucked around a stanchion, paying only partial attention to the efforts of the bridge crew to force an exit from the ruined compartment. Her earbug was still live, and she could monitor the chatter from Secondary Command, which was in operation. She could have used one of the escape hatches that led to an evac pod, but there was still work to be done, and her ship to fight.

Chu-i Pucatli was nearly helmet-to-helmet with her, a field comp tucked into his elbow while the Comms officer tried to keep track of everything happening elsewhere on the ship.

We’ve broken contact, Chu-sa, reported the second watch pilot from Secondary. That last exchange blinded the destroyer and we’ve gone to ground between two of the leviathans.

“How much clearance do we have?” Susan did not like the thought of getting too close to something that might wake up at any time, though she admitted to herself that beggars cannot be choosers.

Enough, kyo. But once they start hunting, we’ll have to run for it and drives are at sixty percent.

Kosho shook her head in displeasure, eyeing Pucatli. “Are you picking up anything from their ’cast traffic?”

The Comms officer’s lips twisted into a puzzled grimace. “Fragments, kyo -I think something’s happened in-system from us.” The younger officer clipped his z-suit to the stanchion and crossed his legs, pinning the field comp in place as he floated. “Most of our sensors are blocked by the wrecks, but-”

“What about the remote we dropped at the Pinhole?” Susan folded her arms, glaring at Oc Chac and Helsdon working on the door. Being denied the threatwell or any kind of proper information feed was making her almost violently nervous. The Sho-sa was now cutting into the doorframe with a plasma torch, which was generating a huge cloud of sparks and smoke droplets. “Do we still have a t-relay connection?”

“ Hai, kyo.” Pucatli was working the comp as fast as he could, but no good answers were coming back. “But it’s six light-years from the Chimalacatl -so we’ve nothing on sensor or visual. Gravity plot now… here we go.”

The Chu-i turned the comp, showing Susan a navigational plot. Multiple tracks arrowed inbound from the Pinhole, showing a line-pattern indicating they’d gone superluminal to leap across the six light-year interval to the immediate region of the Sunflower. One of the traces ended abruptly-and the timestamp on the vector indicated they’d ceased to exist less than fifteen minutes ago.

“See that, Chu-sa?” Pucatli could not help but grin, teeth white behind his grimy faceplate.

“That last Hayalet stepped too close to the sun,” Susan stated flatly.

“Boom-boom, kyo,” the Comms officer observed, rubbing fine particles of ash from his screen.

Now we know what happened to this fleet, Kosho thought, feeling the weight of the dead pressing against the hull of her ship. Did they try and attack the artifact? No-they weren’t warships. Whoever-whatever-controlled the weapon system turned upon them.

She turned up the filters on her z-suit against the electrical smoke now obscuring their vision. Anderssen and Hummingbird must have had some way to slip us past before, when we were so close to the artifact. Damn the old man… somehow he knows how to control the weapon.

Thirty minutes later, in Secondary Command, Susan stretched gingerly and sucked down some water. She’d taken a bad crack on the shoulder while the command team had scrambled downdeck. Most of her ship was seriously damaged, though they’d been lucky enough not to lose the shipcore entirely.

“The main squadron will be coming back this way, Fujiwara,” she said to the Home Islander sitting at the Pilot’s station. “We need to move closer to the Chimalacatl at every opportunity. The Khaid will fear it now, and we’ll take every advantage the Goddess sends us.”

Oc Chac looked up from the other end of Secondary. “ Chu-sa, won’t we fall prey to the same fate, if we move too close to the device?” His gloved fingers tapped restlessly on the back of his helmet. “That Khaid ship was destroyed well out from the artifact-when we dropped off that freighter we were much closer-” The Sho-sa suddenly stopped, having reached an unpalatable conclusion. “How will we tell what our safe distance is now?”

Susan looked pointedly at Helsdon. The engineer grimaced, wishing he could clear the taste of ashes from his throat, and immediately fell to work at one of the consoles. “For now,” the Chu-sa said, “we will assume it’s safer near the Sunflower than in the crosshairs of a Khaid missile battery.”

Oc Chac nodded in agreement, and then pointed wordlessly at the compartment status v-panes showing a wild mixture of red, orange, and yellow on his display. Kosho leaned in, feeling a slow trickle of despair at the state of her fine new ship.

“Release emergency air to decks thirteen and fifteen. Close down atmosphere to the rest of the compromised compartments.”

Turning back to the threatwell-what a relief to have some view of the battle, even if the display had substantial arcs of darkness where there was simply no data to be had-Susan tilted her head, puzzled for a moment by the latest positions of the enemy.

“ Chu-sa, they’re regrouping-the destroyers hunting us are shifting vector out of the shoal.” Pucatli sounded wary, and Kosho shared his concern.

“Assume they are taking stock of the situation, Chu-i. They will need to set some priorities-so keep a close eye on any movements in our direction. See if that remote at the Pinhole can pick up their ’cast traffic.”

Then she sat, at last, and drank some more water and managed to force down a threesquare. Everyone else remained furiously busy with damage control and trying to get updated inventory and arranging for the wounded and the dead. Susan sat quietly in the commander’s shockchair, watching the ’well update.

“Can you project their rendezvous point?” Susan asked Fujiwara as the minutes crawled by.

The pilot shrugged. “No guarantees, kyo. Comp has tagged this one”-he highlighted one of the icons-“as the Kartal -an Aslan -class heavy cruiser-and presumably the Flag for the remains of their squadron. She’s building vector away from the Chimalacatl and away from us. The others might be converging on her, but there’s no guarantee yet.”

Kosho nodded, considering the dimensional model herself. After a minute, she said: “They may have found the chase too hot to follow-or they may be resolving internal differences of surtu hierarchy. Set course for the Sunflower-but keep us well back from the destruction point of those two Khaid ships.”

Then she smiled tightly at Helsdon, who had looked up from his console for a moment.

Blanching, he set himself to work again.

“ Kyo?” Pucatli looked up from the Comms console, where he was sharing space with the duty officer. “We’ve synched a channel to the remote at the Pinhole. You should see this…”

Susan tapped up the feed on her own console and pursed her lips, whistling in surprise. The relay telemetry showed three ships erupting from the aperture, engaged in a long-distance missile duel. All three of them popped up on the display with the familiar collection of Khaid glyphs. The pursued-a light cruiser tagged “ Kader ” by shipnet from the ’cast traffic they’d captured during the initial fighting-was taking a beating, shedding a coiling cloud of debris and weaving drunkenly. In comparison, the two pursuers seemed sleek and fast, shrugging aside any counter-fire with contemptuous ease.

“A clan dispute, kyo? Did one of the ship commanders try a coup?” Oc Chac peered at her display.

“No.” Susan’s hand clenched on the armrest beside the shockchair. He tried to reach me.

“No,” she continued. “This must be the Khaid ship captured by Chu-sa Hadeishi. He found himself in the same predicament as we did-and passed through the Pinhole as well.”

“To no avail, Chu-sa.” The Mayan shook his head sadly. “See, they’ve lost that last drive-they’re ballistic now. If they don’t lose containment, the Khaid will finish them off with a single shipkiller.”

Kosho nodded, feeling sick. The Kader ’s maneuvering drives had sputtered out, leaving the cruiser a hulk coasting into the void. A cloud of tiny pinpoints popped, spilling away from the dying ship.

He’s ejected pods, she thought, feeling an enormous distance open in her heart. Reactors are off-line. She’s just scrap metal now, falling into infinity. Not even worth The two Khaid destroyers cut their drives as well, and on the plot, the paths of the three vessels began to converge.

“Why are-” Pucatli fell silent, seeing that Oc Chac was nodding to himself.

The Mayan scratched at a tiny fringe of beard he’d started to accumulate. “The coil on that ship might still be intact, Thai-i, and her reactors are still working-even if they’ve had to shut them down. Some quick work by the engineers on those two Mishrak -class boats might salvage the whole ship. No reason to waste a shipkiller and a working starship.”

Oc Chac looked to Kosho, a speculative expression on his face. “And the captains of those two destroyers haven’t read Chu-sa Hadeishi’s service jacket, have they?”

“No.” Susan sat up, feeling an enormous, crushing weight begin to dissipate. “They have no idea the evacuation pods are empty. No idea at all.”

Then she scowled forbiddingly at the Sho-sa and the rest of the crew. “Back to work! We need our drives back on line, missile racks refreshed, guns working!” She clapped her hands sharply, making a fierce explosive sound that made everyone in Secondary jump in alarm. “ Banzai! ”

Burning shapes impressed themselves upon Gretchen’s perception, even with her eyes squeezed tightly closed, even without the power of the bronzed tablet flowing through her nervous system. A shining rainbow streak coiled around the Thread tethered at the center of the shaft. The low consoles and the floor itself were filled with quiescent corkscrewlike patterns of brass and silver. Far above, the roof of the enormous room was flowing with filmy curlicues drawn in white, rose, and violet. Dimly, she felt these were the sleeping patterns of control systems, comp nodes, and other undecipherable systems.

In her ghost-sight, the phantasmal bodies of uniformed Hjogadim congealed from the air, busy at the control consoles on either side of the platform. There were other beings with them-slighter of form, indigo-blue-pelted, with thin, ancient-seeming faces and depthless eyes. These creatures stood apart from the Hjo operators though they were intensely focused on the work underway.

Are those the Vay’en themselves? she wondered for an instant, before something else climbed onto the platform. The powerfully built physicality of the Hjogadim was barely visible as a vaporous skeleton. The organic frame was obscured by the scintillating golden glare of something coiled at the top of the inhuman spine.

A serpent of fire, was the first image springing to mind. Naga-kanya, the bringer of wisdom. Where are the five heads?

The crack of assault rifles and the darting transparencies of the Prince’s marines were ephemeral to her. The shapes of the ancient past were far, far clearer. She rolled to her knees, taking in the valley-sized chamber below in one sweeping glance. Hundreds of thousands of ancient ghosts thronged the rows of platforms. Countless golden-haloed Hjogadim lay within the crystalline cradles, while swarms of slightly built blue-black creatures tended to the machines. Platoons of armored Hjo-massive in powered red-and-black battle armor-stood ready at the intersections between the triangular sectors. The hiss of her suit atmosphere escaping failed to register upon Anderssen’s conscious mind. Despite the cold pricking her chest as her clothing turned brittle in the near-zero atmosphere, Gretchen crawled unhindered to the edge of the shaft at the center of the pylon.

Far below, the singularity swelled in her sight: a pulsating void streaked with fire as a constant, thin stream of matter plunged down to annihilation. The Thread descended beyond the limit of her sight, a cable of nine atoms stretched enormously thin, forming an unbreakable path into the abyss. The wavering mercury-sheen of some kind of force field blocked the full glare of annihilation from blinding her. Is this their heaven? They are below, somewhere between here and the event horizon. Millions of them, basking in the crucible of creation-are they healing? Giving birth to a whole new generation? Sleeping until it is time to wake again? Is this a natural cycle? A serpent’s egg warmed by the cascade of dying mass from three carefully-balanced suns?

The stuttering roar of an assault rifle firing wildly only meters away broke her concentration. Gretchen scrambled back into the shelter of a console, gasping as bones ground raw in her chest and side. A Fleet marine staggered across her field of view, blood hissing to vapor from rents in his armor. Across the gaping maw of the shaft, she saw Prince Xochitl and Sahane crouched behind another console. The Prince’s attention was on his attackers, his visage grim, teeth bared in a snarl of defiance. As she watched, he ejected an ammunition spool from his rifle and slammed in a fresh one. The Hjogadim, its long snout wrinkled up in fear, stared wide-eyed across at Gretchen. Is he capable of pleading for mercy?

A priest, she remembered. Like those toiling on the field of abandoned husks below. But that isn’t right… a technician. A medical technician?

Xochitl nosed his rifle around the corner of the console and squeezed off a burst of flechettes in the direction of the stair.

But the cubbyholes in the halls were all empty, Anderssen thought, her mind drawn inexorably back to the puzzle at hand. Wheezing, she lay back and fumbled quickseal from a thigh pocket. Even in her elevated state, she could now feel bitter cold biting at her heart. Where did all the Hjo bodies… oh, the garbage disposal port. Outside, then, and into the maw of the black hole. Discarded servants.

A little black cylinder bounced up onto the platform and before anyone could react, exploded. A web of glittering silver filaments sprayed out, tangling Gretchen, Sahane, and the Prince. Xochitl cursed in two languages as he struggled to draw a monofilament knife.

The gray-eyed navigator from the Moulins appeared in Gretchen’s field of view. Absurdly, she was relieved to see no trace of a golden glow emanating from his helmet. A regular old human, thank Christ the Sacrifice!

Piet gave her an evaluating look, swinging a short-barreled assault rifle in her direction, but when his eyes fell upon the Mexica-still struggling to cut away the webbing-his face contorted into open hatred and the Frisian squeezed off a burst into the Prince’s faceplate. At such short range Xochitl’s glassite faceplate shattered as the armor-piercing rounds struck, spraying blood across Sahane’s helmet. The Prince’s corpse contorted violently, but the Mexica’s last movements barely moved the tangleweb. The Hjo squealed, as though he were the one who had been murdered. Gretchen felt a paralyzing shock run through her body.

That was as cold and calculated an execution as I ever pray to see.

Two more crewmen from the Moulins appeared. They quartered the platform, checking the bodies of the fallen marines in a businesslike way. Their battle-armor was scarred and pitted, but seemed to have held up far better than that of the dead Imperials. Their insignia-a red cross formed of three smaller crosses surmounting a descending spike-gleamed hot in the pale light of the accretion jet. Now, seeing them in motion with arms, armor, and heraldry revealed, Anderssen grasped who they were: Knights of the Order of the Temple of Jerusalem-the Templars of New Malta! But-they’re allies of the Empire, servants of the Emperor-aren’t they?

Though her abdomen was beginning to warm, her z-suit working overtime to replace the heat lost through the punctured chestplate, she felt a chill memory surface. The Jehanan warred upon one another, each clan seeking to seize the false secrets of the Kalpataru for themselves, and so their unity was destroyed and-in time-their civilization fell into ruin, burned away by thermonuclear fire.

“Which one do we need?” Piet inquired of his companions. His rifle muzzle indicated Gretchen and Sahane in turn. “Her… or him?”

“I suggest you keep both of them alive,” the voice of Green Hummingbird urged over the comm. The old Nahuatl stepped up onto the platform, tattered brown cloak drifting behind him. “Particularly now that the Prince is dead. You will need this Hjogadim to explain why Xochitl had to be killed. The Grand Master will want to know the Tlatocapilli was sent to seize this place for the Empire in defiance of the Pact.”

Three black-snouted rifles swung ’round, fixing on the old man. The nauallis nodded genially to the Templars. “Though my lord Sahane is entirely competent for the task at hand, Miss Anderssen has your master’s tablet in her safekeeping. Help her to a console, if you will.”

That’s Mrs. Anderssen to you, Crow, Gretchen thought blackly, refusing to budge from the nice comfortable floor even when the tangleweb strands were cut away. Hummingbird and the wavering ghost-image of the serpent-headed Hjogadim Lord interpenetrated in her Sight. At that moment she perceived they were cut much of the same cloth, though they stood millennia apart. Equally calculating and barren of compassion, using entire civilizations as their… what did Sahane call us? As their toys?

Piet reached down and dragged her up, grimacing at the ruin of her chestplate, now bubbled shut with quickseal foam. “She’s been shot,” he said in an annoyed snarl.

Hummingbird was at Gretchen’s side in an instant. He gently prodded at her z-suit, checking the med readout. She met his gaze with a cold, angry stare. He drew back minutely. She felt his thumb, hidden under her arm, adjusting the channel on her suit comm.

“I’m sorry, Anderssen,” he said, face turned away from the three Europeans. “But these men have not the least respect for my authority.”

“I’ll bet,” Gretchen growled, feeling faint. The ghostly Hjogadim lord was stalking amongst his servants, and the entire great chamber was lit from below by a wavering bronze-colored fire. Even without looking over the edge, she knew every Hjo body in every cradle was yielding up its guest, a serpentine ribbon of living flame, all of them flowing into the thread leading down into the singularity. “That was a dirty trick with the tablet…”

“I warned you the first time we met,” Hummingbird said, voice tinged with melancholy. “There are many things best left undisturbed.”

“Will she live?” Piet broke in, leaning over the old man’s shoulder.

“She will,” Hummingbird said. Gretchen realized he had switched the comm channel back. “But she is badly wounded…”

“Give me the Old One’s tablet, then,” the pilot said eagerly. “I can serve as his messenger, if she cannot.”

Gretchen managed a sickly grin, and on the other side of the shaft, Sahane made a barking sound like a dog choking on a too-large bone. Was that laughter?

“Tablet?” she said innocently. “I don’t have any tablet.”

Piet went quite still. Hummingbird’s eyes did not leave her face, but they grew large with surprise.

“ Kyo?”

Susan opened her eyes, alarmed that she’d fallen asleep in her shockchair. Oc Chac and Pucatli were at the Comms console, and the Sho-sa seemed quite agitated.

“What has happened?” Kosho sat up, feeling every bone and sinew complain.

“Our remote at the Pinhole is gone.” Pucatli shook his head in disgust. “We’ve some telemetry from the aperture right before we lost contact, but it makes no sense.”

“Show me.” Susan rolled her neck and flexed her fingers, trying to force some warmth back into them. Secondary Command seemed to have lost pressure and temperature control while she’d been sleeping. Oc Chac rotated a large v-pane towards her, and then tapped up a series of glyphs to replay the feed.

“We’d picked up what seems to be a Khaid light cruiser about sixty minutes ago.” The Mayan’s stylus indicated a faint outline against the riot of color glowing from the Barrier clouds. “Lying dark, under full emissions control. Watching the back trail of the main squadron, of course. Doing a good job, too-the Thai-i only caught him out by replaying the gravity plot from our passage through the region.”

Oc Chac patted Pucatli on the shoulder. “Then we get a gravity-spike from the Pinhole-see, here? Massing like a dreadnaught, kyo. As though the Tlemitl picked herself up and came after us. But then-wait, I’ll rewind again.” Susan had started, watching the emissions signature on the plot suddenly break apart.

“Not one ship, but hundreds of smaller ones.” The Sho-sa shook his head in puzzlement. “Look at all the drive flares! Like they came in packed together, then deployed in a cloudburst. We’re still crunching the signatures in comp, trying to match a known profile but-”

Susan’s eyes narrowed in speculation, a fingertip drifting across a line of metrics displayed on the console. “I’ve seen that kind of signature once before, Sho-sa, but not in such numbers. This is something like a Maltese assault carrier launching its complement. But I’ve never heard the Knights had something which could simultaneously deploy over three hundred fighters!”

“Don’t know, kyo.” Pucatli grimaced, indicating the flood of contacts now racing across the plot. “But they’re at high-v and rolling right down the drive plume laid by the Khaid battlegroup!”

“Huh!” Kosho’s attention switched to the Khaid light cruiser, which had suddenly exposed a pinpoint hot-spot on its shipskin. “We’re in line with a comm laser?”

Oc Chac nodded, keying up a directional indicator. “Snap transmit to the main fleet, Chu-sa, but see-it’s already too late.”

A brace of drive signatures suddenly flickered into view on the telemetry; ships a fraction the size of the Khaid light cruiser racing past the long black hull, and then the stuttering flare of shipkiller detonations rippled from one end of the warship to the other. In the remote’s camera view, a flurry of white-hot pinpoints appeared in the darkness and then the bright, sudden blossom of the cruiser’s containment failing enveloped the ship.

The tiny ships had already vanished, just before the remote’s telemetry stopped cold.

“They found our remote, too.” Susan clasped her hands behind her back, teeth clicking thoughtfully. “ Sho-sa, did you notice how well shielded their drives are? Like ghosts…”

The Mayan barked a hoarse, exhausted laugh. “Like they weren’t even there, Chu-sa. Until they were on that cruiser and firing.”

Humanoid shapes moved abruptly in the shadows, armor glinting in the intermittent strobe of emergency lights. Some sections of the old Spear -class cruiser had their own generators to run critical subsystems, which meant there were pockets of atmosphere and occasional overheads still working. Hadeishi was crouched down behind a shattered section of interior wall, watching the advance of the enemy through a remote v-eye tucked into a dead lighting socket. A good dozen Khaid marines were leapfrogging up the main corridor into the habitat ring, five of the aliens in powered armor in the lead. Mitsuharu guessed they were a combat team detached from the main body of the attackers, who had managed to fight their way into the shipcore.

The Nisei officer turned, signing Stand by to the four Imperials behind him with their motley assortment of weapons. When he checked the v-eye again, the Khaid were shifting smoothly from door to bulkhead frame to door, their heavy shipguns shining oily in the flickering light.

Now. Hadeishi flashed a quick sign, and then tripped the switch on a portable fuel-cell generator they’d lugged down from the Command ring. Electrons flooded the local circuits and every light and door activated. The room hatches being forced by the Khaid suddenly cycled open, sending at least one of the invaders sprawling into the compartment beyond. The overheads flared to life, shedding a bright warm glow over the wreckage strewn along the corridor. The Khaiden marines swiveled, guns quartering the nearest openings-and found nothing. Their advance paused for an instant as each hunter assessed every possible threat within his field of view.

Heated to flashpoint by the lights in the overheads, twenty or thirty pounds of fuse paper-all they had left from the landing site clearing supplies the Khaid had been dragging around-ignited with a rippling bang-bang-bang and the overhead panels popped free, swinging wildly in the oozing clouds of smoke. The Khaiden marines reacted violently, six of them ripping loose with suppressive fire to shred the ceiling tiles and shatter the remaining lights. The vanguard loped forward, looking to clear the “ambush” zone, while the rear-guard fell back to the closest intersection, ensuring their line of retreat was secured.

Hadeishi popped up as the lead Khaid sprang past a fallen beam, and the Yilan tucked into his shoulder stuttered, flash-suppressor spitting flame in a brief, brilliant cross. At point-blank range, the armor-piercing munitions tore up the chest, faceplate, and shoulder of the hunter’s armor, knocking him back into the Khaid following behind. The other Imperials also let loose, all fire concentrated on the same lead figure. By the time the hunter had collided with his companions, the armor had been punctured twice by the hundreds of rounds and he drifted limply away.

“Go!” Mitsuharu barked, ducking back. One of his men tossed a grenade-their last-into the midst of the enemy vanguard and then kicked off, sailing down their escape route. The other Imperials were already gone as the grenade cooked off in a sharp, hot blast. The Khaid hunters were thrown back by the pressure wave, but it was an even chance any of them suffered any lasting damage. Their armor was too tough for the lightweight weapons Hadeishi’s crew had managed to scavenge. The blast did collapse the roof, however, which had already been weakened by an engineering crew.

The spitting howl of a squad support weapon replied-Mitsuharu didn’t remember the code-name assigned by Fleet intelligence-but the flechettes tore a horizontal gap across the fallen debris and hot sparks chased him down the hallway.

Twenty minutes later, the Chu-sa ducked under a haphazardly strung line of glowbeans and went to one knee, his face seamed with worry. The main medbay had been abandoned an hour ago, when the Khaid attack into the shipcore had focused on the secondary command ring, which also held the medical section. The surviving Imperials needing a corpsman-and there were many now-had been hauled out by grav-sled or z-line to the armored compartment managing the boat and cargo bays in the primary hull, which had escaped the initial assault. On a properly equipped Fleet ship, Hadeishi might have had one or two spare shuttles tucked away in the boat-bays. But the Kader had nothing spare, so they’d cut power to the bays and vented as much debris and garbage as could be found through the doors to discourage the Khaid from trying to land in them.

Lovelace was tacked to the floor, her body wrapped in a survival blanket, leaving only the status readouts of her z-suit visible. Her rounded face was pale behind the faceplate, eyes closed. On her wrist, the med-band was a softly glowing bracelet of amber and green.

“Not dead yet,” Mitsuharu said softly, squinting at the tiny readout. “But you’re not going to last without proper facilities.”

“Sorry, kyo.” The Mirror Comms officer’s voice was a broken rasp. “They sealed the hull splinter in with me, but I can feel the knife twisting when I breathe.”

“Don’t talk then.” Hadeishi sat, his back against the wall, her wrist held lightly between thumb and forefinger. “We’ve all run out of time in any case. And the Khaid are sadly lacking in regen pods. They don’t eat their own dead, but do employ a species of shipbug blessed by their priests for the very purpose.”

“I taste terrible,” the girl said; her voice very, very faint.

Mitsuharu nodded, watching her respiration flutter. The pale blue light of the glowbeans painted her cheekbones a deathly hue. “I’m sure you do, Sho-i. It was an honor to serve with you. I am sorry I did not listen-you tried to keep me from this fool’s errand.”

“We-” A bubbling wheeze stopped her for a moment, but then she managed to say: “We were dead if we tried to run out past those two destroyers. You bought us another sixteen hours, at least.”

I did that, he thought. To no good end, save to bring down a few more Khaid before the black sea takes us all.

One of the lights on her med-band began to pulse red. Feeling a terrible sense of deja vu, he gently dialed the band to send the Comms officer unconscious. Plum petals are falling, sickle moon sharp as The poem faltered in his memory, the pace and tenor of the chatter and background noise on his comm suddenly changing. Hadeishi looked away from Lovelace, eyes closed, letting the voices of his men, his subcommanders, the sound and feel of the ship penetrating his back, his hands, the soles of his feet wash over him. On one of the channels, Tocoztic’s familiar voice-his breathing labored-said: “Is this getting easier, or is it my imagination?”

Mitsuharu stiffened, rising from the floor. “All units report. Are you currently in contact with the enemy?”

“No, Chu-sa,” worried voices replied. “It’s been quiet on either side of us for maybe five minutes.”

Just as Hadeishi thumbed the all-channel push control on his z-suit comm, the partially open bay doors flared into a white-hot bar. The debris cloud outside was ionizing as a particle beam ripped across the surface of the Kader. The impact reverberated through the frame of the ship seconds later, transmitting itself to Mitsuharu as a keening shriek rising from his boot-soles. Screams on the comm channels were snuffed out abruptly as the beam punched through the central ring of the cruiser.

The boat-bay doors crumpled as the primary hull twisted, suddenly torqued by a series of explosive blasts. Hadeishi dropped to the floor, crouching over Lovelace’s body, and felt the walls and floor ripple. Glassite shattered as the boat-bay windows tore from their frames. A second colossal impact followed as a shipkiller rammed into the gap torn by the particle beam. The missile vented plasma into the shipcore, immolating the dozens of Imperials still trapped within the secondary hull.

The concussive wave transmitted to the primary hull as well, tearing the bay doors away entirely. The old cruiser split open, though Mitsuharu knew only that he and Lovelace were thrown against the far wall of the compartment along with everyone else in the makeshift medbay. Cries of agony filled his ears, but the Chu-sa ’s attention was fixed on the violently glowing dust-clouds now visible through the gaping hole where the boat-bay had been. What tiny bit of atmosphere had remained in the management compartment now vented out into hard vacuum, crystallizing as frost on their suits.

Hadeishi’s suit visor flickered, trying to focus on the abyss outside, then suddenly picked out-and enhanced-the outline of a Khaid destroyer sliding past at ten thousand kilometers, a long black shape with a blue-white flare where the drive nacelles were burning at one-quarter power. The first thing springing to mind was the image of a missile hatch cycling open as he watched…

“We’ve got to get out”-he forced himself away from the wall, one arm snaking behind Lovelace’s shoulders to pull her with him-“of here.”

Before he could drag her away a stabbing white glare flooded the compartment, momentarily polarizing Hadeishi’s visor to black.

“What is-” someone shouted on the channel, before being drowned out by a tidal wave of static.

Hadeishi felt his skin burning painfully from residual heat the z-suit could not disperse and gasped, blinded by even the microsecond of exposure to the antimatter reactor annihilating itself. When his vision cleared, the compartment was filled with drifting corpses, the walls discolored by the blast of radiation.

“Report,” he croaked, “any survivors, report!”

For a minute, or more, there was silence-stunned, wordless silence-but he could hear someone breathing harshly. Then a handful of voices babbled back, reporting status of their teams and their compartments.

“ Chu-sa, what happened?” Cajeme’s voice was suddenly clear and sharp; and the thought of the little Yaqui’s survival released a tiny fraction of the bone-crushing despair Mitsuharu had been struggling to wade through.

“A Neshter -class destroyer,” Hadeishi managed to croak out, “blew to atoms within visual of us. I do not know why, or how, but nothing else has hit us in the last sixty seconds, so I claim victory.”

Gretchen flinched away from a sudden, titanic plasma blast. The air erupted with blinding flame and a whirlwind of shrapnel. She lost her balance, teetering at the edge of the platform. Both Piet and Hummingbird lunged forward, gloved hands seizing her arms. Only then did she realize the burning cloud was passing through the two of them without harm. Eons in the past, the technicians at the consoles were strewn about like matchsticks. The mighty Hjogadim Lord burned like a torch while the golden serpent suddenly, violently, escaped from its physicality. The great hall, to its farthest corners, boiled with unforeseen catastrophe.

Anderssen blinked tears from her eyes, trying to focus on the present. Meanwhile, Piet had torn away her utility rig and was digging through the pockets.

“I saw her stash it… back in the ship,” his voice rasped over the comm. “It must be here somewhere!”

“It is gone,” Sahane barked in amusement. The Hjogadim gestured towards the shaft. “Cast into the abyss.”

Piet glared at the alien. “Then you will serve in her place.”

Sahane nodded and rose to his feet, helped by one of the other Templars. To Gretchen it was plain that something in the Hjo had found surety at last, banishing his chronic fear. “What will you have me say?”

Confused, Gretchen eyed the Europeans, Hummingbird, and the alien. A message? To the dead? No… to those sleeping below? But they cannot hear us-not without a Voice-uh oh…

Piet paused, squaring his shoulders, and then recited: “That we await their coming and are prepared to aid, as did their servants of old. That we pledge true service, where so many failed them before. That we have need, for a great peril will soon return.”

Sahane’s snout twitched in amusement, but he nodded.

Out of the corner of her eye, Gretchen caught a glimpse of a thin blue-black furred shape shrouding the pilot like a ghostly cloak. How could anything have survived that plasma blast? She turned in amazement to get a better look. But the apparition was already gone. The ghost-world was fading now, consumed by the chaos of ancient battle. Too many fleeting events to leave a lasting mark on the substance of the consoles or the time-worn floor. Only one last glimpse of the Lord Serpent wicking through the air as a burning ribbon. Then it plunged into the cowering body of a still-living blue-black technician.

In a last burst of memory, the slim, now-radiant alien escaped over the edge of the pylon.

A vampire, Gretchen realized, falling back into the waking world, her limbs clammy with shock. A parasite of some kind, that… something like that was in the tablet! It was controlling me, guiding my mind! Xochitl was right-and there are hundreds of thousands more of them, down there, in the abyss… the deities of the Hjogadim.

“I will say these words, to the Gods,” Sahane announced, breaking her train of thought. The priest made an elegant, human-style bow. “If you give me leave to do so.”

The three Templars shared a glance and nodded, almost as one. Piet gestured with his assault rifle, pointing Sahane towards the nearest console. “Waste no time, then.”

Gretchen watched curiously as the Hjo paced deliberately to the largest, most centrally located console and then pressed fingertips to forebrain, a swift, mumbled litany on his lips. What is he?… Anderssen felt suddenly the fool. Her ghost-sight quickened, and she saw the air around Sahane come alive with flickering glyphs and signs. His masks are on overdrive and-spouting nonsense? They must be trying to decipher the control systems… but are too new to understand these older mechanisms.

Despite the confusion of symbols, the subaudible hum in the floor changed pitch. At once the consoles flickered awake, glowing with dappled green and gold. The air in the enormous chamber stirred. Long lines of lamps began to shine among the abandoned cradles. Anderssen crawled to the nearest panel and felt it becoming aware under her hands, waiting for guidance. She realized that despite the echoes of destruction reverberating in the ghost-world, the gargantuan machine around her was intact and functioning.

Automated maintenance, she guessed. Little bots or nanites always working to clean and fix and repair… gathering up the bodies of the dead, taking them away to be properly disposed of… A frown creased her forehead. But not by the great doors? Wouldn’t they… ah, but everything there is in a great untidy pile. Collected by the automated janitors, for something else, something larger to take away. But it couldn’t? Because the doors were locked tight, sealed… She suppressed an automatic reaction to look around the platform for the corpse of the last technician, the one that had sealed the doors, trapping himself inside, and then expired in due time. Not here, not here… some chamber where he’d cached a bit of food and water, until he knew the tomb was forgotten and no one would return.

So, treachery. Battle and slaughter in the midst of the great undertaking. Millions of stasis racks, all empty. Storage for the bodies drained of guiding flame. Waiting for their masters-their operators?-to return…

Gretchen’s tongue awoke. “I don’t think you want him to do anything with that console, Lojtnant Piet.”

The pilot turned, politely curious.

“His race views ours as slaves and toys. I do not think the honorable Lord Sahane will treat us kindly once he’s figured out how to work the controls of this fortress.” She forced a grin. “I think war-machines will come and we will all die. And then he will be in control of this place, and all that it contains.”

Piet stared first at her, then at Hummingbird, and finally at Sahane. Gretchen was woefully aware of his sudden confusion, and fear, and the absolute depth of his ignorance. If a penny will not do, then a pound must suffice. She coughed wetly. “We don’t have much time, but I think I can deliver your message to his Gods-to the Vay’en who are sleeping far below us, in the singularity.” Another cough, this one unforced. “Even without the bronze tablet.”

Sahane’s eyes were black as ink, his long face unreadable.

Piet blinked at Gretchen, and then eyed Sahane suspiciously. Nodding, he raised his weapon. “Away from the console, creature.”

The Hjogadim moved back, slender hands raised.

“And him, too, get him away from everything,” Gretchen said, feeling her weakness returning, indicating Hummingbird with a tilt of her helmet. “You mustn’t trust him at all.”

The Templars were quick to action. They forced the nauallis away, to the top of the steps. Hummingbird went without complaint, though his eyes were fixed on Anderssen, his entire body tensed.

No, old Crow, I won’t tell you what I’m going to do. Not now, not ever again.

She suppressed a start of alarm when the still-open secondary comm channel squeaked in her ear. Oh oh, not much time left! Rubbing her gloves together, Anderssen placed her hands on the console.

The control surfaces gleamed like water under her touch. The glyphs swam to and fro in her unsteady vision. She closed both eyes, letting her mind grow quiet, feeling the pattern of the ancient machinery radiating against her outstretched hands. Somewhere here…

“This is truly a construct of the Vay’en?” Hummingbird’s voice was reasonable, quiet, and far distant from her hurrying, busy thoughts. “A curious turn, to find the Hjogadim here in such numbers…”

“I do not know of these Vahyyyen,” Sahane replied testily. “My people built this fastness long ago, for our signs and symbols are everywhere. Even the passage-signs are in archaic Hjogadim, just as you might read in the Perfect Path. You trespass! This female of yours cannot have the first conception of how to-”

Gretchen moved along the control surface, following fragmentary memories, until a collection of glyphs under her hands suddenly felt incorrect.

A constellation of meanings, she perceived, where specific arrangements of the glyphs equal actions. Not verbs and nouns, but hieroglyphs. Like in the transit core outside. She adjusted two of the outermost symbols, letting them flow under her fingertips into their long-accustomed, proper orientation.

A rippling groan permeated the air, rising up from the floor below the pylon. Everyone tensed, but nothing happened immediately. Anderssen craned her neck over the edge to see that the endless rows of cradles had tilted upright. Their restraining wings were unfolding. Ready for the next fifty thousand passengers!

“I did that,” she said idly to the onlookers. Then she returned to letting her awareness expand and hoped against hope to grasp the meaning of these… That is odd. Two whole sequences of the controls were suddenly and clearly out of joint. These feel… stuck. She tried to move them back into what was so-obviously their proper configuration. Intermittent thought-images from her gold-tinged dreams surfaced, colliding with the glyphs on the control surface, but yielding faint guidance to her. Yes, this first is a control constellation which means death. Transfiguration. Yielding to chaos. But still, neither set of control symbols would move. The controls are jammed, she realized with a sinking feeling. Her focus turned to the second set.

This is birth; borrowed memory told her, rejuvenation. Images of a blossoming flower invaded her vision-opening, wilting, dying, budding, opening, wilting- no, not just any bloom, but a perennial. But why Gretchen grasped the totality of the puzzle in one shining instant. Many details were lacking, but the shattered pot suddenly fell together in her hands. What cold calculating horror. She knew what must be done. Hummingbird is going to be displeased with me.

Anderssen laughed aloud, drawing a strained look from everyone arrayed around her.

“Time to safety limit?” Kosho felt a great lightness steal over her as the Naniwa slipped past the last of the gargantuan wrecks. They were once more in open space, with nothing between her battle-cruiser and the distant speck of the artifact but vacuum. Somewhere ahead the ionized clouds of two Hayalet -class battleships marked the edge of the thread-weapon guarding the Sunflower. She hoped they would be able to use that-somehow-to their advantage in dealing with the rest of the Khaid. Her attention snapped to Helsdon, who was still crouched over his consoles, stylus tapping intermittently as he tried to tune the sensor array to detect the quantum distortions caused by the alien weapon.

Her other earbug was filled with bursts of chatter from out-system, where Pucatli’s sensor booms were trying to capture and decipher the enemy battlecast.

“The Khaid have counterattacked,” Oc Chac reported. He, too, was watching the sensor plot closely.

Thai-i Olin laughed nastily. “If what I’ve heard is true, these Maltese would match Xipe himself in flaying them to the bone.”

“The Khaid assault anyone who assaults them,” Susan replied softly, her mind filled with disquiet. “They are ambitious. Destroying even one Order ship would win the survivors enough respect among the Kovan planets and stations.” Those men on the little ship, she suddenly realized, were Order Knights. The Moulins… Hummingbird arranged all this!

An instant of pure fury was ruthlessly suppressed. Susan breathed in sharply, steadying herself. Hummingbird arranged everything. Even the Khaid. Everything. The deaths of all those Mirror scientists and their support ships. He used me. He even used Sayu! Gods of mountain and stream, his ambition is without limit! He’s traded an entire Fleet battle-group-all of my dead crew-a super-dreadnaught fresh from the yards for that thing.

In the threatwell, the Chimalacatl loomed, growing steadily larger with every passing second.

“Up speed a quarter-point,” she spoke sharply at Olin, startling the Mexica officer. “ Sho-sa, prepare a combat team-if any of our marines are left alive-for a boarding action.”

No one is going to miss a spare Judge amid all this slaughter. No one.

Gretchen turned to Sahane, her hands light on the console, fingertips floating a millimeter over the softly glowing hieroglyphs. “Holy One, it is blasphemy for me to complete this task. This is the abode of your Gods and you are their priest. Stand by me, give me your blessing, and I will rouse them from the long sleep. Let them guide your people again, if they wish.”

The Hjo goggled at her; suspicion, fear, and slowly growing wonder lighted his eyes. “You lie, toy. You will… you will… what will you do?”

“Look around, Holy one. You saw the bodies of the fallen at the last door. The Guard Imperial fell here-to the last man-defending this place. The enemies of your people could not pass that portal, not against their sacrifice. The traitors fled, unable to reach this”-once more she spread her arms, taking in the entire panorama of the accretion disk, the pylon, and the endless rows of cradles-“sanctuary.” She leaned towards him, voice fading to barely a whisper.

Almost against his will, Sahane stepped within an arm’s reach. Gretchen continued. “But your Gods did not die. They are sleeping far below. Those Hjo who remained faithful to the end did that much. They sent the Wise One to safety.”

Sahane’s fur rippled erect. His voice was hushed, barely audible even over the comm. “He… he is here?”

Anderssen met his eyes and nodded assent. “Why else should the Banner Crimson and Black fly here, save he was present?” And perhaps he was, she thought, remembering the Lord Serpent. Perhaps he was. “Will you help me lift him up, into the land of the living?” She tilted her head towards Lojtnant Piet. “Their message is for him, you know. They seek his help, to be guided, as The People are guided.”

Sahane looked at Piet in puzzlement, and then he nodded as understanding slowly took hold. “I… I see. I did not know-that you believed as we believe.”

“All,” Hummingbird interjected very smoothly, before Piet could answer, “seek Guidance.”

“Then what can I do?” Sahane’s nervousness was palpable.

Anderssen took his hand, feeling a cool shock as her fingers passed through the aura of glyphs surrounding the young alien. “We will move these constellations like… so…”

Codes unlocked at the priest’s touch and the great machine trembled awake. The Thread emitted an audible wail. Enormous energies, long held in abeyance, were released. Mechanisms spun to life, twisting the pattern of space, dragging at infinity like Herakles against the Promethean chain.

Gretchen heard someone’s swift, measured breathing rasp on her suit comm and the soft clink of metal on metal.

We’re out of time.

Far far below, at the mouth of the abyss, two structures moved-one up, one down. The consoles flared alight with warnings, flashing glyphs and symbols of all kinds. Sahane goggled at the displays, dark eyes filled with the hot glow of the lights. Simultaneously, his exo bleated a warning just as Anderssen’s fingertips-no more than a millimeter from his body- adjusted the drifting pattern of glyphs which controlled the alien’s body armor. The z-suit helmet suddenly detached with a thonk! as the retaining ring popped loose. The Hjo screamed, clawing at his neckring-atmosphere warmer than the sub-freezing atmosphere in the chamber rushed out, frosting the inside of his helmet solid white.

Her blood surging with adrenaline, Anderssen took the first chance for protection and heaved herself over the console just as Lojtnant Piet, shouting in alarm, lunged forward to catch Sahane. The other two Templars turned hastily towards the near stairway, their guns coming up. Hummingbird hurled himself to one side, but too late as they both squeezed off a burst. Flechettes pocked the nauallis’ chest and shoulder, punching him back. His footing lost, Hummingbird toppled down the steps, directly past the Jaguar Knight crouching at the edge of the platform.

Koris sidestepped the Judge nimbly. One powerful arm pitched a bundle of short-fuse grenades onto the platform. Lojtnant Piet turned awkwardly, Sahane’s armored body clutched to his chest. The Hjo’s z-suit was rippling into spiked bio-armor while his clawlike hands struggled to replace the helmet. The grenade-bundle exploded less than a meter from Piet and Sahane in a stunning blast of flame and armor-piercing shrapnel.

The Hjo bio-armor crumpled. Sahane’s helmet flew backward and the plasma-flare boiled the priest’s flesh from his skull. The blast flung Piet and the corpse into the Thread. Like the bronze tablet, both Templar and Hjo were diced neatly in half before disappearing from sight.

The blast also slapped aside the other armored Templars. One hurled forward down the steps to crash into the Jaguar Knight in a tangle of arms and legs. The other slammed against the edge of a console, but bounced back, shaken but unharmed. The Templar vaulted the nearest control panel and skidded down the side of the pylon, showing fabulous dexterity in remaining upright. Two more marines opened fire on the Order Knight as he alighted, but neither was clad in battle armor.

Gretchen looked away as she heard the two Imperials die over the open circuit on her suit-comm. She clung by her fingernails to the base of the console, her feet dangling over a hundred-foot drop. Anderssen could see that the fight on the stairs was over, the remaining Templar having shattered Koris’ faceplate and flung him aside. Anderssen pulled back from the edge of the platform, wheezing, her damaged z-suit once more hissing air. Lacking the time to fumble out another cylinder of quickseal, Gretchen dragged herself up to the viewing screen. The surface was undamaged, and a quick glance showed pulsating warning symbols surrounding a new control constellation. An override, she guessed, her hand poised over the half-understood symbology.

Is it right for me to make this choice, Gretchen’s conscience ventured. For an entire race? One I’ve observed only in fragmentary dreams and through teaching-illusions? Guided by an untested hypothesis which could be so, so wrong?…

Lord Serpent stared back at her out of memory. A brilliant, golden glare of unfettered, unparalleled power. Brighter even than the plasma-blast incinerating its host. Eat then, of the fruit of knowledge, and you shall know the truth.

Anderssen’s fingers moved on the console and the override blinked out.

The entire great machine groaned once more as the Thread whined to life. Far below, one structure rose, the other fell. Out of the corner of her eye, almost obscured by the helmet, she caught a glimpse of the last Templar turning towards her, assault rifle swinging up. It was Captain Locke. Gretchen swallowed against a dry, dry throat; a prayer to the Virgin of the Roses on her lips.

“Traitor-” Locke jerked as a very small hole appeared in his faceplate. Water vapor, blood, and atmosphere jetted out, condensing into dirty-red frost. The Templar pitched to one side, quite dead. Gretchen saw Hummingbird, one arm shattered, crouched at the edge of the platform, a tiny black gun in his hand.

“You do carry a pistol,” Anderssen said, crawling towards him. She was feeling so very, very cold. Her med-band shone solid red. “I always knew you did.”

“Not mine,” Hummingbird wheezed, his pupils huge from the meds coursing through his system. Shaking, he tossed the pistol aside. The weapon clattered away, fetching up at the foot of one of the consoles. “There is a grav-sled below, Anderssen, we can-”

He stopped, suddenly apprehending the bleak expression on her face, the cold, lifeless light in her eyes as she staggered up on both feet. Her field tool was in one hand as she limped towards him, the trenching spike extended.

“You just saved my life, Crow, but we are not even.”

Alarmed, the nauallis edged away from her advance, barely able to crawl.

“You drew that damned bronze block across my path as a lure, letting the teacher inside infest my mind-you brought the Prince and Sahane here against their will, just so you could cut out their hearts on this hell-bound altar-yes, a nice symmetry, bringing three keys to the doors of the tripartite temple.” Her voice rose, ringing harshly on the suit-comm. “And you’ve your back up-these soldier-priests with their superb armor and unflinching resolve-but-by my eyes-they are all dead now, Crow, and only you and I are left.”

“Anderssen!” Hummingbird’s voice was ragged, but he managed something of his old strength. “Stop this foolishness! You need me to get out of here; we need each other to survive the next ten hours, we-”

“There is no we!” Gretchen lunged, slamming the field tool down at his face with a convulsive, rage-fueled stroke. The nauallis rolled away with a gasp at the last second, his face blanching white, and the pick screeched on the Vay’en metal of the floor. Hummingbird scrambled up, broken arm clutched against his thin chest. For the first time, she saw a glint of real fear in his limpid green eyes. The scarred, impassive face was suddenly showing signs of humanity. He scuttled back, finding himself caught in the wedge-shaped corner of two of the consoles.

“Doctor Anderssen, you know the kinds of things I must do. You know my purpose. I have never misled you about my aims. This place-”

“Is exactly the kind of trap you’ve always gone on about!” Gretchen snarled, circling to put herself between him and the stairs. “A fortune no one can spend, a tool no one dare wield. Do you grasp the enormity of what lies below us, incubating in the forge of creation? Do you know how long you would last under their influence?”

Hummingbird-sidling along the console-stopped, a questioning expression stealing over his scarred old features. “Do you know? Have you seen them, comprehended them?”

What? Oh Lady of the Seven Stars, he has no idea what is going on here! Anderssen hefted the field tool, finding a surety of purpose in the heavy, oiled metal. “Goddamned Crow, you didn’t even know what you might unlock when you set the Prince against this place? What were you hoping to gain? The weapons technology behind the barrier of knives? Some fragments of the wisdom of the Vay’en themselves?”

“At the most,” he said, voice settling into something like its old calm, “the annihilation of the Prince, the Khaid, even the poor Ambassador and my own life in the bargain. A clean set of books-nothing falling into the Emperor’s hands to upset the balance at home-and time. Time we desperately need.”

“Against what black day?” Gretchen eased closer, the tool raised, her eyes fixed on his midsection. “Opening this tomb door would vomit up the annihilation of our entire species-isn’t that your eternal fear?-well, here you were right!”

She lunged again, snapping the tool around in a fast, sharp arc. Hummingbird bolted, twisting his shattered arm into the path of the spike. The point gouged into his z-suit, bouncing from a metal plate and snagging in the gel at the elbow. Gretchen wretched the tool away, but the nauallis slammed his working forearm into her faceplate, cracking a metal wristband against the glassite with a ringing blow. Stunned, Anderssen skipped back, desperate to retain her weapon.

“I never meant to wake the powers sleeping here!” Hummingbird gasped. “I was used in turn, Doctor, by a Senescalcus of Templars. He-it-is stronger than I understood. It pushed my mind, sent me down this course-sent them along, the Knights, to ensure the message we heard from Piet’s lips was delivered!”

Gretchen froze, a flash of memory resurfacing. One survived. One still survives.

Then she moved again, vastly relieved. The last shred of conscience which had lain upon her, holding back her fury, evaporated. Something in her expression must have transformed as well, for Hummingbird hissed in anger and darted away from her, trying to cut across the gap between the consoles and the pit. Anderssen leapt after him, feeling a joyful strength filling her body. She caught him two paces from the edge of the shaft, dodged past his outflung arm, and smashed the tool across his faceplate and shoulder. Sparks leapt back, the old man crashed to the floor, and atmosphere hissed, obscuring his faceplate.

“Ahhh!” His cry of pain echoed on her comm. Anderssen pounced, pinning him to the floor with one knee. The point of the tool ground against his armpit, tearing at the gel.

“Anderssen, please! Remember your family, remember they need you to come home-to provide for them! Isabelle, Tristan-they can still benefit-the calmecac schools can be moved to accept them. Ahhh!”

The spike punched through into his side, blood boiling away into vapor as it welled around the metal.

“There’s nothing you can offer me, Crow, which will buy your life.” Gretchen’s voice was cold, her heart filling with a tremendous pressure as his face contorted behind the faceplate. “You can promise only ash and broken shells. Your gifts are only death and suffering-”

“Duncan,” he gasped, trying to catch her eyes, his old face tight with terrible pain. “There are universities on Anahuac who will still take him; he can be all you desired, you can-”

“My son is dead,” she said, wrenching the field tool free and standing up. “My son is dead.”

Atmosphere hissed from the gaping wound. Hummingbird’s faceplate frosted over and she could hear a tight, harsh gasp of pain over her comm. The nauallis’ body jerked spasmodically, limbs stiffening. He tried to roll over, to get his feet beneath him. Gretchen took a step back, and then jammed her boot into the old man’s side, sending him sliding across the mirror-bright floor. His good hand scrabbled wildly on the surface-then he tipped over the edge, just like Sahane and the pilot.

The comm circuit cut off, leaving only Anderssen’s harsh, bellowslike rasp echoing in her ears.

It’s done. It’s all done.

The shuttle’s cargo door swung up with a whine and spacers in white-and-brown z-suits helped Hadeishi and the remains of his crew out into a huge, brightly lit boat-bay. Mitsuharu looked over the faces of his men with a measuring eye. They were all bloody, bruised, and pale with exhaustion. Some of these men have crewed three ships in this one venture. In spite of the heavy losses, he felt great relief and pride at the spirit of his surviving crew. Not one of them seemed impressed by the shining new ship surrounding them, or the ranks of armored men arrayed across the floor of the bay. Enormous banners hung from the walls, showing a crimson cross on a white field. And now another ship, another berth. Lost travelers on the road to the holy city, redeemed from bandits and rogues by the cross-men. Then he caught sight of a familiar face and smiled broadly through the grease and carbon he knew crusted his face and helmet. “ Konnichi-wa, Sencho-sana.”

Captain De Molay was waiting impatiently, arms crossed, one foot tapping on the deck. She was kitted out in the same white-and-brown space-armor as the ship’s crew. Her rank insignia was quite polished; a squared crimson cross flamed on her breast. She saluted stiffly. Wounds from the Khaiden ambush not yet mended.

“ Chu-sa Hadeishi, welcome aboard the Pilgrim.”

Mitsuharu nodded, and then returned the salute with a hand trembling with fatigue. “Our fortune improves. And my men?”

“We’ve taken almost sixty aboard already, and there are more on shuttles inbound.” The elderly woman offered him a sombre expression. “ Our medical facilities are first-rate.”

“ Infirmus fui et visitastis me,” Mitsuharu returned soberly.

De Molay stared at him in surprise, the corner of her mouth quirking into a smile. “‘I was sick and you visited me.’ That is-”

“The twentieth rule,” he said, nodding to the cross on her breastplate. “This is a strike-carrier of the Order of the Temple; I would say a refitted Norsktek Galahad -class hull with-by what I saw from the shuttle viewport-an entirely upgraded drive array. Out of the yards on New Malta?”

“It is indeed,” De Molay said, pleased. “And it is appropriate that you have attended to all her details.”

Mitsuharu’s thin black eyebrows lifted in query.

“In good time, Chu-sa,” De Molay said with no emotion whatever. “If you will step over here, please.” She guided him away from the others. Templar medical staff were everywhere in the bay, triaging the rescued Imperials. A line of grav-sleds was waiting to take the survivors away. “Come with me, there is someone who has waited a long time to see you again.”

In the tube-car, Mitsuharu closed his eyes-for just a moment-and fell sound asleep against the upholstered chair.

Tap-tap-tap went the blind man’s bamboo cane on the side of the road, ticking against the mossy rocks laid at the border. Musashi was dozing, nearly asleep in the shelter of the little shrine. Rain was drumming on the slanted, tiled roof, but his head was dry on a bundle of cloth holding the rice-paper book he’d been so laboriously writing in. He opened one eye halfway as the shuffling mendicant ducked under the eaves. “Ah, pardon,” wheezed a tired voice. “Just getting out of the rain.”

“Welcome, brother,” Musashi replied, moving his legs out of the way. Both shins were bound in bandages. “I’d offer you tea-if I had any-or a rice ball-if I had one. But I’ve neither, so you’re welcome to the dry roof at least.”

The blind man laughed, his stout face creasing into a merry smile. “The tamghachi have left this whole province hungry-or so they tell me in the inns, when there is nothing to eat.” He settled down on a little bench, head bowed over his cane.

Outside, the drumming sound of the rain was supplemented-then replaced-by the rattle of hooves on the metaled road. At first one horse, then a dozen. “Hm.” The blind man dug vigorously at one ear with a blunt finger. “Someone is coming in a great hurry. I wonder-could it be the militia? I’ve heard there is a murderer loose-he slew a tax collector some days ago.”

“Interesting.” Musashi yawned, hands behind his head. “But the militia does not ride war horses.”

Hadeishi awoke to find a sandy-haired man with knight-commander’s tabs standing beside his gurney. The familiar sounds and smells of medbay surrounded them, and De Molay was loitering behind the Templar. Her gray eyes wrinkled up in amusement at the look on Hadeishi’s face when he recognized Ketcham.

“You were in a bad way the last time I saw you, Chu-sa Hadeishi,” the European observed.

Mitsuharu smiled wryly. “Aside from far too much radiation exposure, I believe my wounds are only of the heart, Pr?ceptor Ketcham. You found another ship, I see, and one better suited to you than wildcatting with an illegal ore refinery.”

“I did.” Ketcham scratched the back of his head, failing to suppress a huge grin. “You seem to have gotten back into the hot-chair, too, by hook and by crook.”

“By stealing my ship,” De Molay grumbled. Her good humor made the elderly woman seem a dozen years younger. “Twice!”

“I returned it,” Hadeishi said quietly. He looked around the room, hoping for a comm panel.

“Much the worse for wear!” De Molay objected, jutting out her chin pugnaciously.

“He has that way.” Ketcham laughed. “You will want to know, Chu-sa , that Commander Kosho is well, though busy aboard her ship, which is somewhat… battered. We intend to ship your men across to the Naniwa as soon as she has atmosphere restored on all decks, and proper facilities prepared.”

Mitsuharu felt his heart ease at the news of the battle-cruiser’s survival and lay easier on the gurney. “Then I can sleep at last.”

He closed his eyes, feeling the tug of tremendous weariness, and wondered idly if it were possible for him to sleep for a full week. Then he sat up again, frowning at the two Templars. They had not moved, and were waiting for him expectantly.

“My men, you say, to the Naniwa. Where am I bound, if not with them?”

De Molay produced a data crystal, bound with gold and white bands. “If you recall, Chu-sa Hadeishi, you signed aboard the merchanter Wilful as an engineer’s mate. After W ilful ’s unhappy experience with marauding Khaid, you assumed emergency captaincy until such time as you engineered the capture of the Khaiden light cruiser Kader. You served as de facto captain aboard her until the vessel was evacuated. From our point of view, you are still captain of the Kader, but her fate is yet to be decided. And you are still our employee, bound by contract. One possibility is to scuttle the cruiser and add her remains to the debris along the Barrier. Another is to affect sufficient repairs to allow transit to the nearest Temple shipyard where she may either be reborn, or recycled. In any case, she is your charge. These orders-” She tapped a fingernail against the crystal. “Affirm your employment and responsibilities.”

De Molay reached for his hand and closed his thin, newly scrubbed fingers over the crystal. It seemed tremendously heavy, possessing a weight in his mind far in excess of the tiny dimensions.

Hadeishi’s glance shifted to Ketcham. “What time is it and when does the next watch begin?”

De Molay turned a snort of laughter into a sneeze.

Ketcham shook his head, putting on a forbidding expression. “You, Chu-sa, are on medbay time. Down here, I’m XO of the Pilgrim in name only. When the Infirmarian lets you go, you can take your duty station. Until then-well, you’ll have time to sleep at last.”