Scattered Suns (43 page)

Chapter 89—RLINDA KETT

BeBob’s sham board of inquiry went just as Rlinda expected. Wartime regulations allowed the EDF to do many things behind closed doors, with looser rules favoring their own desired outcomes. General Lanyan didn’t even bother to attend the second day of the proceedings—apparently he was busy with Admiral Stromo, dealing with what the EDF had learned about Corribus.

Rlinda squeezed BeBob’s hand as the head of the tribunal announced, “Captain Branson Roberts, since you do not dispute the charges, this board of inquiry finds sufficient cause to declare you guilty of desertion during wartime and of stealing a reconnaissance ship that belongs to the Earth Defense Forces.”

“That was my own ship!” BeBob said.

“Which was duly acquired by the Hansa for military use in time of war,” the head of the board said quickly and dismissively. “By the emergency authority vested in this tribunal, you will be held in confinement on the Moon until such time as your sentence can be determined.”

“I object,” BeBob said.

Rlinda glared at the military legal counsel. “I object to this whole ridiculous process. File an immediate appeal, demand a trial in the light of day—for a change.”

The advocate looked at her. “You can’t do that now.”

“You sure didn’t do it for us during the trial.”

“This wasn’t technically a trial, it was a preliminary board of inquiry. In all likelihood, there will still be a formal public court-martial proceeding, unless certain wartime rules are invoked.”

BeBob snorted, “Either way they only put two options on the table: summary execution and permanent penal servitude! What sort of chance does that give me?”

“I sent out feelers everywhere I could think of,” Rlinda said, ignoring the legal counsel. “I can round up media attention—I’ve got friends, you know.”

“What a shitstorm,” BeBob said, as if he had just realized it. “Pardon my language.”

Rlinda gave him a rough but maternal pat on the back. “That sums up the whole situation.”

Four uniformed EDF guards appeared in the hearing room to surround the prisoner. Because of a newly heightened state of alert since the Corribus attack and the destruction of Relleker, the guards were dressed in commando uniforms and helmets; one of the men even wore a full protective facemask. Four armed guards seemed overkill for leading one frightened AWOL pilot back to his cell.

The guards took BeBob away, and when Rlinda tried to follow, the men brusquely stopped her. “Your presence is no longer necessary, Ms. Kett,” said one of the guards.

She put her hands on her hips and stood stubbornly firm. “At least let me cook him a nice last meal. It’ll be better than anything this base has ever served. Who knows, you might get some of the leftovers.”

The head of the tribunal stood from his table. “There’s nothing more you can do, Ms. Kett. Go home.”

“Well, I can walk him to his cell, can’t I? Grant me that much.”

“Ms. Kett, please don’t make this any more difficult—”

The guard in the facemask said, “We can take care of it, sir. Let her accompany us, so long as she doesn’t snivel.”

“I hereby promise a minimum of sniveling.” Rlinda raised her arms and allowed herself to submit to yet another search for concealed weapons. Gathering her personal pride like a shield, she accompanied a downcast Branson Roberts out of the courtroom.

The four guards marched them along Moon base corridors, taking the prisoner down deeper tunnels, turning left and then right at corridor intersections as if their convoluted path was meant to confuse BeBob.

“Just look at all this wasted space. You know, the EDF could convert these cells to private luxury quarters, open the base as a hotel,” Rlinda quipped, trying to keep her tone light. “Or do you guys really use your detention level much here?”

Not bothering to answer, the grim guards kept marching. The tall man with the full face helmet walked closest to Rlinda and BeBob, as if taking personal charge of them.

As they neared the brig level, the helmeted guard slowed his pace. She looked up at him as he adjusted his facemask, saw only brown eyes with a strange expression. Before she could crystallize her own suspicions, the guard reached into his uniform and triggered a high-powered gas canister.

White smoke jetted out in an expanding plume that filled the confined tunnel, swiftly enveloping the other guards. They coughed and struggled, turning with surprised outcries toward their comrade. Rlinda tried to shout a question, but the chemical filled her lungs, her eyes, her nose. She never imagined that sleeping gas could knock a person out so quickly—

Rlinda woke, spluttering. Her vision took a long time to clear. She seemed to be swaying from side to side, hanging facedown. Her hands and legs were dangling, and the floor moved beneath her like a conveyor belt. That couldn’t be right. Lunar gravity was much lower than Earth’s, but even so she shouldn’t have felt so
light
.

She might have figured it out faster if the situation hadn’t been so bizarre: A uniformed man was carrying her along like a piece of luggage. An antigrav strap, traditionally used to haul heavy crates, had been attached to her back like a handle. She’d never thought about using the devices for carrying people, but the lifter had nullified her bulk so that she weighed nothing at all.

The man strode along at a brisk pace. She squirmed, looking to her left, and saw BeBob similarly trussed up and carried in the man’s other hand. She finally glanced up.

Davlin Lotze wore a standard EDF guard uniform, holding the two of them as if they were bulky packages. His expression was unreadable. “Are you ready to walk for yourselves now? We’ll make better time that way.”

Looking at Davlin, she decided to hold back her questions. Now was not the time. “Come on, BeBob, wake up! We’ve got to haul ass out of here.”

Davlin disconnected the cargo lifters, and Rlinda felt her body settle back to the ground again. “Sorry it took me so long, but this was the best I could do on short notice.”

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his scarred cheek. “I never really thought escape was one of our alternatives.”

“Now it’s your only one. And I submit that it’s better than summary execution or permanent penal servitude.”

“Sounds okay by me,” BeBob said.

Davlin gestured forward. “We’re almost to the docking bay. We’ll take the two ships and get out of here.”

“But how did you get in? How did you pass through security at the Moon base? Where did you get a uniform?”

“I’ve always had one, though I upgraded to silver beret status a long time ago,” Davlin said, then shushed her. “Don’t ask too many questions. We’ve only got about ten minutes to finish up here.”

“What happens in ten minutes?” BeBob asked, fighting to keep his balance but weaving like a drunkard.

“All hell breaks loose. That anesthetic gas should be wearing off on the other stunned guards, so we’re bound to hear alarms soon.” His voice sounded much too calm for the emergency. “The base will be slow to react, though—all Moon base personnel, without exception, are attending an emergency all-hands meeting. Apparently, General Lanyan himself called it only a few minutes ago.”

“Convenient timing.” Rlinda made a rude noise. “One of his pep talks?”

Finally, Davlin flashed a small smile. “Oh, the General will be as surprised as everyone else when he receives the notice. He doesn’t know anything about it. The good news is that the meeting’s on the other side of the base. Now, get into the docking bay.”

Rlinda chuckled. “I’d sure like to see the expression on his face when he figures it out.”

“I’d rather escape, if you don’t mind,” BeBob said. “I’ve seen enough of the General’s expressions.”

The lunar docking bay was as deserted as Davlin promised. Rlinda was amazed at how much he’d arranged so quickly, but after spending time with the “specialist in obscure details” at the archaeological site on Rheindic Co and helping him rescue the settlers from frozen-over Crenna, she knew not to underestimate what the man could pull off.

In the crater landing zone, the
Voracious Curiosity
had been left unmolested. BeBob’s
Blind Faith
sat in a separate area, cordoned off. The EDF had given it an overhaul, removing records and scraps of evidence, but the vessel still looked spaceworthy. It would have to be.

“As soon as we fly away, the EDF will come after us,” Rlinda said.

“Probably. That’s why we need an adequate head start.”

“We don’t have a way to open the docking bay,” BeBob said in dismay. “You need EDF authorization. We’ll never get—”

Davlin silenced him with a glance. “Already taken care of.” He nudged Rlinda ahead. “You two get aboard the
Curiosity
and prepare for takeoff. I’ll take the
Blind Faith
. It’s been impounded, and I might have to pull some unusual tricks.”

“I don’t want to give up the
Faith
. She’s my ship. Shouldn’t I be flying her?”

Rlinda yanked the still-unsteady BeBob toward her waiting vessel. “Let’s have a little priority reassessment here. If anyone can fly the
Faith
away, it’s Davlin. Let’s go.”

Standing at the cordons around BeBob’s ship, Davlin tossed Rlinda a datapack. In the low lunar gravity it sailed in a graceful arc, and she deftly caught it. “Run those codes through your navigation systems. Your departure authorizations have already been issued.”

Rlinda and BeBob raced toward the
Curiosity
. When she reached the open hatch and the ramp, she looked back at the spy. “Davlin...thanks.”

He regarded her for a brief moment. “You waited for me on Rheindic Co when anyone else would have given me up for lost.” He shrugged before turning to board the
Blind Faith
. “This is the least I could do for you.”

Chapter 90—SULLIVAN GOLD

The limping evacuation modules used most of their thrust to escape the hydrogue-infested gas giant. Sullivan clung to hope and determination, though he had little logical reason to believe they would make it to nearby Ildira. The odds were against them, and it was easy to lose faith.

To Sullivan’s horror, one of the sluggish modules had encountered a small space rock, which punctured the hull. Air gushed out, killing everyone inside before they could patch the leak. Even if Sullivan had had a chance to do something, none of the evac modules had the room or resources to save anybody aboard. For the remaining twelve, time and life support were running out.

Until they unexpectedly bumped into the Solar Navy rushing toward Qronha 3.

If the air hadn’t been so stagnant inside their evac modules, and if they hadn’t been standing shoulder-to-shoulder, the passengers would have jumped and cheered. As it was, the survivors sighed with relief. Several had already passed out and needed to be shaken awake.

Sensing the presence of fellow minds and a stronger
thism
bond, the blunt-featured Ildiran miners looked instantly reassured. Kolker remained stunned and disoriented, as if he’d been blinded; without his treeling, he felt isolated. Sullivan himself had never needed a constant flow of people around him, yet he did remember the sad emptiness that always set in immediately after a major holiday, when all the children and grandchildren had gone home and his and Lydia’s household was suddenly empty.

Sullivan touched his friend’s arm. “It’s not permanent. The Mage-Imperator is sure to reward us for saving all these people. He’ll see that we’re sent back home, and you’ll get another treeling. Don’t worry about it.”

Kolker drew a deep breath and seemed to be steeling himself. “I can endure being without telink...for a short while.”

Tabitha worked their emergency comm systems. “Hello? Calling the Solar Navy warliners. Hydrogues have destroyed the cloud harvesters on Qronha 3. We’re carrying the survivors of both skymines, and our life support is running out. We could use a hand.”

The seven warliners halted in space around the battered escape vessels, solar fins fully deployed so that they looked like enormous predatory fish. “The Mage-Imperator dispatched us to carry out a mission to Qronha 3,” said the septar. “We can take you aboard, where you will be safe and protected until our assignment is complete.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Sullivan said.

Once the escape vessels settled into the nearest warliner’s hangar bay, passengers spilled out, gasping. The rescued Ildirans looked particularly glad to be surrounded by their kinsmen. One woman with a long mane of hair, lean features, and lithe movements stepped forward. Her large eyes flashed with a smoky brown color that reminded Sullivan of good scotch.

“I am Yazra’h, a daughter of the Mage-Imperator. Thank you for rescuing our people, at great cost to yourselves.” The refugees had already told their story erratically over the comm systems as they waited to be taken aboard. “We will provide you with food, shelter, and amenities until we have the opportunity to deliver you to Ildira. My father will want to offer you his personal gratitude.”

Sullivan flushed. “Don’t mention it, miss. I’m sure your people would have done the same for us.”

The Ildiran and human refugees were taken to different quarters. Sullivan and his people had little chance to speak with their counterparts, to exchange good wishes. It seemed rather odd to him, socially speaking, but he also remembered the incomprehensible behavior of Hroa’x. Once the Ildiran survivors were back among their own people, they seemed absorbed into a larger group from which the Hansa workers were cut off.

Continuing toward Qronha 3 with the full force of the Ildiran stardrive, all seven warliners arrived within hours. Yazra’h and the Ildiran soldiers were intent on some unstated mission, and Sullivan couldn’t understand what they hoped to accomplish, since by now the hydrogues were finished destroying the cloud-harvesting facilities. When he asked questions, the Ildirans were uncommunicative.

A curious Tabitha made occasional forays down the ship corridors. She had been trained as a systems engineer in the EDF, specializing in weapons development, but she had transferred to work on the modular cloud harvester. She hoped she might learn something from looking at this warliner, and the Ildirans had never been reluctant to share technology before. She entered the propulsion bays, not venturing anywhere that was clearly restricted, yet interested in the warliner’s engineering. The Ildirans, with their interconnected mental network, had very little internal security.

In contrast to the minimal interest the mining chief Hroa’x had shown in Hansa ekti-processing designs, Tabitha inspected how the Ildiran vessels functioned, seeing with her own eyes things that she had only read about. Ildirans had freely shared their stardrive technology with humanity, and Tabitha had no reason to believe they kept secrets, but one of her discoveries surprised her. With her wide mouth curved in an impish grin, she found Sullivan and took him by the elbow to lead him to one of the smaller launching bays. “You’ve got to see this. I don’t know what the Ildirans are doing.”

A spherical vessel sat inside the room. It had heavy reinforcement ribs, incredibly thick crystalline walls, and a central chamber barely large enough to hold one small person.

He pushed out his lower lip, deep in thought. (Lydia always said it made him look like he was pouting.) “Is it some sort of pressure chamber?”

“I think this is why they’ve come to Qronha 3.” Tabitha ran her fingers along the segmented planes that formed its walls. “Remember before the massacre at Osquivel? The EDF sent one man down in a diving bell to meet with the hydrogues. Looks to me like the Ildirans intend to do the same thing.”

He squinted inside the sealed armored chamber. “If I remember right, the EDF’s attempt didn’t exactly turn out the way they had hoped.”

A sharp female voice spoke from behind them. “We did not invite you into this launching bay.”

Sullivan turned immediately, knowing they’d been caught. Tabitha flushed with embarrassment. “We...we didn’t know.”

Sullivan said, “Sorry. We weren’t told of any restrictions. My engineer here was simply curious about some of your technology.”

Yazra’h stood there, looking intimidating with a crystal dagger at her waist. Sullivan was certain that the Mage-Imperator’s daughter could easily dispatch them both, if she so chose.

Oddly out of place, an angelic little girl stood by her side, looking delicate, but not fragile. The girl had a strange cast to her features; her short gold hair was bound in feathery little strands. Her face looked soft and innocent, but the eyes held a bold intelligence far beyond her apparent years. The girl’s manner was strikingly odd and off-center.

Sullivan stepped forward with a grin, thinking of his own sweet granddaughters. “And who is this? My name is Sullivan Gold. I—”

“You do not need to know her name.” Yazra’h put a protective hand on the girl’s shoulder. “We have an inspection to perform. Please return to your quarters.”

“Maybe we can help with your inspection,” Tabitha said, as if trying to make amends for their faux pas. “I’m a qualified engineer. I’d be eager to share my knowledge with—”

“That will not be necessary. Round up your human survivors and bring them to the gathering chamber. The septar has decided to send one of our warliners back to Mijistra, carrying you and the surviving Ildiran skyminers. The other six ships will remain at Qronha 3 to complete our mission.” Dismissing them, she guided the strange girl over toward the armored sphere.

Sullivan stared after her. “But what are you going to do at Qronha 3?”

Yazra’h slowly looked at him, then at Tabitha, tight-lipped. “Please go to the gathering chamber and arrange your personnel.”

Sullivan finally took his engineer’s wrist and pulled her out of the bay. Walking beside him down the warliner’s corridors, Tabitha was deep in thought. “I wish I knew what it is the Ildirans don’t want us to see.”