The Gripping Hand (33 page)

"God's navel."

"Suggestion," Blaine said.

"Talk to me!"

"Have
Atropos
put a prize crew on that ship and send it to rendezvous with
Agamemnon
. Then he can see if he can chase down anything else."

"Yeah. Rawlins, put a crew with a bomb onto that Motie ship and send it to
Agamemnon
. Then see what you can do about the other Motie ships."

"Eudoxus is signaling," Buckman said cheerfully.

"Of course Eudoxus is signaling. Let her wait. Rawlins, I'm wondering about landings. I'll send you design specs for
Sinbad
. Horace, I'm sorry, but he's got to have those. Rawlins,
Sinbad
can land on a habitable planet, but we'd have to find fuel to get off. Does
Atropos
have landers?"

"Three. Two cutters and a longboat. All functional, but one cutter needs work. I'll send you specs. The longboat could carry enough fuel for a cutter to regain orbit from Mote Prime, but can't get back up without refueling.
Atropos
can scoopdive a gas giant planet for fuel."

What have I forgotten? Oh, I'll get it later.
"Buckman, put Eudoxus on. . . . Hello, Eudoxus, sorry I had to cut you off, but your ships have been keeping us fairly busy."

"I was glad of the nap time, Kevin. Have you given further thought to our invitation?"

Glad of the nap time, hnpf hnpf hnpf!
" Further thought, sure. Nap time sounds wonderful. We've got to wait anyway. So. Are you short of anything? Air, food, water? We can lob you a package."

"Kevin . . . no, we have enough to last us."

"Okay. Tell me anything about what we can expect to meet us on the other side of the Jump point."

"Ye-ess. My Keeper is part of the chain of command of—the name would not translate, of course, so I will call us the Medina Traders. We are the largest trading company in our region. We're involved in dominance games with several other groups, all under truce of one depth or another. We expect to meet you in space and lead you to our territory, all in perfect safety. Nevertheless, surprise by a rival becomes more likely the longer we delay."

Bury broke in. "Dominance games. War?"

Renner looked for hesitation, and he saw it. "Nothing so large, Excellency, but Warriors do become involved from time to time."

"Battles, then. For what prize? Ourselves?"

"For resources, thus far.
Your
existence we have kept to ourselves."

"So. We might have to fight. What would be your status if you returned alone?"

Shrug. "I would have failed. My Keeper and her—superior— would make decisions on that basis, and so would other clans."

Renner said, "I'm putting you on hold."

The picture remained. Buckman said, "We've cut the signal. So?"

"Keepers?" Joyce asked. "Where have I heard that term?"

"Keepers are sterile male Masters," Blaine said. "Possessive but not aggressively expansive. Joyce, the group we dealt with on Mote Prime was headed by a Master calling itself King Peter—you'll recall one of these ships they've sent us is called
King Peter's Gift
?—and the Moties he sent us included a Keeper ambassador called Ivan . . . Captain? It feels funny."

"What?" Renner prompted.

"
King Peter's Gift
. It's too bald and not too accurate. That damn ship isn't a gift, it's a threat. Eudoxus speaks of different factions, different clans. She spoke of Warriors, but was that really a clever ploy? Sir, we have to suspect that they really don't know what all the expedition learned, and may not be part of King Peter's clan at all."

"Interesting," Bury said. "Of course they know everything I was told. Or think they do."

"Decision time," Renner said. "One of the Mote ships has to go back, but does it have to be
Phidippides
? Or has Eudoxus learned too much by watching us? Blaine?"

"No, sir, trust me on this. She's starting from too far back. She hasn't been able to interpret anything pointed; she's still correcting egregious assumptions. At worst she might finally know what destroyed
MacArthur
. Is there a strong reason why they shouldn't know that?"

"I don't know. Let's just say we'll keep all our secrets until we have a reason to give them up."

"Sounds right, sir. And of course we confirmed that we know about the Warrior class. Pity, but at least there won't be any more of the 'harmless Moties' game they played on my father."

"Yeah. Warriors. Horace, if there's anything I don't know about
Sinbad
's defenses, tell me privately, before we jump."

"Yes. Eudoxus is becoming nervous, Kevin."

"Yeah. So she's worried that things are coming unraveled at the other end. That's probably not good for us. It means we can ask for concessions, though, because she won't have time to dicker. What do we want from Eudoxus?"

Bury's eyes half-closed. "Yes. If we
knew
—"

"
Atropos
calling," Buckman said. "They've got a second ship. Middle going aboard with a bomb. The first prize crew reports that an Engineer reworked the air system to give them air to breathe. All very cooperative. Rawlins has a third ship at the edge of detection range, but it's deep in the asteroids and decelerating. He's sure it's already too late."

"Tell him to leave it alone. Ladies and gentlemen, do we go? Yeah, Joyce, I know. Blaine?"

"Go."

"Horace?"

"Go, of course, but something must be done first."

"Name it."

"We need trade goods. Specifically the magic worm that we presume Glenda Ruth Blaine is bringing."

"Bury, we can't wait for that!" Renner said.

"I do not propose to. I do say that you must order the Navy not to hinder Miss Blaine when she arrives in this system. If she thinks it best to come to the Mote system—and she will, will she not, after your message to her, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then the Navy must not prevent her."

"They're going to think it odd," Renner said. "A lord's daughter going into a combat zone. Okay, I can leave those orders. Anything else? . . . All right. Buckman, do we go?"

"Certainly. I can get a second view of a protostar in process of collapse! Maybe they'll let me leave instruments."

Kevin Renner nibbled his forefingers for a moment. "It'd be nice to refuel first . . . ah, well. Put
Atropos
through."

". . . Sir?"

"Rawlins, we're going through to Mote system. You're going first. How much fuel have you burned up?"

"I've got half a tank. Enough to get anywhere if we don't have to fight. Sir."

"We're expecting to be met by friends, but it's not certain at all. Battle stations. Prepare your ship, full sleep period included and I am
dead
serious, and then call me.
Sinbad
out." With his eyes closed Renner said, "Somebody check on dinner."

Will Rawlins turned to his executive officer. "General Quarters, Hank."

"Aye, aye." Horns sounded through
Atropos
. "What do you think we'll find?"

"God knows. Get me Balasingham, please. Maybe he'll have an idea."

"Not likely," Henry Parthenio said. "But what the hell. Here he is."

Balasingham was under three gravities and looked it. "Go ahead, Will."

"Sir, Captain Renner wants me to accompany him into the Mote system."

"Yeah. Have fun."

"You think it's a good idea, sir?"

"I haven't the faintest flipping notion of whether it's a good idea," Balasingham said. His voice came from deep in his chest as he fought the strain of high gravity. "What I do know is that he's the boss now."

"Yes, sir—a Reservist, pilot to an Imperial Trader. . . ." Rawlins's tone said it all: the Navy did not like Traders and never had, and—

"Will, Captain Renner has been to the Mote. A long time ago, but he's been there, and that's more than I can say for anyone else we know. Now switch off your recorder and make sure we're secure. Got it? . . . Okay. Bury and Renner have been Navy Intelligence for a long time, and Bury comes to this system with the personal recommendation of Lord Roderick Blaine. Will, they're the best people we've got for this job."

"We-ell, all right, sir. Okay, I'm sending two Motie ships with prize crews to rendezvous with you at the exit point. They're under way now, so there's nothing keeping me. I'll take formation with
Sinbad
and the Motie ship
Phidippides
, and I reckon we'll be going through when I've done that. God knows when I'll be back."

"Right. Remember your first duty is to get The Word out. Godspeed."

"Thank you, sir. Sir, can we stop them?"

"God knows, Commander. You've seen some of the ships they've sent out of the Mote, and from all we know they've had decades to prepare for this. They could have a whole fleet of dreadnoughts just waiting for orders."

"Ugh. Yeah. Okay, here we go." Rawlins turned to his bridge crew. "Let's do it. Hank, get us into place to enter Mote system.
Phidippides
, then
Atropos
, then
Sinbad
."

To delight in war is a merit in the soldier, a dangerous quality in the captain, and a positive crime in the statesman.

 

—George Santayana

 

A brown blur swept past his eyes, too close; came wobbling back, taking on definition. Arm, fingers; fingers searching, closing on his shoulder, a nose nearly touching his. "Kevin. Captain. We." Joyce Trujillo blinking, trying to work her mouth. "We're being shot. At."

Cameras had been pulled inside for the Jump. Through the viewport Kevin saw murky red light where he should have seen black. Enemy lasers must be bathing
Sinbad
's Langston Field. No hot spots.

"Yeah. Okay. Field's holding. You . . . recover quick . . . Joyce." Renner looked around. His head wanted to swivel too far. Buck-man was cursing as he tried to get his fingers working, to poke a camera through the Field. Blaine's arms jerked as he tried to bring them to his instruments. Horace Bury was contemplating nirvana with vacant eyes and a trace of a smile.

His doctors had finally got through to him
. Stroke, heart failure, ulcers, ruined digestion, and you won't be through it a moment sooner. Don't fight Jump shock!

"Got prr. Probe," Buckman said. A picture appeared in Renner's monitor, and wobbled, and hunted, and found a green glare. "There. One ship using lasers only. Who's gunnery officer?"

"Me." Renner couldn't trust Blaine to kill. Navy trained, but raised by Mediators. Blaine wasn't functional anyway, not even as much as Trujillo. And
Sinbad
didn't have much for guns: a signaling laser that was several thousand times more powerful than it needed to be, good enough to keep armed merchantmen at bay, nowhere near enough power to be useful against real warships.

How hardened a target was the enemy ship? Would it be worth firing back? And where was
Atropos
?
Sinbad
had gone through last. It should be Rawlins's job to protect
Sinbad
.

The green glare wavered. Lost focus. Now it was a green point ringed in red, a yellow-white halo, glare green and expanding, an inflating violet sphere,
poof,
gone in seconds.

And with
that
enemy gone, the sky cleared.

It was a birthday-party sky, a black starfield full of colored balloons linked by bright strings.
Sinbad
had fallen into a battle. Ships must number in the hundreds. No telling how many sides, or who was who. But
Sinbad
's Field was murky red and darkening, shedding stored energy and no longer under attack.