A Choice of Treasons (85 page)

As Dakkart threw Stacy’s body over her shoulder the Command Console started bleeping at York. It was Palevi. “Captain. We got most of the AI in the brig. There’s a squad of about fifteen holed up on G deck, but we’ve got ‘em isolated and bottled up tight. It may take us a while to dig ‘em out, though.”

Cinesstar’s
hull echoed with the distant thump of a concussion grenade. Palevi shrugged. “May have to kill a few too.”

York checked the telemetry feed to Prime. He then dug into the system, pulled up the access codes for the comp locks imprisoning his crew in their quarters. “You’ve got the comp-lock codes on your screen. Release my crew.”

York had to wait about five minutes.

“It’s done, sir.”

Well,
York thought,
here goes.

He keyed his implants and spoke carefully. “Watch condition red.”

In his implants the computer demanded, “Confirm watch condition red.”

“Red confirmed,” York said. The status horn burped once and the alert klaxon started blaring. York switched his pickup into
allship
. “Watch condition red. Battle stations. This is not a drill. Repeat: this is not a drill.” He repeated the message once more, recording it, then put it on continuous replay and sat back to watch the combat status summary on one of his screens.

Palevi and the marines green-lighted first, though their time was terrible. He could forgive them that under the circumstances. He waited, watching his screen for more green—and he waited. At about two minutes a defensive pod checked in. At four minutes one of the transition launchers yellow-lighted.

York cut the recording of his voice, left the alert klaxon blaring and switched into
allship
. “This is Captain Ballin. I’m sitting here on the bridge, and more than four minutes have passed, and most of you have yet to check in. Get off your fucking asses and get to your stations.” He shouted the last word, “Now!”

The first station green-lighted one minute twenty-one seconds later—an entire station, not just an isolated pod or launcher. Then he heard the lift open and McGeahn took a tentative step onto the bridge. York didn’t give her a chance. “What the hell are you waiting for?” he shouted.

She jumped, shot across the bridge and practically fell into her couch. Eldinow was right behind her, and the lift door cycled shut. Only seconds later it cycled open again and Gant and Jakobee stumbled over one another as York shouted them to their stations. It wasn’t a full bridge crew, but it was all he had left, and it was enough.

York blanked the combat status summary from his screen. “McGeahn,” he growled. “Check all actives on board ship. If anyone is still in their quarters and not sure what to do, please instruct them personally. And no communications outside this ship. And don’t touch that combat sim I’m running. That’s what’s feeding phony telemetry to Prime so we can maybe get away with this.”

Cappik was on station in Engineering. “Check out our drives and power plant,” York ordered him. “We’re going to have to make a run for it, and we’ll probably need full combat status.”

Temerek checked in on Hangar Deck. “Forget Hangar Deck,” York told him. “I need bridge crew. Get up here, on the double. Wait. On second thought, first get Hangar Deck organized, put someone you trust in charge, then get up here.

“Jakobee. I want an ordinance inventory soonest, and a status summary on all offensive and defensive stations. And review your crew assignments. We may have to restation some of them to get even coverage.”

CHAPTER 39: BAIT

York sat at his console and drummed his fingers nervously. They needed hours, days, but all they had was minutes. Something would eventually focus Prime Central’s attention on
Cinesstar
.

York tapped into Prime’s command grid. The Admiralty had deployed Home Fleet out near the edge of the system, just beyond heliopause. They were too far out to hinder
Cinesstar
if she made a run for it. There were a few AI ships in system, and Seventh Fleet was a good day out, driving in hard, though the idiot in command of her had strung her out over several light-years.

There was something odd and wrong with the deployment of Home Fleet, something equally wrong with the way Seventh Fleet was strung out. He stared at his console for a long moment, realized some piece of data was missing from the equation, then recalled that Soladin, during the meeting of the Admiralty Council, had said something about a Kinathin fleet.

York considered carefully that he was looking at a standard system-wide situation map, accessible by any Fleet officer. There had to be other data available—and he did have ring-zero access, but only within the confines of
Cinesstar’s
operating system. He needed to extend that access beyond the hull of the ship.

“Computer,” he said. “Confirm access.”

Access ring-zero confirmed.

“Computer. Access patch—
Cinesstar
main to Luna Prime main. Execute.”

He waited for a long moment, then the computer said,
Confirm access level.

He spoke quietly. “Access ring-zero.”

Confirm access code.

“Access Three Charlie Two Niner One Niner Alpha confirmed.”

Access patch—
Cinesstar
main to Luna Prime main complete. Access ring-zero.

York let out a long, slow breath. Given several hours to set up and debug the proper programming, with ring-zero access he could take complete control of Luna Prime, but there were too many system level failsafes, so to attempt to do so in the few minutes he had would prove disastrous. Cautiously, using this near god-like access, he dug deeper into Fleet’s information structure, checking every step before taking it, conscious that he could easily trigger some alarm. He dug into the private Admiralty Council files, and after several minutes of exploration he found it, a special limited-access situation map. It was tracking a good sized Directorate Fleet, information hidden from all but members of the Admiralty Council. Home Fleet was deployed to intercept, with elements of Seventh Fleet driving hard to support her. Some time in the next day all hell was going to break loose.

“Cap’em,” his implants bleeped. “Palevi here. Down in sickbay. Uh . . . you better come down here, sir.”

“What is it?” York demanded angrily. “I don’t have time.”

“I can’t describe it, Cap’em. You better come down yourself.”

Something had shocked Palevi. “I’ll be right down.”

“He’s escaped,” Abraxa screamed.

Soladin nodded. “He had help, a few bribes generously distributed, a shuttle waiting in just the right place at just the right time.”

“But who?” Schessa asked. The three of them were meeting separately from the rest of the Admiralty Council.

Soladin speculated, “Sylissa d’Hart?”

Abraxa shook his head. “No. She’s Juessik’s. He’s a devious little twerp, and he has some hold over her.”

“For the time being it doesn’t matter,” Schessa said. “We’ll find out and deal with whomever it was later. Right now we have to find Ballin. We can’t let a potential pretender to the throne escape.”

Abraxa shook his head worriedly. “But we have no track on him. It was cleanly done, no trace, no trail, and those guards who took bribes have long since disappeared.”

“But we do have a track on him,” Soladin said carefully, his lips curling up into a satisfied grin. Both Schessa and Abraxa looked at him and waited. “He’ll go to his ship. He won’t just run, not him—that ship’ll pull at him like drugs to an addict. All we have to do is wait for him.”

“Of course,” Schessa added. “We’ll alert the AI squad aboard
Cinesstar
. And we’ll post an additional guard on the docks around her. He’ll come to us.”

Palevi was waiting for him at the entrance to sickbay, but even before the sergeant showed him into the small surgery at the rear he could smell it. The unmistakable scent of burnt flesh clung to everything, accented with the equally unmistakable scent of decay. York had seen many atrocities in his time, but nothing had prepared him for what he found in the small surgery.

There were two examination tables in the surgery, cold impersonal things used for any number of purposes. On one a female marine lay on her back, naked, strapped down, her hands and legs restrained by cuffs, her eyes staring fixedly at the deck overhead, her teeth clenched in the rictus of the agony she’d experienced during the throws of death. Most of her pelvis and abdomen had been burned away some time ago, and lying in the middle of the scorched mess was a badly damaged nerve prod. There were also dozens of small, round, puckered burns covering her body. It was all too clear what had happened. The nerve prod had been modified so it could inflict damage rather then mere pain, then used to torture her little by little, until finally it had been inserted into her vagina, and, either by design or accident, it had shorted badly, and burned away her midsection from the inside out.

Someone was crying, a soft, suppressed whimper. York saw Tathit huddled in a corner seated on the deck, curled up in a fetal position. A blanket had been thrown over her, though an exposed bare shoulder, with a small, round, puckered burn on it made it clear she was naked beneath the blanket, and had been subjected to the same treatment as the young woman on the table.

York walked over to Tathit and crouched down beside her. Mec Notay said, “We found her strapped to the other table.”

“What kind of shape is she in?”

A medic said, “Probably okay, but she won’t let us examine her.”

York reached out to her but she cringed away from his touch and continued to whimper. “Corporal,” he said quietly, carefully, though he gave the word the familiar inflection of command.

She stopped whimpering, her eyes focused and she blinked several times, then looked at him out of the corners of her eyes.

“Who did this to you?”

She took a deep, stuttering breath, continued to stare at him and let it out shakily.

“Corporal,” he said again. “I asked you who did this to you, and I want an answer. That’s an order.” Somehow he knew she needed to hear that.

Again she took a ragged breath, then slowly, carefully, she said, “Sierka.” Her eyes started to retreat back to that blank, unfocused state of a few moments ago.

“Corporal,” he growled at her, and again the familiarity of command brought her back. “The medics are going to examine you. You will allow them to, and you will cooperate with them. That’s an order.”

She said nothing. “I said, that’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered. “Very good, sir.”

York stood up. Palevi stepped in his way and growled, “He’s mine, sir.”

“No he isn’t,” York said, shaking his head. “He’s mine, and I want him kept alive, unharmed and unhurt. We may need him, and until I’m done with him, I want you to see to it personally he’s kept well.”

A low, feral growl escaped Palevi’s lips, but he said, “
Aye, aye
, sir.”

“But when I’m done with him,” York continued, “then he’s yours . . . my word on that, Sergeant, one marine to another.”

Palevi grinned, and York knew he would obey.

“Captain,” his implants barked. “McGeahn here. Luna Prime security is trying to establish contact with us.”

“Ah shit!” York grumbled. He looked at Palevi. “Did you hear that?” The sergeant nodded. “Get someone into an AI uniform, NCO rank, someone who can act. Tell them to answer that call, act stupid and stall for time.”

“They’ve disappeared?” Juessik screamed at the image of the pretty AI lieutenant. “They’ve disappeared completely, you say? Luna Prime is a closed, sealed environment, and you have all of Admiralty Intelligence at your disposal, and you can’t find them?”

She cringed, refused to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. Somewhere along the line they deviated from the plan you outlined. The d’Hart woman went to some effort to get the security hold on her yacht cleared, and then she, along with Ballin and his marines, just disappeared. The yacht is empty. No one has boarded her, or even approached her, and we’ve been watching her closely.”

“All right. We’ll try to correct for your incompetence. Any vessel, regardless of how large or small, is to be delayed and examined for any possibility they may be aboard her. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He slapped a switch on the console and her image disappeared.

“What are you doing with Captain Ballin?”

Juessik spun at the sound of the voice behind him, realized as he calmed his heart it was only Dulell. “Nothing, Arkan. Nothing for you to worry about.”