Between Darkness and Light (98 page)

“Aye, General. All irises closed. Initiating emergency air circulation,” said Q'almo from Life Support. Like a slow heartbeat, they heard the sound of the giant fans in the air shafts begin to pick up speed. “I'm ordering corridor sweeps now to locate any stragglers.”

“Flight control reports bay doors closed and winching in the
Zan'droshi
has commenced,” said Shartoh.

“Zhalmo, I need visuals now,” said Kezule, glancing toward her comms station.

“Reports coming in from Officers and Command mess areas confirming safe shutdown of facilities,” said Q'almo.

“Laser signals coming in from the active defense asteroids, General,” said Maaz'ih from the Nav board.

“Shut them down, we don't need offensives.”

“It's coming into range, General,” said Zhalmo. “On screen ... Now.”

Silently, the flattened diamond-shaped nose of one of the Primes' two science ships edged its way onto the screen.

“The science ship
Zh'adasho,
” said Maaz'ih.

Kezule swore briefly. “Put up tactical, M'zynal. They're not science ships, they're heavy cruisers,” he said. “What the hell are they doing out here? See if you can pick up any internal communications from them on passives, Zhalmo.”

“Yes, sir,” Zhalmo said, grabbing her headset.

He scanned the display, calculating the
Zh'adasho
's probable course and weighing his options. “Shartoh, tell engineering to route control of the attitude jets to my board. We need a ninety degree rotation to conceal the
Zan'droshi
. As soon as rotation's complete, cut gravity to the Outpost.”

“Aye, sir. Command routed to you now,” she said. “Flight command reports the
Zan'droshi
will be anchored to the side of Kij'ik in ten minutes.”

“Tell them they have five,” he snapped. “The
Zh'adasho
is coming in at 11:00 high to the plane of the ecliptic. I want the
Zan'droshi
at 6:00 low as soon as possible. Where are the Sholans?”

“The Captain and his Lieutenant called in. He's in the gym, and Lieutenant Banner is in the main assembly hall with the rest of their crew and the majority of the civilians on that level,” said Zhalmo.

“Tell them to report to the briefing room. I want them on corridor sweeps—except for Dzaou. He can stay where he is.”

“Yes, General.”

 

“Outpost rotational change is commencing in two minutes,” said Shartoh's voice over the internal comms. “Gravity will be cut after the maneuver. Secure all loose objects.”

Kusac had just finished checking the Prime temple and locking down the rec. Banner was off checking out theirs while Jayza and Khadui were pounding on the doors of the starboard living quarters and games room. Now, while everyone was either occupied or gathered in the safe areas, would be a good time for him to examine the Outpost's main defense, the meson cannon.

Power to the secondary elevators had been cut, but there were staircases that went all the way down to that level. The low-level emergency lighting in the corridors gave him added cover as he snuck the last few yards toward the air lock leading to corridor A. Keying it open, he carefully looked round the corner, praying that the air lock at the far end would be closed, since beyond it was the main Security station on this level.

Thankfully, it was. Letting his breath out slowly, he edged his way into the main corridor, sealing the iris behind him. He was committed now, no matter what happened. Keeping himself close to the wall, he took the last few steps to the air lock slowly. Underneath the sound of the giant fans, he could no longer hear the rumble of the cannon's outermost muzzle being retracted. Even the faint sounds generated by the closing of the great clamshell doors had now ceased.

He checked his wrist unit. Still one minute to go before rotation. Slipping through the lock, he ran down the short access corridor to the stairwell. Opening it, he gripped the railings and after listening for any sounds, began to take the stairs as fast and as quietly as he could.

As he came level with the Command deck, he slowed down, stopping to listen and to reach out with his mind, searching to make sure the way was clear. It was; the minds he sensed were all too occupied with the imminent rotation.

He stopped on the landing, holding onto the stair rail and waited. It took less than two minutes for the rotation, then he felt himself begin to rise gently from the floor. Pulling his feet up onto the safety rail, he kicked off from there, aiming himself downward to glide to the half-landing below. Twisting at the crucial moment, he landed with all four limbs against the wall and sprang down the remaining section, grabbing at the handrail and easing himself, hand over hand, to a stop.

 

Banner, meanwhile, had had a similar idea but his hinged on making for the seldom used main elevator at the other end of corridor 1. Forcing the doors open just enough to ease himself through into the lift shaft, he leaped across the empty gap for the maintenance ladder and started making his way down.

 

The meson cannon level was empty apart from the two-person crew who'd just finished cranking the muzzle of the cannon back within the asteroid's shell and closing the concealing cover. There were fewer air locks on this level, and the emergency lighting had been cut to half what was normal. Quietly, keeping one hand on the safety grips attached to the walls, Kusac made his way along the narrow transverse starboard corridor, past empty pilots' living and recreational quarters that closely mirrored those on the Officers level.

At the final air lock, he waited until he sensed the cannon crew leave, then keyed it open. Ahead of him, stretching from floor to ceiling, was the massive reinforced barrel of the cannon that spanned the width of the Outpost. Once more kicking off from the wall, Kusac let himself drift toward the firing room. The door was locked. Without thinking, he put his hand on the pad and moments later, the door slid open. Taken aback, he pulled himself inside, snagging hold of the command chair. Sitting down, he anchored himself into it with his feet and began to examine the controls.

 

Balancing precariously on the inner narrow lip of the meson cannon level, Banner eased his fingertips between the elevator doors, trying to pry them apart. They gave unexpectedly, and he found himself flailing in an undignified fashion in the center of the shaft. A hand snaked out, catching him by the arm and hauling him out.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” Kusac rumbled angrily as Banner grasped hold of his other arm and pulled himself upright.

“I could ask you the same question,” his Second countered.

“Making sure the cannon can't be used against our people,” Kusac said shortly, letting him go. “As I said I would. Now I suggest we get back to our own level before we're missed.”

“What else is down here?” asked Banner, looking around as Kusac started moving back down the corridor.

“Pilots' quarters, and simulation rooms,” said Kusac. “All empty. There are grav shafts that lead up to the flight deck above, but we can't risk using them. The stairs are safer.”

“What did you do?” Banner asked, grasping hold of the grips and following him.

“Made a few adjustments that can be undone quickly if necessary,” he said.

“Sounds good,” said Banner.

After two hours spent watching the
Zh'adasho
sitting motionless approximately five light-minutes away, Kezule could feel his crew getting restless. The fact they'd been unable to pick up any internal communications from it hadn't helped.

“Shartoh, get some refreshments for us from the dispensers,” he said. “The rest of you, remain at your posts and be vigilant, but stand down.”

“I'm picking up a jump point forming outside the system, General,” said Zhalmo, her voice tense. “Putting it on screen now.”

“Cancel that order,” he snapped as all eyes turned to the far wall.

The jump point formed, spitting out a small and easily identifiable craft.

“It's one of the
Watchers
,” said Zhalmo.

The scent of tension in the air increased, but there was no fear, Kezule noted with satisfaction even as he ran through all the possible reasons for a
Watcher
to join the
Zh'adasho
.

“Have they found us, General?” asked Q'almo, turning to look at his father.

“Unlikely. Even if they have, the worst we face is a request for talks,” said Kezule thoughtfully, as the small craft altered course to rendezvous with the
Zh'adasho
.

Over the course of the next half hour, they watched as the landing bay doors on the
Zh'adasho
opened and the
Watcher
slowed to intercept and dock inside it.

 

In his quarters on the hydroponics level, Giyarishis was observing it all through his local Unity net, composing himself for the call he knew would come from the Camarilla. This had
not
been expected. He could imagine the scene there now, the consternation, and even panic from some members, the anger from the Isolationists. He bobbed his head thoughtfully. Since they had awakened the Hunter, in his opinion, for the first time in the Camarilla's long history, far too much had become unpredictable. Hkairass would make much of this. At least Phratry Leader Annuur was on board the
Watcher.

Within the swirling mists and colors of Unity, he watched as the
Zh'adasho
closed its bay doors and slowly began to accelerate away from the area.

 

Kezule kept Kij'ik locked down for another two hours before sounding the all clear. Once the Outpost had returned to normal, he waited until the damage reports had come in then gave orders for the civilian leaders, the Sholan Captain, and the various team leaders to gather in the briefing room on the Officers' level for debriefing. Lockdown had been achieved within the time limits he'd set, but he was certain it could be done even more efficiently. Thankfully, damage from abandoned food and drinks had been restricted to soaked carpeting and wet floors in the mess and rec areas, no essential equipment had been damaged, but there was still room for improvement.

RAY stopped at the door of the treatment room watching Vanna and Carrie as the latter read from a list and the former collected the items from her drug cabinet.

“Fifty large field dressings,” Carrie called out. “Isn't that rather a lot, Vanna?”

They couldn't be more different, he thought, watching the lithe felinoid, tail extended for balance, stretching up to reach the contents of the cupboard, then turning to look at the small blonde Human female in her black military-style jacket and trousers who was lounging against the treatment bed.

“Not for a restock, Carrie,” she said. “Hello, Ray. I thought you were busy with Jack,” she added, turning round to pass five cartons to Carrie.

Carrie glanced up as she put the comp pad down and took them from Vanna. “Ray,” she said, nodding before turning back to stack the cartons in the large container on the bed.

“I'm taking a break,” he said, coming into the room. “What're you doing?”

“Restocking personal medikits,” said Vanna smoothly. “What's next, Carrie?”

“Same of medium,” said Carrie, picking up the pad again briefly, “and two hundred small dressings, plus one hundred rolls of bandages.”

“Sounds like you're outfitting a small army,” he said, sitting down in Vanna's desk chair.

“That's what we are here,” said Carrie, accepting the first lot of cartons. “We're actually quite busy, Ray. If you're going over to the gym mess, you'd better head off now before your break is over.”

“I was going to get some coffee from the dispenser in the staff lounge,” he said. “I hoped you'd join me. I'm sure Vanna can spare you for a quarter of an hour.”

“Vanna is helping me,” she said, continuing to pack the container. “This is my responsibility as Clan Leader.”

“Come on, what difference will fifteen minutes make?” he said. “I'm sure there isn't a pressing need for this to be done right now.”

“Ten rolls of tape,” said Carrie, glancing at the list again as she stowed the last carton away.

“They're loose,” warned Vanna, starting to lob them at her.

He watched her catch them all, even the one Vanna miscalculated and nearly dropped.

“You've got good reflexes,” he said, kicking himself as he did. Of all the inane things to say, he could pick them.

She turned to look at him, her pupils suddenly shrinking down to vertical slits. “I've got the eyes for it.” Then they expanded again to black circles.

He could swear he heard her purring! “Don't do that eye trick on me,” he said uncomfortably, looking away from her to blink. “It's unnerving.”

Vanna laughed. “That's our Carrie,” she said. “Okay, what's next?”