Ruler of Naught (26 page)

What is it with the eyes?
Kira wondered. She’d done
some exploring in the ship’s RiftNet mirror—and even the shallower parts of the
Arthelion link before her fear of detection by Barrodagh stopped her. As far as
she could ascertain, despite what Anderic had said, she could find no Dol’jharian
revenge custom involving eyes.

Luri’s hands worked lower, splintering her focus. Kira’s
breath quickened.

“You’ll help?” she whispered shakily.

“Luri will help you,” came the soft murmur.

Well, it wouldn’t be mutiny, would it, if we just restore
the rightful captain?
Kira thought hazily.

Luri smiled, her perfect little teeth just showing. “Now
Luri and Kira-love give Anderic something to watch... ” And she pulled forth
from the headboard of the dormaivu a long dilenja the likes of which Kira had
never seen before.

“What the Shiidran Hell is that?” asked Kira, halfway between
alarm and excitement.

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” Luri flicked a control on
its handle with a long fingernail. The device seemed to shimmer, then, as Luri
manipulated its handle with complex movements of her fingers, it rippled
through an amazing evolution of shapes and sizes, various protrusions writhing
in and out of its surface as it vibrated with a quiet hum. “It’s a proteus, and
it’s all for you.”

Kira stared, comprehending that Luri was as much a master of
the sensual arts as she herself was of the ship’s communications. Then she
threw back her head, laughing with abandon as she ran her hands lingeringly
over Luri’s generous curves.

They’d give him something to watch, all right.

o0o

The Dol’jharian officer’s face winked out and Anderic tabbed
off the comm. He looked around his cabin helplessly.
Patrol duty in the
outer system.

He’d been expecting these orders for some time, even more so
since the news from Treymontaigne had leaked out, complete with fragmented vids
from the hyperwaves of doomed ships. The Panarchists were slowly figuring
things out, and as Eichelly had discovered, Urian tech sometimes wasn’t enough.

His nerves chilled him with a shiver of unease. Guarding
against the inevitable Panarchist counterattack in orbit with a battlecruiser
as backup was one thing, even if the
Fist of Dol’jhar
was always on the
other side of the planet from
Satansclaw
. Patrol duty on their own... that
was different. Even with a logos.

Images spun through his mind. Tallis fighting the ship over
Charvann. The pursuit of the booster carrying the Krysarch. The interview with
Eusabian. The mismatched eyes that made him reluctant to look in a mirror.

He wished it had been Hreem summoned to Arthelion. It would
take the Panarchists a long time to get around to retaking a minor planet like
Charvann.

But then I wouldn’t be captain.

He tabbed the locate for Lennart. The Dol’jharian officer
who’d relayed Juvaszt’s order had also sent a large strategic dataset, which
would keep the comtech busy for a while.
And away from Luri.

Then Lennart’s location came up.
Luri’s cabin
. With
a surge of anger, Anderic tabbed the spy-eye, then froze.

He had no idea how long he’d been watching when he felt a
crunch followed by a stab of pain.

Anderic cursed and spat out the tooth fragment he’d just
ground off a molar. Working his aching jaw, he looked away from the console,
but his eyes were drawn back.

What did Luri see in that toad of a Lennart?
She’s doing
it just to tease me,
he told himself—except the acrobatics in Lennart’s
cabin made it abundantly clear that both women were mutually, and repeatedly,
satisfied.

He clenched his teeth again, feeling a warning twinge in one
of his molars. This caused his—Tallis’—eye to throb, and evoked the bright
geometric tear of another visual migraine.

He pressed his fingers carefully to the outside corners of
his eyes. He should be grateful, he thought bitterly. At least the pain took
his mind off his straining nacker.
But Telos! Those legs, wrapped around
Lennart... That dilenja!
He groaned, grabbing at his crotch.

The movement reminded him of Tallis, down in the bilge, the
Emasculizer hanging between his legs. Anderic wondered viciously if he ought
to pipe this com down there for Tallis to watch.

His comm emitted the warning tone he’d programmed and he
forgot his eye, Luri, and her damned device.
Barrodagh
. His nacker wilted
as the call was automatically routed to him and the Bori’s pale face windowed
up on his console.

“Captain Anderic,” the Bori said.

“Senz-lo Barrodagh,” Anderic muttered, working his dry
tongue.

The Bori smiled thinly at the Dol’jharian honorific. Anderic
had learned that he liked such things.

“How are you adjusting to your captaincy?” Barrodagh touched
his eye.

Anderic felt the pang again, echoed by fear.
He means the
logos.
“Very w-well, Senz-lo.”

Barrodagh gave a short nod. “I am cancelling Juvaszt’s
order. The safety of the Avatar is primary, and with the logos you command, the
Satansclaw
can support the
Fist of Dol’jhar
in defense of the
Mandala better than any other single ship.”

Whiplashed from anger to fear to relief, Anderic could only
stammer out an acknowledgement.

Barrodagh smiled again. “Even our esteemed kyvernat could
not argue with the reality that your presence in orbit releases more ships for
system patrol.”

“T-thank you, senz-lo Barrodagh.”

“Do not disappoint me, Pham Anderic.”

Before Anderic could reply, Barrodagh’s image dwindled to a
point and vanished. The icon indicating the strategic dataset still pulsed
on-screen, next to the image relayed from Luri’s cabin.

Anderic’s hand hovered over the spy-eye tab, then he
snickered.

That data will be useful, anyway.
He tabbed up a com
to Lennart’s cabin, which he knew would automatically relay to her. She’d soon
be too busy to even look at Luri. Too bad.

o0o

Montrose closed the storage bin and straightened up.
“Excellent timing. We’ve completely run out of fresh vegetables, and we are
nearly out of herbs.”

Osri absently kneed the prowling Lucifur and glanced at the
chrono in the galley, the back of his neck tightening. According to the timer,
this accursed Rifter vessel would be emerging near its lair very soon.
And
what becomes of us then?

“You’re shortly to see the very best hydroponics in this octant,”
Montrose went on. “Do you know anything about vegetables? How to pick an
herb?” He laughed. “Have you ever even seen an herb outside of your food? Well,
you will soon be an expert, for the captain wants you to continue under my tutelage.”

His laughter was interrupted by the urgent tone of the emergence
bell, cutting through the taped opera playing softly in the background.

“We’ll watch things from here.” Montrose slapped his console
on and killed the music in the same motion. His big hands keyed a short
combination and a view of the bridge flickered into being, with the
viewscreens at the top.

Vi’ya was already at her post, absorbed in her work. She
looked up, her mouth thinning. Her hand slapped a key and a harsh klaxon blared
through the ship.

Montrose cursed softly.

Maybe five seconds passed and then the bridge crew ran in,
Ivard pale and awkward in his traction bandage, followed closely by the two
dogs. Brandon ran in behind him, tousled and heavy-eyed, as his Z watch had
just begun.

Vi’ya tabbed the intercom. “Montrose, confine the Schoolboy—belay
that.” She glanced Ivard’s way, frowning at the way the boy hunched at his
console. “Bring Schoolboy forward, and stand by with Jaim.”

She turned to Brandon. “Do something about the dogs.” As
Ivard began to protest, she added, “They need to be safe, Ivard.”

At a command from Brandon, the dogs whirled away from Ivard
and vanished from the imager’s view.

Osri turned to Montrose, to discover an appraising gaze. “Be
very careful in the next few minutes.” The surgeon paused, then sighed. “The
lens of your prejudice blinds you to Rifter realities. This is not the Panarchy.
In particular, do not look behind the captain’s words—she says what she means.”

He pushed Osri out, heading for the “station” Brandon had
trained them for, a small utility room with a hatch tuned to their body mass.

When he reached the bridge hatch, Montrose tabbed it open,
pushed Osri through, and ran back towards the engineering companionway.

The first thing Osri saw as the hatch closed behind him was Lokri
standing before Vi’ya, one hand resting on her console. Standing, not lounging,
his fingers tense as he said, “Norton’s gone.”

“We do not know that,” Vi’ya responded, not looking up from
her console, where her fingers moved in a steady rhythm.

‘They’re gone or they’re dead,” Lokri said. “Or there would
have been a message in the transponders.”

“We are going in.” Vi’ya’s hands did not pause in their
keying.

Lokri struck his hand lightly against the dyplast. “And eat
a chatzing skipmissile?”

The sense of pressure gripped Osri’s neck tighter. He moved
silently to stand near Brandon, who was leaning against a bulkhead, arms
crossed. “What is it?” he whispered.

Brandon spoke without shifting his gaze from the two at the
commander’s pod: “Transponder feeds from Dis have stopped. We’ve gotten some
intel from stored data.”

“Hreem is gone,” Vi’ya said. “What’s left of his fleet is
busy looting Charvann and the Highdwellings. None of them would wait around Dis
on the chance we might show up. Even Hreem knows better than to give an order
that won’t be obeyed.”

“We have... just over forty-eight minutes until the signal
from the telltale they undoubtedly left reaches the inner system, and perhaps
more until someone comes after us. Let us not waste time.”

“Agreed,” Lokri said, turning away and then back. “We hit
the fuel cache and make for Rifthaven with our loot. Fast, before any of
Eusabian’s blungesuckers get there and talk about us.”

“We go in,” Vi’ya said.

“We leave.” Lokri struck her pod again, this time with his
fist. “No one is worth risking my life for.”

“Lokri’s right,” Marim said, her gaze wide and earnest. “
Sunflame’s
got to be long gone. That was your orders, wasn’t it? And maybe we have forty
minutes, but what if it’s a destroyer that shows up?”

Osri watched with sour satisfaction. No one in the Navy ever
argued with a superior officer. He hoped that ice-faced woman was enjoying
having her authority flouted. But the little Rifter was right: a skipmissile might
hit them before the emergence pulse from the destroyer that fired it arrived to
warn them.

“I do not think we need worry about destroyers,” Vi’ya said.
“The only other one left in his fleet was
Satansclaw
, and Tallis went to
Arthelion. Anything else we can deal with.”

A faint chittering made the hairs on Osri’s neck rise. The
Eya’a were somewhere near by; he heard their twiggy feet scratching the deck
plates.

Lokri’s face blanched. “Threat?” he said softly.

Osri’s heartbeat accelerated, and the Aerenarch stilled.

Anything can happen. These chatzers could start
shooting—those psi-monsters could blast our skulls—and no one would stop them.

Vi’ya got to her feet, facing the comtech, who did not back
away. She was very nearly eye-to-eye with Lokri. “It is my crew,” she said, her
accent very strong as she spoke each phoneme. “If there is one person there
waiting for us, I must know.”

Lokri tensed, then took one step back, and another. Crimson
ridged his cheekbones. “You can’t always use the Eya’a as a threat,” he said,
just barely audible. “Someday they will be gone.”

Vi’ya’s white teeth showed in a sudden laugh. “I did not summon
them. They come when they hear death.” She touched her forehead. “And time is
passing.”

Lokri dropped into his pod and Vi’ya turned her head
slightly, addressing Brandon. “You will accept orders?”

“Yes.”

“Take Fire Control,” Vi’ya said. “Be ready for anything.” As
Brandon sank into the seat at Fire Control, she went on, “Ivard, take us to
Dis.”

The vibration indicating skip hummed in Osri’s back teeth.
The vibrations were rougher than usual, and Osri guessed that the captain had
adjusted the fiveskip to a lower-frequency tactical setting.
I know why I am
here. If Ivard fails at his task, this woman will demand that I take his place.
What would happen if he refused to obey a Rifter?

His glanced at the back of Brandon’s head.
“You will accept
orders?” “Yes.”

“Lokri, set up a full scan for emergence,” the captain said,
her voice unstressed, as if nothing had happened. “Relay to me for skip on
detection of any activity.”

His posture indolent again, Lokri waited just a moment too
long, and then tapped one-handed at his console. Vi’ya took no apparent
notice.

Osri watched Brandon set up his console, linking it to
Lokri’s for the scan. The echo to the main screen revealed the Tenno grid
pulsing in the uncertain pattern of insufficient tactical input.

There were no further words until the emergence bell rang
again and the screen cleared from skip. Then no words were sufficient.

At first Osri thought the viewscreen showed a small asteroid
that had somehow wandered into orbit around Warlock; it was a lopsided sphere
with a crack down the middle and a fused crater near one limb.

Then his eyes adjusted as Brandon’s Tenno grid rippled to a
new configuration, declaring the scale of the view, and he gasped. It was—had
been—Dis. Lao Shang’s Wager was gone. In its place was a crater—at least two
hundred kilometers across and inestimably deep—with rays splashing out across
the moon and wrapping around to the far side. From two sides of the crater a
massive chasm gaped, near to splitting the moon in two.