Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) (49 page)

He didn’t look too bad. The corpsmen said that most of the torture appeared to have been electrical, with few lasting physical scars. But he was no longer the youngest man in the service, and such things could take a physical and mental toll on even the healthiest, Kulina or otherwise.

“The rescue,” he said, looking down and breathing hard from the effort. He should of course have still been in bed. Trace understood perfectly why he was not, and sympathised. Beds were for sleeping or dying. “Your idea?”

“Hell no. That was the LC. I thought it was a stupid waste of resources and told him so. He threatened to relieve me.” They still hadn’t thrashed that one out either. It was coming, Trace knew. The prospect didn’t bother her particularly. Erik was a work in progress, and she would keep chipping away at the emerging form until it acquired some kind of agreeable shape.

“It
was
a stupid waste of resources,” Khola agreed. “But karma intersects at curious junctions, and so my course continues.” He considered her, with tired eyes. She’d always felt that those eyes somehow saw more of her than any others… until she’d met Captain Pantillo. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes. Evidence of an alo-deepynine alliance.” Challenging him. Khola showed no surprise. “As I’ve already told you. And you didn’t care.”

Khola smiled faintly, and shrugged. “It changes nothing.”

“It changes
everything
. You have to drop this stupid crusade of yours and tell Fleet what we’ve found out here. Tell everyone. Humanity is in terrible danger — already the alo-deepynine alliance is looking to recruit the sard. They may already have the chah’nas. Sard will have no problem with the return of deepynines to power in the galaxy, they’d probably prefer it. Chah’nas lust only for power. The two main species who
will
mind are tavalai and humans. Alo have just used one to depose the other from power, and now we’re next — they’ll take out their obstacles one by one until they’ve restored everything they lost from the Machine Age and more.”

Khola nodded sombrely. “I’ll tell them. But it still changes nothing. Your Lieutenant Dale met with Supreme Commander Chankow before he died. He heard how many of your revelations Chankow already knew. This is no surprise to anyone, Major.”

“And you trust that Fleet will do something about it?” Trace asked dangerously. “Fleet is more interested in war against Worlders, and using the chah’nas to do it.”

Khola considered her for a long moment. “I was wrong about you Major. You
do
still have the human cause at heart. And your motivations are as selfless as any Kulina’s. I will always disagree with your current course, but I accused you unfairly before. Perhaps even from personal spite.” Trace frowned. An apology? She couldn’t recall Khola ever giving one, to anyone, for anything. “These false things can divert the true course of karma. Please consider this an amends.”

He extended his hand. The look in his wise, lidded eyes was as honest and open as ever. Trace knew Khola to be many things, but a manipulator and deceiver was not one of them. This apology was genuine, and perhaps unprecedented. An act that could perhaps reroute the flow of karma back to a better, truer course.

She smiled, and grasped his hand.

He yanked her forward, and the left hand flashed for her neck, lighting fast… only Trace caught it, swung and slammed him into the wall. Two handed she fought for wrist-leverage to pry the medical scalpel from his hand, and he lashed with exo-leg-assisted power as the blade fell. Trace took the kick, yanked him forward and took advantage of his poor footwork to spin behind him and apply a choke hold.

“You forget that I know you too,” she hissed in his ear as he struggled and flailed against the grip that blocked his airway. He slammed her back against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist and clinging like a spider. Khola gasped and strained for breath, as the horrified marines searched for a shot but refrained with their Major in the line of fire. “And now we’ve come full circle, because I know Fleet told you to keep me alive. So now you’ve betrayed
your
sacred oath, you fucking hypocrite. And that’s why you were
really
apologising.”

“There’s only one sacred oath of Kulina,” Khola wheezed. “And only one of us has… has…”

He collapsed face-first on the deck, and Trace kept the choke in place for a few seconds to be sure. Then she collected the scalpel from the deck alongside, and stood up.

“Don’t hurt him,” she told the privates as they rushed to secure him. “He’s out, he’s no threat for now.”

“Major, I’m sorry!” Private Rajesh exclaimed as Cuoca secured the unconscious Colonel. “I didn’t know he had that… I mean, we searched him and…”

“That’s okay,” said Trace. “I knew.” Or she’d guessed. And she thought of what Erik was going to say to her, about
Phoenix
marines and basic non-combat security tasks. She nearly rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Cuoca held Khola’s wrists behind his back, a knee in his shoulder blades. In this condition, Khola was so far below his best there would be no more trouble from him, Trace was sure. He’d only had just enough left for a final attempt at
her
, if she’d been dumb enough to fall for it.

“Major, we asked if we should restrain him before,” said Cuoca, breathless and puzzled. “We thought word got to you, and you said no.”

“That’s right,” said Trace.

Rajesh stared. “Did you
expect
him to try this?”

Trace winked at the private, and gave him a light whack on the cheek. “Stay awake boys. Restraints on his bed, and could someone please try to keep track of where all the sharp objects go? That’d be ace, thanks.”

Truth was, she thought as she walked away, she hadn’t truly
expected
it. She’d just wanted to know for sure. And now she knew that every time Khola tried to kill her, he only convinced her even more of how right she’d been to leave.

T
here was
no time to haul out the dress uniforms. Neither marines nor crew had enough personal storage space to keep dress uniforms in accessible lockers, so on long cruises the fancy stuff went into long-term storage. Getting it all out would require an effort from crew who were already overworked and under-slept. They were still technically in a combat zone, given that everywhere
Phoenix
went lately became a combat zone whatever it had been previously, and dress uniforms in a combat zone were as useful as bells on a rifle.

But there were jackets over jumpsuits, and hats of any available sort, so that stained, worn and scruffy as they were,
Phoenix
’s crew made a presentable display when arrayed row upon vertical row along the ledges and gantries of Assembly. A presentable display of a working, fighting combat crew, Erik thought as he looked up and about at them all, on the ledges before the rows of racked marine armour and weapons. Only about a quarter of crew and marines were here — in light of continuing threats the crew were needed constantly at their posts, and safety regs forbade any more than a hundred and fifty in Assembly at any time due to the lack of G-slings in an emergency. But there was camera vision taken for later viewing, so everyone would get to see eventually.

Erik supposed it would have been more dramatic to save himself for last, but it meant more to the crew to have their new brass pinned on them by a captain than an LC, so obviously he had to go first. Chief Petty Officer Goldman sounded the bosun’s whistle when he first came in, and everyone snapped to attention in their vertical rows. Two others held the twin flags of Fleet and United Forces. It felt strange to salute the flags, given everything that had transpired between
Phoenix
and Fleet, but everyone had agreed it would have felt more strange to do the ceremony without the flags, and perhaps unlucky too.

And so Erik did the salute, spun on his heel and marched along the line of first-shift bridge crew, Command Squad and Alpha Platoon marines on the other side, and then stopped before Trace. Erik fancied he did a parade turn somewhat better than her, and showed it, then stopped before her with a precise stamp, and saluted.

Trace might have smiled, ghostingly faint as she saluted back, and opened the small, velvet case in her other hand. She looked different beneath the officer’s hat she rarely wore — Assembly was to be considered ‘outdoors’ for formal purposes, and was thus the only place on
Phoenix
where uniform hats could properly be worn, with salutes given and received. Seeing the hat reminded Erik of just how rarely Trace ever relied on rank or trappings of any kind to garner respect from anyone. Something to aspire to, Erik thought, and could not help his heart thudding a little faster at the sight of captain’s eagle wings in the velvet case.

Trace removed the Lieutenant Commander’s gold leaf from his collar, then pinned the eagles with very little ceremony. Erik thought she must have practised a few times, it wasn’t like she’d done it very often. Another salute, and that was that. Surely there was more to it? And as his gaze travelled along the line of faces watching, he knew that of course there
had
been far more to it. The audition had been long and hard, and this was just the final act. He still did not believe in his heart that he deserved it, but he was used to that by now. It was necessary, as Trace would say. Necessity came first, and feelings could wait.

He then took his place at Trace’s side, and accepted a similar case from Lieutenant Shilu. Inside were a commander’s silver leaves, which he then had the pleasure of pinning on his friend Suli Shahaim, after first removing her lieutenant’s bars. She looked quite emotional, which surprised him. Though really, he thought, Suli was nearly twice his age, and had been doing this a hell of a lot longer. Lieutenant was the usual ‘cap rank’ for Fleet officers, the one that plenty of good officers reached, but rarely progressed beyond. And now, after so long spent at Captain Pantillo’s right hand, and now at his, she’d finally taken that next step, in one giant stride that skipped the lieutenant commander’s rank completely.

After salutes, Commander Shahaim left immediately for the bridge to relieve Second Lieutenant Dufresne. In the meantime, there were others to promote, and a line to work through. Erik did the honours with the spacers, and Trace with the marines, though each gave and accepted salutes from both. Among them were Second Lieutenant Rooke, finally promoted to full-louie, while Erik took particular pleasure in promoting Ensign Remy Hale up to Second Lieutenant behind him. While notably among the marines, the once-Staff Sergeant Vijay Khan finally left the service of Family Debogande to take a corporal’s rank — a significant demotion, but he looked pleased enough with it. And perhaps even relieved, to have finally found his place on the ship.

Dufresne arrived, and received her promotion to full Lieutenant with cool precision, then saluted and left to fetch Draper. Erik saw dry amusement from some of the first-shift bridge crew — Dufresne should have been plenty happy to just make full-louie after so few years out of the Academy. But Draper was getting the real promotion, not her, and she didn’t seem entirely thrilled about it.

Then came the civilians. There had been some long but mostly constructive debates about it first, command crew sitting late over a meal, squeezed into Erik’s quarters while arguing about what made sense for whom to get what. Lisbeth was of course impossible to induct into Fleet ranks, even in an emergency. Temporary shuttle co-pilot and invaluable Engineering assistant though she was, a family name like Debogande couldn’t just be disregarded. Plus there was the technicality that siblings were
never
allowed rank on the same ship, partly in case one lost vessel wiped out half a family, and partly because a captain’s impartiality could not be guaranteed when ordering his sister into danger. That Erik was
already
in that position with her, irrespective of her lack of official rank, did not change anyone’s opinion.

Romki was similarly impossible, mostly because whatever oath he gave, no one would believe it. That, plus it was the last thing he actually wanted, and would probably only accept with a gun to his head, and possibly not even then. Stan Romki would always be a lone wolf and master of his own conscience, for better or worse. And Erik thought he was probably more use that way.

Jokono and Hiro were another matter — ensign for both of them, the lowest rank on the officer scale save for warrant officer, but warrants had to know how to actually do stuff on the ship. Ensign, it was generally agreed, would allow each to become an operational part of the command structure without giving them the ability to question any of the more senior officers. Both were given the specialisation of IN-1, for Intelligence — something utterly unknown on Fleet ships to date. They were temporary ranks of course, applied under press-gang rules, often used in Fleet when ships in desperate need of crew were allowed by Fleet law to ‘recruit’ able civilians, against their will if necessary. Erik was grateful that both men seemed considerably more enthusiastic than that, but had little hope that either of them would stick around if this whole mess ended tomorrow. Neither were Fleet men by nature, just by circumstance. But this circumstance required that they improvise, and make the best use of every asset to hand — people in particular.

And in that spirit, it gave Erik perhaps the greatest pleasure of all to pin a second lieutenant’s single bar on Tif’s collar, the lowest feasible rank for a pilot, and to see the shining pleasure in her big, golden eyes. Her salute was very rusty, and her parade steps worse, but no one cared — the other pilots said that she was a gun, and her co-pilot Ensign Lee had gone from the most nervous co-pilot on
Phoenix
to the most smug in record short time. There had never before been a kuhsi given rank on a Fleet warship. Erik did not need to check any records to know that — it was well known that the one prerequisite that
all
Fleet personnel had to meet was humanity. Tif was not merely the first kuhsi to hold rank on a Fleet vessel, she was the first non-human, and that was a record Erik was more than happy to smash.

Finally there arrived at the event Lieutenant Draper, having been relieved from bridge duty by Lieutenant Dufresne. He beamed and looked the happiest Erik had ever seen him, as his new Captain pinned Erik’s old gold leaves on his collar. Erik was surprised how hard they were to part with. He’d worked so hard to get those leaves, and he’d been so proud when he’d received them. They’d been his highest rank in the war, the culmination of all his hard work and hopes that he could make his family proud. But he knew when he saw them pinned to the collar of the younger man that some old things had to be left behind. And with them, all the innocence and lightness that went with a lesser responsibility.

When the ceremony was all over, there were handshakes instead of salutes, and everyone fell out for congratulations and some photos before heading back to duty. Erik was mildly surprised that Trace made a point of coming to shake his hand.

“Congratulations Captain,” she told him, with a subdued smile to tell him that she really meant ‘about damn time’.

“Given how much you disagreed with my last call,” said Erik, “I’m a bit surprised you didn’t stick it in my eye.” He could feel the new rank at his collar, tugging with unreasonable weight. It was the most curious sensation.

Trace shook her head faintly. “No sir. It’s not the calls themselves. It’s the officer’s willingness to make them in the first place.”

“But you think I was wrong to send the rescue after
Europa
’s crew?”

“Yessir. They weren’t the objective. If we divide resources by chasing multiple secondary objectives, we increase the risk of failure.”

“You know what’s really surprised me since we’ve been out here?” Erik asked her. “The thing I wouldn’t have predicted three months ago? How eager the crew is. I’d thought we’d have morale problems by now, but instead they’re keen as anything.”

Trace nodded slowly. “I agree,” she said carefully.

“This is why they signed up,” Erik insisted. “The Triumvirate War was always an awkward, nasty thing. Tavalai were never the horrible enemy we wanted them to be — which isn’t to say we shouldn’t have fought them. But it was a war of politics and advantage, not a war of passion.

“
This
is a war of passion.” He jabbed his finger at the deck. “Our war.
Phoenix
’s war. Everyone can see the stakes. I think for a lot of them it’s almost a relief, particularly the veterans. The Triumvirate War left everyone with a bad taste in their mouths. We won, but it was never as sweet as we wanted it to be. But this fight, it seems almost as though the more dangerous it gets, the keener everyone becomes.

“I’m different to you, Major. You’ve fought against that passion all your life. You’ve sought to control it. But I’m only here because of it. Most of the crew are also. If we’re not here to rescue the
Europa
crew, and others like them? Then we lose that passion. Without it, we’ve lost this fight before it even starts.”

“That sounds nice, Captain,” Trace said calmly. “But combat doesn’t care about sentiment. Mostly it comes down to odds and percentages. You play the wrong ones, we all die.”

“I know my ship,” Erik replied with certainty. “And I know my crew. I knew those odds, and I thought we could do it. Plus the
Europa
crew will go home now. They’ve got a scary story to tell, and a lot of them are people Fleet HQ can’t easily shut up. My uncle among them, but others as well. They’ll tell humanity the story that we can’t, and start the debate that we won't be present for. It was worth it.”

“It’s always worth it when it works. It’s never worth it when it doesn’t.” As usual, it was impossible to tell exactly what Trace thought. “Would you really have removed me from command?” she asked. “If I’d continued to refuse your order?”

“Yes,” said Erik, and meant it.

“Good,” Trace replied, and meant that too.

“And now that I properly outrank you,” Erik said edgily, “I won’t have to worry about that any longer, will I?”

“No sir,” Trace said innocently. “Not
that
, at least.” And her smile turned faintly dangerous.

E
nsign Jokono entered
Engineering Bay 8D with no small trepidation. Within, he found a very odd sight — Stanislav Romki seated at a workbench at the side of the open bay floor, beside a large, square framework that contained the head of
Phoenix
’s resident drysine queen. Splayed in a great, blue holographic glow across the floor was a technical hologram, displaying shapes and diagrams so complicated that Jokono had no idea what he was looking at.

The newly promoted Lieutenant Rooke was also here, Jokono saw as he came fully into the room, walking now through the interactive hologram and pointing to technical shapes, moving them by touch, joining things together. The shapes looked vaguely like hacksaw body parts. Perhaps they were considering how to build Styx the new body she had reportedly demanded. Neither man paid Jokono any attention, talking in a technical jargon so dense it might have been another language.

“Hello Ensign Jokono,”
said a female voice from the room speakers. Jokono had been warned of this too — the machine that pretended to have a gender, and to use vocal speech with emotive inclinations, to make its listeners feel more well disposed toward it. It was not, he’d been warned, anything more than that.
“Have you been sent here to ask me some questions?”

“Well yes,” Jokono said carefully, stepping about the edge of the bench to the holographic perimeter, where the single red eye within the frame-brace could see him directly. “Hello Styx. We haven’t yet been introduced. But you seem to know who I am already.”