Adventures in the Liaden Universe Part 20

Plan B: Korval was in grave danger. He drew a breath and felt Aelliana stir, take note, and finally murmur in his ear: "Whatever has happened? Surely the Juntavas have not caused this?"

The inters.h.i.+p chatter had been tense with other rumors; civil wars, Yxtrang invasions, missing s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps, Juntavas walking openly in midports in daylight.

Daav had debated destinations. Lytaxin-world of a solid ally. Liad itself was surely to be avoided with Plan B in effect!

He sat to board, finally, and having thought Lytaxin, his fingers unhesitatingly tapped in another code. This was a destination only for scouts and the adventuresome curious; there was no trade there, nor ever had been. Well.

"Well," Aelliana affirmed, and he gave the s.h.i.+p its office.

Now, with an hour yet to Jump-end, Daav hesitated before switching his call signals. No need to give away all his secrets, even to Scouts. He set the timer and moved back to begin his exercises. Ride the Luck would call him before they arrived at Nev'Lorn.

SHADIA REACHED TO the canister overhead, pulling the red k.n.o.b that was both handle and face mask. Obligingly the canister gave up its package, the plate descending to shoulder height. Grasping the disk carefully she twisted the red handle. It turned properly in her hand and the initial three minutes of air began flowing from the mask as the Cloak began taking shape. She pushed it toward the floor, stepped into the tube, and as it inflated by her head, she grabbed the blue handle and pulled. That closed the Cloak over her head and with a twist of vapor from the heat seal she was now inside the new Cloak while wearing the old.

Now she reached for the blade on her belt and carefully pierced the diminished Cloak, and writhing awkwardly, stepped out of it, perhaps spicing her language a bit to help, and then a bit more as the old Cloak tangled on her ankle and left her sitting in mid-air. With exasperation she used a few more choice words, asked a couple of pungent questions of the universe at large and cut a bit more with the knife. In another moment, the old Cloak was a mere wrinkle of plastic and a disk, which she handed it through the pockets of the new Cloak with relief.

She stuffed it into the waste bin, which was filling rapidly, and surveyed the work area, realizing as she did that she hardly registered the more minor sounds of the s.p.a.ce dust on the hull.

Over in the corner, Clonak ter'Meulen, supervisor of Pilots, was tampering with a scout issue s.p.a.cesuit, breaking thereby a truly impressive number of regulations. He had replaced his Cloak nearly a standard hour before and now sat immersed in carefully deconstructing the suit, with an eye toward keeping the electronics intact.

More or less conversationally-the atmosphere in the s.h.i.+p having gotten up to near 20 per cent of normal-he bellowed inside his Cloak.

"Shadia, I hadn't realized you'd spent so much time around Low Port..."She almost laughed and did manage to snort.

"Doubtless, I hurt your ears..."

"Well, at least you've hurt my feelings."

She looked at him quizzically.

Clonak glanced away from his work, moving his hand inside the Cloak to pull out a bit of paper towel and mop his brow before continuing.

"I clearly heard you ask whose, ahhh.... whose idea the Cloaks were. Very nearly they are mine!"

Shadia blinked.

"Are you Momson, then?"

"Me, Momson? Not a bit of that, at all." Clonak continued, still busily taking the suit apart. "Momson is some legendary Terran inventor, I gather. No, but the Cloaks-they've only been on Scout s.h.i.+ps for about 25 years. But then, I guess you could blame Daav yos'Phelium, too, for having the bad judgement to need a Cloak when he didn't have one..."

"But I thought the nameplate says that some Terran foundation gave us the money to start installation...."

"Right you are. The Richard A. Davis Portmaster Aid Foundation. But I'm afraid that's my fault. They have a wonderful archive-at least equal to the open Scout collections-and I was looking for quick solutions. Headquarters was already moving me into this pilot support track I've ended up in, you see, and dea'Cort himself set me on them."

"When it turned out that we didn't need anything all that esoteric, really, the research librarian was pleased to hand me over to the so-called Implementation Office and they had me walking around in one of these things inside a day. I brought a dozen dozen back for testing and barely a relumma after I had posted off my thank-you note, Headquarters sent me off on a secret mission-to pick up a s.h.i.+pload of these things, complete with dispenser canisters."

"Secret mission?" Shadia snorted. "They didn't want other Scouts to know you were getting all the plush flights?"

Clonak chuckled briefly at his work.

"Actually, it was far more sinister than that. There's always a faction in the Council of Clans that wants to shut funding for the Scouts off, or reduce it. Some of them don't want us doing anything that might benefit Terrans, or they want us to charge for our work, or be turned into pet courier pilots for the High Houses.

The idea that we might somehow be in debt to a Terran foundation had to be kept super mum,"

Shadia heard the crinkle of the Momson Cloak about her as she shook her head Terran-style and then flipped the hand signal roughly translating as "stupidly a.s.sessing the situation, them, as dogs might."

One-handed Clonak replied with "Affirm that twice."

Before Shadia could turn back to her work Clonak stretched himself, permitting his legs to float higher than his head, and held up a series of electronic modules linked by tiny flat cables. At the end of the cables were several tiny power units.

"Shadia, what you see here is the work of a genius.""Of course," she said politely.

Clonak ignored her. "It's too bad that I nearly destroyed it getting It out of the suit. I can see several more modifications I'll need to make, and then a box-lot of paperwork once we are joyfully returned to Headquarters...."

Shadia sighed. "What is it?"

"A working transceiver set, of course! What else could it be? Now all we need to do is decide what we might safely say, on what frequency, and how often, for the right people to hear and fetch us away from this lovely idyll of shared pleasure." He moved a shoulder and his feet sank deckward. "I believe we will need your location report by the end of the s.h.i.+ft, and since I'm essentially done with this I'm available to act as your clerk."

RIDE THE LUCK broke into normal s.p.a.ce and reported that all was well. Three breaths after, the position report center screen was replaced by a tile of alarms and warnings as the meteor s.h.i.+elds went up a notch and the Scout's private hailing frequency was crowded by messages and fragments: "... and Jumped out before I could cross-hair him; he definitely took out dea'Ladd!"

"... was destroyed. Have adequate munitions to continue search pattern..."

Daav's hands touched the switches which armed Ride the Luck, brought the scans online...

"... have returned fire and am hit. Breath's duty-notify my clan of our enemy-I have three hours of air, heavy pursuit and no Jump left. Tell Grenada I forgive the counterchance debts. Notify my clan of Balance due these..."

Scans showed debris in orbits that should have been clean, and warnaways at Nev'Lorn itself.

Into a battle had come Ride the Luck, Tree-and-Dragon broadcasting on all ID ports. No way to tell immediately how old some of the incoming messages might be- Daav thumbed a switch. "Daav yos'Phelium, Scout Reserve Captain, co-pilot of packet boat Ride the Luck, requesting berthing information or a.s.signment. Repeat..."

Before he was finished the second iteration he heard a cry of "Korval!" over the open line, and, fainter, "The Caylon's s.h.i.+p!"

The chatter built and by then Ride the Luck had cataloged a dozen objects of note, including two closing tangentially.

On commercial frequency-responding to the ID no doubt-came: "Freighter Luck, you are to stand by for boarding by the Department of the Interior; you are under our weapons! Repeat-"

On the Scout frequency: "Luck, Courier 12 here, I have you on my scans. I'm at breath's duty, pilot! I have one salvo left before I'm gone, Get away and tell clan Kia the name of their enemy..."

Kia was a Korval trading partner.

Ride the Luck's ranging computer showed the two potential targets and attendant radio frequencies;Daav touched the guidestick and clicked the red circle over one of them. The circle faded to yellow.

Still nothing from Nev'Lorn base.

"Give me my commission, dammit! Are you asleep!" Daav's finger danced over the board: now he had the s.h.i.+p that had broadcast the duty message identified, and the one that had ordered him to stand by for boarding.

Again the commercial frequency-"Freighter Luck, you are under arrest by the Department of The Interior. You are to agree to boarding or we will open fire."

As if to punctuate their demand, the Department's s.h.i.+p fired a beam at courier 12, raking the little vessel from stem to stern. And, finally: "Ride the Luck, this is Nev'Lorn headquarters, captain yos'Phelium, you are on roster for berth 56A.

You are authorized to aid and a.s.sist in transit..."

"I have conflicting orders," Daav spoke into the mike, both channels open.

The circle on the ranging computer showed orange now.

"This system is under direct supervision of the Department of the Interior," came back the message rather quickly-they were closing fast. "Nev'Lorn Headquarters has been disbanded and is outlawed. Your decision or we fire, pilot!"

Nev'Lorn, five light seconds more distant, sent again; "Captain you have a berth waiting..."

"Department," Daav said quietly into the mike, "I am taking your orders under advis.e.m.e.nt. You have the range on me, I'm afraid."

The image of Courier 12 seemed to blossom then, as the pilot launched his remaining missiles at the oncoming Department s.h.i.+p. Eight or ten scattered, began maneuvering.

The target circle went dull red.

"Department, please advise best course?" Daav demanded.

That s.h.i.+p, busily las.h.i.+ng out with particle beams at the oncoming missiles, did not reply. The static of those blasts would have torn the transmission out the ether in any case.

The target circle grew a flas.h.i.+ng green ring around a bright red center.

With a sigh, scout captain Daav yos'Phelium clutched the guide-stick and punched the fire b.u.t.ton. And again. And again. And again and again until Ride the Luck complained about overload and the expanding gases were far too thin to contain survivors.

EVEN CLONAK'S GENIAL optimism wasn't sufficient to approve of the ration situation by the time end of s.h.i.+ft had come and gone six times, postponed by the simple fact that they still had been unable to achieve complete orbital elements. Between observations and calculations they'd managed to get the test circuit live to the in-system engines and they'd determined that at least a dozen thruster pairs were operable. They might actually be able to go somewhere-if only they knew where to point.

Thanks to the Cloaks the air supply was good for another 30 days. Food was another matter, since mostof it was in storage lockers-if they still existed-in the sealed portion of the s.h.i.+p. They were stretching the interval between meals a little longer each time. At full rations they had food for six days; at their current rate they had fourteen.

"YOU HAPPENED BY at a fortunate time, Captain," Acting Scout Commander sig'Radia was saying to him. "Not only did you rid us of the last of that infestation, but improved morale merely by appearing, Tree-and-Dragon shouting from your name-points, hard on the heels of rumors that Korval is ...

vanished."

Daav gave her a grave smile. "Korval's luck. May we all walk wary."

She was a woman of about his own age, he estimated, though he did not know her. Obviously, though, she had heard tales of Korval's luck, for she inclined her head formally and murmured, "May it rest peaceful."

"How did this come to pa.s.s? An open attack on a scout base by Liadens?"

Scout Commander turned in her chair and pulled a stack of hard-copy messages from under a jar full of firegems.

"Some of it is here," she said, handing him the stack. She seemed about to speak further, but the comm buzzed then; a Healer had been found for the Kia pilot Daav had rescued from the courier boat.

He gave his attention to the messages in his hand. Slowly, a picture built of suspicious activity, followed by conflicting orders and commands from Scout Headquarters and the Council of Clans, muddied by people going missing and a strange epidemic of Scouts being requisitioned-with the a.s.sistance of some faction or another within the council itself-for the mysterious Department of the Interior. Amid it all, a familiar name surfaced.

The commander finished her call and Daav held out the page.

"You may blame Clonak ter'Meulen on my fortuitous arrival-he having sent for me. May I see him? His business was urgent, I gather."

She looked away from his face, then handed him another, much smaller, stack of pages. He took them and began leafing through, listening as she murmured. "The Department of the Interior had him targeted.

He went down to meet a Scout just in from the garbage run-Shadia Ne'Zame. That's when the battle began. They fired on her s.h.i.+p and..."

Daav looked up, face bland. Commander sig'Radia shrugged, Terran-style.

"The Department had a wars.h.i.+p in-system-say destroyer cla.s.s. They claimed it was a training vessel.

They went after Ne'zame's s.h.i.+p, fired on her. By then, we were fighting here as well-open firefights and hand-to-hand between us and the Department people here for training." She showed him empty palms.

"Ne'zame's s.h.i.+p was. .h.i.t at least once, returned fire, got some licks in. The Department's s.h.i.+p was closing when she Jumped."

Daav closed his eyes.

"The only wreckage we have is from the destroyer," the commander continued. "There's one piece that might be from a Scout s.h.i.+p-but there was other action in that section, and we can't be certain. The destroyer was more than split open-it was shredded-no survivors. If it hadn't been, Nev'Lorn wouldhave been in the hands of the Department of the Interior in truth, when you came in."

Daav opened his eyes. "No word? No infrared beacons? Nothing odd on the off-channels? Clonak is-resourceful. If they went into Little Jump..."

Her eyes lit. "Yes, we thought of that. Late, you understand, but we've had tasks in queue ahead. In any case, the chief astrogator gave us this." She turned the monitor on her desk around to face him, touched a b.u.t.ton, and a series of familiar equations built, altered by several factors.

Daav blinked-and again, as the numbers slid out of focus. As if from a distance, he heard his own voice ask, courteously, "Of your kindness, may I use the keyboard? Thank you."

Then his hands were on the keyboard. The equation on the screen-changed-in ways both subtle and definitive. He heard his voice again, lecturing: "The equations are only as good as the a.s.sumptions, of course. However, the basic math is sound. This factor here will have been much higher, for example, if weapons were being fired-missiles underway in particular would have altered the ma.s.s-balance of the system dynamically- The equations danced in his head and on the screen, apart from, but accessible to himself. Moments later, when the acting commander played back the records she had of the encounter, Daav felt an unworldly elation, and watched again as his hands flew along the keypad, elucidating a second, more potent, equation.

That done, there was a pause. He heard Aelliana sigh into his ear and found that his body was his own once more.

He looked up from the monitor to meet the scout commander's astonished eyes. She looked away from him, to the construct on the screen, then back to his face.

"Are you," she began. Daav raised his hand.

"Pilot Caylon finds this a very worthy project, commander. You will understand that Clonak is her comrade, as well." He sighed and looked at the screen. The equation was-compelling, the sort of thing a pilot could make use of. He pointed.

"Your astrogator is to be commended. As you see, we have several congruencies here. This one in particular, which relies on the orbits a.s.sumed by the destroyer's fragments, gives us a probability cloud ...".

The hands on the keyboard were his own this time, the schematic he built from his own store of knowledge.

"Very nearly we have two search bands," he murmured; "one south and one north of the ecliptic, which of course are expanding as we speak. Clonak...Clonak is a very stubborn man." He glanced up, meeting the commander's speculative eyes.

"If there is someone you may dispatch to the south, I will search north of the ecliptic." He smiled, wryly.

"We may yet retrieve your Scouts from holiday."