The Devil and Deep Space (41 page)

“Just getting to the good part, First Officer,” Stildyne said.

Mendez nodded. “What’s he say, then, Brachi?”

“Means to stick it out. At least at first mention. But I haven’t explained the problem to him yet.”

Andrej caught his breath. “Speak to me,” he said. “Explain. What problem? I do not tolerate to be ambushed, Brachi. Confess yourself at once, and with completeness.”

Stildyne looked startled; Andrej considered that he had perhaps not yet quite readjusted to the Standard–speaking world. It was true that such language could be taken as referring to formal Inquiry, here — rather than a simple demand for an explanation.

“Easy as this, Andrej,” Mendez said, but considerately, as if aware of how strange what he had to say would sound. “Unprecedented circumstances make new rules. And we’re glad to have you back, we’re used to you, your Infirmary missed you. But. There’s two parts to it. Only half is that you want to stay. The other half is if we’re going to let you.”

What was this
we
? “I don’t understand.”

“Captain knows you haven’t had much time to think things through. You’ve come on board wounded, for one. And of all the people here on
Ragnarok
you’ve got the most to lose. She isn’t sure she means to let you.”

Staggering. Andrej sat and concentrated on taking a deep breath, calming himself, thinking this thing through.

“I could tell you a thing that would convince you, Ralph.” He could. He could explain that it had not been Garol Vogel who had murdered Captain Lowden in Burkhayden, and Mendez would realize that Andrej had nothing to lose by staying with the
Ragnarok
, that Andrej was in danger — real, if of unquantifiable likelihood — of being called to give accounting for that crime. “If I have to, I will. I came back to this ship because I am more indebted to its crew than my blood kin. To suggest I go away to secure my privileges insults me.”

Someone else. The door was opening again. Wheatfields, in the name of all Saints, and if there was a very great deal of Stildyne when he took off his clothing there was altogether too much of Wheatfields to be tolerated.

“I appreciate that, Andrej.” First Officer took no special notice of Wheatfields, who sat down next to Andrej himself on the bench — well toward the wall, to minimize proximity. The lower bench, and he was still taller than Andrej was. It was a setup. He would have a word to say to Stildyne when this was all over. “But we need more of a commitment from you than that. We need your support. You have to believe that ap Rhiannon is your Captain, Andrej, or it isn’t going to work. Serge. Explain.”

Wheatfields had closed his eyes, his head tilted back to the ceiling. He made Andrej nervous, sitting so close. “It’s still a dirty secret,” Wheatfields said. There was something in his voice that Andrej could not understand — humor? “Or at least no one has taken official notice, yet. But it’s true, that rumor of Admiral Brecinn’s. We are mutinous. You’d better be sure of what you decide, Koscuisko, because once you commit to this there’s no going back.”

Didn’t they think he knew?

“For this reason you should agree that I must be here,” Andrej said. Considering whether he should perhaps be furious. “Because so long as I am here, it will be that much more difficult to notice. Have I come from my home for those days in a stasis–mover to have my motivation questioned? What do you wish for me to do?”

All right, he was furious. Yes. During the time that Andrej had been assigned to this ship, Wheatfields had told him many things about himself — his character, his sexuality, a wide range of issues relevant to his personal value and right to breathe the same air as decent souls.

But never had it been suggested that he’d run from threat and leave his people to face hazard alone. Not until now. In all of this time, not even Wheatfields had called him a coward. It was possibly the only thing that Wheatfields had not called him, once “noble and beneficent” was ruled off the list.

“You’ve got people at home as well, Andrej,” First Officer pointed out. “You’ve got that boy. Your Cousin Ferinc says he’s a beautiful little man, and that your wife is waiting for you to come back and warm her sheets; I’ve talked to him. Bonds are Bonds, Andrej. That child is your son. Are you suggesting you care more about troops than your own child?”

It was a dirty question. Had it been Wheatfields who had asked it, Andrej would have struck him. But First Officer was out of reach.

“He is a beautiful child. Much more than I deserve. And I would deserve such a wife and such a child even less if I could turn my back on the
Ragnarok
, just when I might be able to help save the ship simply by staying here. It has not been Marana who has kept me from the abyss all these years, First Officer. It has been Robert. Lek. Pyotr. Stildyne. All Saints forbid I should say Wheatfields, even.”

Again with the movement in the anteroom. Again with the opening of the door. Andrej closed his eyes tightly in horror. There were only two other officers with rank to match or to exceed his own on board the
Ragnarok
. And Two scuttled when she walked. What would Two even look like, in a towel?

Jennet ap Rhiannon stepped up to the upper tier opposite Wheatfields, and met Andrej’s horrified gaze with a level stare. She was not Dolgorukij; and her towel was in her lap. She could not know what it was to show her shoulders. And yet she was to be his commanding officer —

“Yes?” ap Rhiannon asked. She was crèche–bred, there was that. The habit of command was easier for her than it might have been for Seascape, for instance. If Andrej concentrated on being angry, on how sore his muscles were, he might be able to ignore her shoulders. Her bare shoulders. Holy Mother. This was beyond reason.

“I think he means it, your Excellency,” First Officer replied. “Respectfully suggest you let him tell you.”

Captain. Captain ap Rhiannon. Shoulders or no shoulders. Yes. That was the way to do it. “Your Excellency,” Andrej said. “I had not realized that there might be a question. This is my ship, and I am under so much obligation to its crew that I cannot explain. It’s true that I have better to look forward to once out of Service than the most of us, but that makes me more difficult to kill, either by accident or by Judicial mandate. I am the chief medical officer on the
Ragnarok
. Respectfully request I be permitted to perform as such.”

Petitioning, and petitioning this little Lieutenant, of all people. This little Lieutenant had gotten Mendez and Wheatfields to accept her, though, and the rest of the officers and crew as well. If he respected his own medical staff, he could not disregard that judgment.

“Wheatfields wants Secured Medical for storage,” ap Rhiannon said. “Any problems?”

No. None whatever. Why, did she think he’d come back to the
Ragnarok
for that? “I have no difficulty in surrendering Secured Medical for any purpose, your Excellency. To the contrary, rather.” They’d have to find some place to keep the Record. Or maybe they would just leave it there. It would still be a properly secured place, after all, whether used for storage or for torture.

“Very well. If First Officer agrees. Resume your duties, Doctor Koscuisko. It’s good to have you back. And I’m leaving now. It’s too hot in here. No, don’t get up.”

He hadn’t thought about it, but the others had. He could tell that he had some adjusting to do. There was silence in the sauna for some moments as the Lieutenant — as the Captain dressed. When the outer door of the changing room opened and closed again, Wheatfields stood up.

“Later,” Wheatfields said, to the First Officer. “And no, I don’t think we should do staff here. Don’t get any ideas, Koscuisko. Nothing is changed, but a ship needs its Chief Medical.”

That was a welcome home, Andrej supposed. Wheatfields let another gust of cooler air into the sauna on his way out; all of this traffic was annoying, not relaxing. Mendez yawned, and leaned back against the wall.

“Well, I don’t know, it wouldn’t be so bad. If it were dry heat. You’re not off the hook for information, Andrej. If we need it, we still need it, and you’ll still be our best man for the job.”

If this hadn’t been so serious it would be utterly surreal. “And you’ll have it if you need it, First Officer, but it’ll come out of Infirmary. Or maybe your office. With the right drugs. And none of the other — complications.”

Mendez was right. If it came to getting information he could not refuse. Would not refuse, because no one else on board knew as much as he did about the Controlled List and how to use it, and letting anybody else try would be inefficient. As well as unnecessarily unpleasant. And illegal.

“You’d better start showing up for staff, then. But get dressed first, Andrej. You can’t go wandering around the corridors in a towel. What a notion.”

On that note Mendez left; there was peace in the sauna at last, and the friendly ticking of the thermostat as the heat increased once more to proper levels. Andrej sighed.

“I had not anticipated a challenge, Chief,” he said.

Stildyne seemed to consider this as Andrej relaxed with his eyes closed, drinking in the soothing heat of the sauna. “It’s not a rational choice, Andrej. You can’t blame them. If they’d seen your house at the Matredonat you might never have been able to convince them.”

He had a child, Mendez had said, a wife as well. Both of them waiting. But so had others here, no less dear than his, perhaps more so for having better contact. When would he return? Or would he ever?

“To say that trust and affection are worth more than property and privilege would be too much of a cliché. Even the Valcovniye saga avoided such, and you will remember that there is every other cliché in the canon in the Valcovniye, Brachi. And I therefore will avoid it also.”

But they both knew it was true. Stildyne did not challenge the sentiment of this observation, apparently content to let Andrej have the last word — as had indeed been Stildyne’s habit, all these years.

Andrej let the tension in his body dissolve into the steam of the sauna, and set his mind at rest.

Chapter Fourteen

Mutiny in Form

Cousin Ferinc woke up when the threshold alert sounded; someone had crossed the security line at the entrance to the thula’s loading ramp. He sat up in his bed, swinging his legs over the edge to put feet to floor. It was his sleep shift, but a cruiser–killer–class warship ran four shifts a day.

It was Security. No, it was Lek Kerenko, who was coming down the corridor and talking as he came. “Really very sorry, Cousin. Permission to come on board. Captain very especially requesting. Are you awake? Anywhere?”

Speaking Standard. This was in Jurisdiction space. Ferinc shrugged his shoulders hastily into his sturdy waffle–weave shirt and tied himself decently covered across the front. “In here, Lek, coming directly. There is something the matter?”

“Captain,” Lek repeated, with a turn of his head and a lift of his chin back over his shoulder. “To be seeing you. With your permission, she doesn’t understand, but the officer is there.”

Something wasn’t adding up. Ferinc followed Lek out and down the thula’s ramp to the docking apron. Lek’s Captain was there, and Chief Stildyne. The Captain of the
Ragnarok
. Officers assigned, by the shade of black they wore; Koscuisko himself. Security behind him.

The sight made Ferinc blanch, but he was Malcontent, he was not who he had been. Koscuisko made no sign of intending any threat. Koscuisko looked pale, and Stildyne stood very close behind him; it had not been very long since Koscuisko had been cleared to resume his uniform. Hours at most, if Ferinc remembered the gossip correctly. He bowed with careful precision, and as a Malcontent, not a warrant officer. “Your Excellency.”

She would initiate the conversation. She had the rank, even if the rank was all she had. The other officers were older, taller, more experienced; but it was all she needed, in this instance.

“They’ve started to mine the exit vector,” the Captain said. “Specialist Ivers is en route back to the ship, but it’s clear that Taisheki Station doesn’t mean for us to leave. Therefore likely that it’s not in our best interest to stay.”

All very interesting. “Yes, your Excellency?” Mining the exit vector. That was extreme. It was also defensive; an interesting sort of a signal to send. “And what service may my holy Patron extend to your command under this circumstance?”

“I want the thula,” ap Rhiannon said, and pointed. In case there could be any question here about which thula exactly, Ferinc supposed. “I need it to clear the mine field. I’ll want to mount the battle cannon. And therefore.”

Security stepped up, as if on cue. They were all around him. They were far enough away to present no immediate threat, but he was surrounded. “Therefore, I must regretfully take your ship, with my sincere apologies, but I must have it. Cousin. You will surrender your navigation keys.”

The Devil he would.

Koscuisko put out his hand, shaking his head; they hadn’t told Koscuisko. Well. Several of the officers here looked a little less than completely put together. It had been someone else’s sleep shift, too; ap Rhiannon had probably come as soon as she’d been told that Taisheki Station had started to mine the vector. As soon as the Intelligence Officer had woken her up to tell her that.

“Captain,” Koscuisko said. “Your Excellency. With respect. It’s not his ship, it’s the Saint’s. He can’t surrender it. There must be a way around this. Because if I allow the Malcontent to be separated from his ship by force, I’m in much worse trouble with the Saint than any seven Benches could ever cause me.”

Ap Rhiannon didn’t know about Malcontents and it was obvious that she didn’t care. “I’m sorry, your Excellency, but you also have no choice. I must have the speed and the carrying capacity. Serge thinks we can clear the mine field with the thula. Otherwise it’s engaging arti–plats with Wolnadis, and we’ll lose them all. I’m not asking for your cooperation, Cousin Ferinc, I arrest you fairly and openly. You should suffer no adverse consequences from your superiors.”

Koscuisko moved to grasp the Captain’s arm and remonstrate with her. Stildyne put his hand to Koscuisko’s shoulder; Koscuisko started back with such a look of surprise on his face that Ferinc could have laughed. Stildyne’s expression had not changed.

This was fun. But it could not be allowed to drag on; Lek was starting to become uncomfortable, among other things. It would be self–indulgent of him to let misunderstandings multiply. Cousin Stanoczk expected better of him.

“I cannot surrender the ship, your Excellency, or transfer navigation keys. I have a sacred duty to my Patron. To fail in that would grieve my divine Patron, to whose affection I am more deeply indebted than I can explain.” The Security around him shifted, just so he would remember that they were there. It would do them no good. He had his orders.

He explained. “I must faithfully carry out my orders to accompany the son of the Koscuisko prince to his ship of assignment, there to perform what tasks it should please him to nominate to me until such time as he should send us both back to Azanry — the ship and I — and forgive us for our errors.” The Malcontent should have seen Noycannir coming. They should have known what she’d had in mind. It was the genuinely mad that were as dangerous as that, because their next moves could never be predicted with certainty.

Lek seemed to relax.

“The ‘son of the Koscuisko prince’?” The tallest officer would be the Chigan Ship’s Engineer, by repute. So the officer who was talking was the Ship’s First. He might have been Ship’s First someday, Ferinc thought; Stildyne would have been a Ship’s First right now, if it hadn’t been for Andrej Koscuisko. No. He never would have been Ship’s First. He hadn’t had the moral fiber for it. “That’s you, Andrej. Isn’t it?”

“At least for now,” Koscuisko agreed a little sourly, his eyes fixed on Ferinc’s face. He knew. But Ferinc had just been having a little bit of fun, that had been all. No harm to it, surely. “Ferinc, has my cousin Stanoczk truly granted me the use of this fine beast?”

“And me with it,” Ferinc confirmed. Then he wished he hadn’t expressed himself in quite that way, but Koscuisko didn’t seem to notice. Koscuisko turned to his Captain, and bowed.

“I withdraw my objection, your Excellency. We may in fact fully exploit this thula. Cousin Ferinc will extend every possible assistance to ensure a successful mission, is that not so, Ferinc?”

“Yes, your Excellency,” Ferinc answered, obediently, but hearing Marana’s tone in Koscuisko’s voice. Being very stern with her child Anton. It was a shame Koscuisko had not stayed at home, but Ferinc would not be sorry for a chance to see Marana perhaps again.

Ap Rhiannon looked from Ferinc to Koscuisko and back again; then shrugged her shoulders, as if dismissing the whole interchange as parochial in nature. “Very well, Doctor, Cousin Ferinc. Thank you. I have asked General Rukota to evaluate whether and how the main battle cannon can be installed in the thula’s forward emplacement. If you will work with him, Cousin Ferinc. Will the ship support it?”

It had been built as a courier. But Fleet’s couriers had been armed. “Specifications support main battle cannon and subsidiary stations. I will translate ship’s comps for the General, your Excellency.” Whoever he was. What was a General doing on a battleship? Generals were ground forces.

“Coordinate also then with my First Officer, Cousin Ferinc, on the ship’s performance characteristics. We’ll need to select a crew very carefully. The mine field will be almost fully deployed by the time we can get there, and we’ll need the pathway clear before we can safely start a vector spin.”

Or complete one successfully, to be more precise, but he took the point. “According to her Excellency’s good pleasure,” Ferinc said, bowing.

Koscuisko looked genuinely startled. Ferinc was a little startled to hear it from his own mouth under these circumstances himself. “Carry on,” ap Rhiannon said. “With all deliberate speed. We don’t have much time.”

Turning, she walked away; Security went with her.

Koscuisko gave Ferinc a fish–eyed stare. “It is true, this dish you have invited to taste my Captain?” Koscuisko demanded. “Or another filthy Malcontent trick of some sort?”

“Blood–guilt, your Excellency, with regards to the incident at Chelatring Side. Truly. I wouldn’t dare lie to you, sir.”

Koscuisko was not convinced. “You should know better, Ferinc, but you are Malcontent and have no shame accordingly. And no sense of proportion. If you do not need me, First Officer, I go back to bed.”

The officer Koscuisko had addressed nodded. “Leave us Kerenko, Andrej. We may want to talk to him. All right, Lek?”

Lek was under Bond. And yet Lek seemed to be dealing with this outrageously anomalous situation without much difficulty. Was it true what he had heard, that Koscuisko had liberated his bond–involuntaries through the shocking expedient of treating them like feeling souls?

“Very good, First Officer,” Lek said, with a crisp salute. If Lek could fly the ship on a mine–clearing mission, it would help. Because Lek could really, really fly the thula. Ferinc could never have managed to locate the
Ragnarok
on vector transit on his own. Lek was good at this.

“Over to you, General,” First Officer said; to the only other man left on the docking apron who had yet to speak. “General Dierryk Rukota, Koscuisko’s Cousin Ferinc. Cousin Ferinc, General Dierryk Rukota. Gentlemen. Good–greeting, then. Andrej. Let’s go get our naps in.”

Stildyne would stay as well. Good, Ferinc could use Stildyne. And all of the rest of the rank could just clear the docking apron and let them get to work.

“Kospodar thula,” General Rukota said. He was a big man as Stildyne was big, but ugly in his own special way. Thin lips. Narrow eyes. Strong nose. “Take me through her, if you will, Cousin Ferinc. We’ve got to get her armed and deployed as soon as possible, if we’ve got a hope of breaking out.”

Which did rather raise the issue of whether it was worth the effort to try. But it was their business. Not his. He just flew the ship — or navigated, with Lek on board — and followed his reconciler’s orders. Or what his reconciler would have told him to do, if he’d been here.

“Starting at the forward emplacement, then, General Rukota.” This would be fun. He’d never seen a mutiny in progress; wait till he got home, and told Stanoczk.

###

Jils Ivers stood before the Captain’s Bar in the mess area where the
Ragnarok
’s officers held their staff meetings. There was a place for her at the table between the Captain and the First Officer, but she didn’t feel like sitting down.

“Yes. They are mining the vector.” There was no question about it; certainly no attempted subterfuge was any use. “I can’t really dispute with Auditor Ormbach’s point. I’ve convinced her that the
Ragnarok
has good reason to be antipathetic to Chilleau Judiciary. And if Brecinn’s claims are correct the
Ragnarok
itself, as well as its Wolnadi fighters, is armed. Which makes the
Ragnarok
dangerous.”

She didn’t say “makes you dangerous.” She didn’t say “loose cannon.” She didn’t need to waste her breath. The
Ragnarok
had decided that it was in its best interest to leave the moment Taisheki Station had moved to ensure that it stayed. It was classic.

It was a disaster.

How could this ship have frozen so concretely in support of one acting crèche–bred Command Branch officer? It couldn’t have. Ap Rhiannon had a lot going for her in the moral outrage department, that was clear, but for the
Ragnarok
to be functioning as well as it had been was a clear indication of genuine mutuality of goals. Ap Rhiannon spoke for the
Ragnarok
, but she seemed perfectly aware that it was the crew who were in command of the ship.

“Engineer?” ap Rhiannon asked. “Your status, please.”

Wheatfields straightened up in his chair, which brought his head that much closer to the ceiling. “Escape vector for Amberlin across Taisheki vector has been registered and read in, your Excellency. By your command.”

Amberlin was uncontrolled space, well forward of the rule of Law. It was a notorious nest of vagabonds, derelicts, refugees, and rabble–rousers, with a thriving black market; Jils could understand the choice. If need should be the
Ragnarok
could survive there for an indeterminate period of time, taking what they needed as they found it — or would they prey on the stores of reasonable people for supplies, as they had done when they’d acquired the battle cannon?

Since activity in Amberlin was illegal by definition, they would have no necessary concerns about abusing the innocent. Staying out of the way of the powerful criminal fleets, now — that would be an interesting problem.

“We can be assured that Fleet will not pursue us to Amberlin.” Ap Rhiannon could make that statement with such absolute conviction because so far Fleet itself had been unable to make an impression on the extralegal, ad–hoc governments that fielded their fleets in Amberlin space. “And we may have the opportunity to demonstrate our loyalty on a small scale where we can, while we pursue our appeal. First Officer. What if Taisheki Station should engage?”

The
Ragnarok
clearly meant to make no secret of its intentions; the speed with which the
Ragnarok
would be traveling would be enough of a signal. Taisheki might well field its small force of corvettes. How successfully could they resist? These were all their own people. Fleet.

Mendez glanced at the Engineer’s blank, impassive face before responding. “The thula will be clearing the mine field, your Excellency. It can run interference for us. Fleet won’t want to have to pay the Malcontent for the machine. They’re expensive. It’ll be tight, maneuvering the ship back up into the maintenance atmosphere on our way out, but using it will effectively control our exposure.”

The Kospodar thula was as nimble as a Wolnadi, significantly superior for speed. With a main battle cannon for ginger, it could potentially hold off any Fleet pursuit short of a cruiser–killer–class warship like the
Ragnarok
itself.

“Very well, First Officer,” ap Rhiannon said. “Do you have a crew on line?”