A Choice of Treasons (64 page)

“All right, Cap’em. You got a deal. Me life fer me help.”

They didn’t shake hands on it. This wasn’t an agreement as much as recognition of mutual need. As soon as the need ended, so would their alliance.

York called the marines back in, but as Richard was leaving he had a nasty thought, and his curiosity got the best of him. “Richard,” he said, stopping the pirate half way through the hatch. “How much ransom would the princess bring?”

Richard just threw his head back and laughed.

CHAPTER 28: CHAOS

York woke to an urgent call from the bridge, though as his heart stopped pounding he was thankful it wasn’t the alert klaxon. As he settled down behind his console Gant started feeding him information. “Three ships broke off from the fighting near Third Fleet, are headed this way under full drive. If they don’t change course, they’ll be here in under six hours.” She gave him a moment to absorb that, then added, “You should also take a look at this, Captain . . .”

They’d put the drones in wide orbit around Sarasan so they could monitor the surrounding space—the station’s facilities were a mess. York looked down at his screens where Gant was feeding him a scan summary. “We’ve got those three ships coming in from Third Fleet, arriving in five or six hours. Then in the opposite direction we’ve got that lone wake coming in from Aagerbanne. She’ll be here in about fourteen hours. And finally there’s this . . .”

York didn’t need Gant to interpret the scan report for him. There was a big cluster of wakes at extreme range, ten or fifteen ships, driving hard and fast for Sarasan, clearly coming from
feddie
space. “A small fleet,” he said, “or a large strike force. Have you got an ETA?”

“Yes, sir. They’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning—maybe twenty hours from now.”

York put in a call to Cappik. The chief answered on audio, meaning he wasn’t near a console. York guessed he was out somewhere on the hull of the ship in a vac suit. “Cappik here, sir.”

“Chief. Can you get us out of here in something under twenty hours? We need to be transition worthy.”

“Ah, Captain, no way! We’re in the middle of major work here on Starboard and Port. You can shoot me at dawn, if you want, but I can’t get this ship into transition in under twenty hours. We need at least two days.”

“Chief, we’ve got a
feddie
strike force headed our way, ETA twenty hours, and we have no station defenses.”

Cappik said nothing for several seconds while everyone fidgeted nervously, then he finally spoke, but hesitantly. “Sir, I got an idea. We can get the heavy work done in fourteen or fifteen hours. After that we’ll be rewiring and reprogramming, then we’ve got to align the fields in the chambers. That takes a while, but it can be done in space just as easily as on station. We’ll get the heavy work done here, then let’s go out into a stable orbit and we’ll do the light work out there, do one of them hunter-killer tricks of yers where we run silent, and those
feddies
can do whatever they damn well please with this station. When we’re done, we’ll just sit and wait ‘em out.”

Cappik was not known for his creative thinking, but at that moment York could have kissed him. “You’re to discuss this plan with absolutely no one,” York said. “But when this is done, I’m going to buy you the tallest drink I can find.”

“Thank you, sir.”

A soft tap on the door! Alone in her cabin, Sylissa d’Hart looked up cautiously. “Identify,” she said, and the computer threw a picture of Torrin Juessik on her screen, waiting impatiently outside her cabin.

She touched a switch on her terminal. “Major Juessik. What can I do for you?”

Juessik started. “Lady d’Hart,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “I . . . need your help. May I come in?”

She didn’t like him much—no one really did—but it would be foolish to needlessly insult even a middle ranking AI officer. “Enter,” she said, and the computer unlocked her door.

Juessik stepped in carefully and glanced over his shoulder before closing the door. She rose to greet him, but he ignored her, stepped quickly past her and programmed the screen on her terminal to display the image from her door pickup—the corridor outside was empty. Satisfied now that he was safe from some unknown danger, he turned his attention to her.

“Forgive me for being blunt,” he said, “but I don’t have much time. I need your help. Ballin is rounding up those of us he considers undesirables, including all the civilians he can’t recruit into his little crew. No doubt, he intends to leave us behind when the rest of you depart Sarasan Station, which I believe will happen shortly.”

She frowned, opened her mouth to speak, but he waved a hand impatiently at her and said, “Be silent. There’s no time for foolish questions.”

He reached into his tunic, retrieved a small, rectangular device just big enough to fit in the palm of his hand. “Ballin’s smart, and no doubt he’ll escape again.” He showed her several buttons on the face of the small device in his hand. “When the time comes, and you’ll know when that is, press these three buttons in sequence, then speak your own name. It’s programmed to recognize your vocal signature, so only you can activate it. That’s all you have to do—”

A knock on the door interrupted him. The terminal screen showed two marines standing outside her cabin.

“What is it?” she demanded.

He looked at the terminal, ignored the marines and spoke rapidly. “It’s a small transmitter. Its range is limited, but it’ll activate a larger device hidden elsewhere in this ship and capable of broadcasting a signal recognizable by any imperial warship. The signal will identify this ship and provide information on its location so Ballin can’t sneak up on us. But you must be within one tenth light-year for the signal to be received.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. “You want me to betray this ship to the people who have already tried to murder us once, and will certainly do so again if I do this?”

One of the marines outside rapped on the door loudly. “Lady d’Hart,” he said. “We’re looking for Major Juessik. We know he’s in there—we’ve got a psyche-tracer on him. Open the door immediately or we’ll override the lock ourselves and come in anyway.”

She opened her mouth to give the computer the order, but he cupped a hand over her mouth. “Wait until you see everything,” he said mysteriously.

As he removed his hand from her mouth she demanded, “What makes you think I would help you in any way?”

He reached into his tunic again, retrieved a small card and laid it next to the transmitter. “Read this,” he said, “before committing yourself one way or another.” Then he turned to the computer and said, “Enter.”

The door clicked open and the two marines stepped in.

“Ma’am,” one of them said to her, “What’s he doing here?”

“Being unpleasant, as always,” she said, though she didn’t mention the small transmitter sitting on her desk, nor the card next to it. Juessik looked at them and grinned.

“Sir,” one of the marines said. “Captain Ballin would like you to accompany us.”

Juessik smiled. “Of course.” He turned back to d’Hart. “Good day, Lady d’Hart.” Then he turned and stepped out into the corridor.

When they were gone she looked at the small transmitter and the card next to it. She picked up the card, inserted it into a slot on her terminal and a picture of Juessik sprang to life on the screen. “Lady d’Hart,” he said. “Before you choose to disobey me, you need to see this.”

Juessik’s picture disappeared, the screen was blank for a moment, and then her heart leapt as a picture of her son replaced him. “Andrew,” she said involuntarily.

“Mother,” he said, making it almost a question. “They told me this message would be sent to you.” He stood there proudly, trying to pretend he wasn’t frightened. “I’m all right. They came last night and took me away. I don’t know where I am, but I’m all right.”

The picture went suddenly blank and Juessik’s image appeared again. “As you can see, Lady d’Hart, we knew where you were hiding your son, and now the brat is in my custody. If you want him to remain alive and healthy, you’ll do as I say.”

The picture went dead.

“You bastard!”

When the three ships from Third Fleet down-transited into Sarasan
farspace
, it came as a considerable surprise when they started shooting at each other, two of them chasing the third.

“Try to make contact,” York barked at McGeahn. “And remember to pretend we’re Station Command.”

York watched a heated dog-fight develop until McGeahn interrupted his thoughts, “Sir. I’ve got Captain Zackrowski,
H.M.S. Black Star
.”

“Give him to Rame. And remember our story.”

McGeahn introduced Rame to Zackrowski as
Commander Rame, Acting Station Commander
. York listened to the conversation.

“Acting Station Commander?” Zackrowski demanded. “What the hell happened to Quae?”

Rame did a beautiful job without really acting. He said only, “Commodore Quae is dead. I’m now in command of the station. Why are you shooting at an imperial ship?”

“It’s a god damned traitor. Whole crew’s gone traitor. In fact half of Third Fleet’s gone traitor—they didn’t like that business with
Cinesstar
. Didn’t like it much myself, blowing a ship with the empress aboard and all, but I know when to obey orders and keep my mouth shut. We’re under orders to take them alive if we can—turn them over to you.”

Now York understood why Third Fleet had pulled out of Sarasan
nearspace
so quickly. Leonavich had been faced with a mass uprising, had tried to isolate his fleet so he could deal with it.

Rame shook his head at Zackrowski. “We can’t take them. We were hit by a
feddie
strike force just after you pulled out, barely managed to drive them off. The station’s a total loss—a complete wreck. Those
feddies
went for reinforcements, are on their way back here now. Have your scan crew look out-system—there’s a strike force out there coming in to finish the job. We’re abandoning the station, going to get the hell out of here. I’d recommend you let that traitor go his own way, get the hell out of here yourself.”

It worked. Zackrowski and the captain of the other loyal ship turned about quickly, started accelerating for transition back to Third Fleet. The traitor never did make contact, just went off in another direction, probably thankful for the reprieve.

The lone transition wake that came in eight hours later was an imperial hunter-killer returning from deep space patrol. The same lie worked on them, though with the added variation that the fighting in the distance was Third Fleet heavily engaged with a
feddie
fleet. After months on patrol, with his supplies and ordinance reserves marginal at best, the captain of the hunter-killer wisely chose not to join the fighting. Rame sent them off in another direction. Two hours later Cappik was ready to disengage from the station.

York had kept Juessik and his AI goons and Sierka and several others isolated so they’d get no hint of his plans. The marines herded them into the barracks with the prisoners from Sarasan Station, left them with plenty of food and water, made sure the station’s life support systems were in good shape and that none of her transmitters were operational. Then
Cinesstar
disengaged from the station and settled into a high static orbit around Sarasan. Four hours later the
feddie
strike force down-transited into Sarasan
nearspace
.

York watched them come in on his screens, a classic swift-strike approach. Coming in at full drive, well in excess of two thousand lights, they knew their wakes were easily visible, could be targeted by pickets properly positioned along their course.

At three-tenths light-year one
feddie
down-transited, launched its drones, began broadcasting detailed scan data to the rest of the strike force still in transition. In that way the strike force was not blind while it attempted a close approach.

At one-tenth light-year the strike force began to spread out, and another
feddie
down-transited and took over the job of feeding it scan data. And as they got closer the data grew considerably more accurate.

A classic approach, allowing the strike force to drive deep into Sarasan’s
nearspace
with minimum probability of blindly taking warheads. If an enemy vessel threw anything at the strike force, the ship that had down-transited could lock onto the transition launch and provide accurate targeting data to the main force.

Cinesstar
was running silent in the same high orbit as the blown orbital weapons platforms, difficult to find among all the hot debris, even if anyone knew to look for her there.