Chapter Five

"the preceptor is standing off the station a few klicks. We didn't want to get involved in all this." Tia Barse wrinkled her pug nose and pointed to the destruction around the main docking area. Norlin had missed this demolition by coming in along the picket-ship corkscrew. The major ships had presented major opportunities for escape; dozens of ships had been hi-jacked by mutineers.

"Do you have a shuttle or did you use a bub-ble suit?"

"I held my breath and walked. I'm tough."

"You're an engineer," he said, shrugging it off. Norlin wanted to see his new command and dis-cover the problems he would have with the other three crew members. Barse had made it clear she'd accept his orders if they seemed rea-sonable—and possibly not even then. That bothered him. In the heat of combat and having access to full computer information, he might try a tactic that seemed suicidal. The engineer might rebel—or the others might, also. He had to establish who was the Preceptor's captain early.

"You've got style, kid."

"That's Captain Kidd, to you. Lieutenant Barse."

"Got it," she said insincerely. "There's the two-man shuttle I used. Want to jet across now?" Norlin's mind raced. He had new responsibil-ity in the cruiser, but it hardly seemed right to abandon his command on the station. Such de-sertion in the face of an emergency constituted a court-martialing offense. That no one of rank re-mained to charge him—or anyone who would ever know—didn't deter him.

"I've got to find Captain Emuna and turn command of the station back to him."

"He's not in the chain of command. He's noth-ing but a toilet-paper counter. I ran into him a couple times. What a pain in the butt he was. Double forms this, triplicate that, and where's your captain's aunt's grandmother's authoriza-tion."

"I don't want to walk away without letting him know I've relinquished command."

"You take all this seriously, don't you?" Barse cocked her head and stared at him, those un-blinking colorless eyes boring into his soul.

"Would you want it any other way?"

"Not on my ship," she agreed.

Norlin found a console that required only a few minutes tinkering to get working. "Captain Emuna to any com." He waited only a few sec-onds before the officer's haggard, haunted face appeared.

"You're leaving? I'm on the bridge and saw the cruiser come up."

"You've got the conn, Captain. I'm going to the Preceptor and assume command. It's the best way of fighting the Death Fleet."

"It doesn't matter. I tried checking the number of staff left." Emuna heaved a deep sigh. "There're only a few onboard the station. We can't put up a decent defense. We're goners."

"Captain," Norlin said sharply. "We are Em-pire Service officers."

"You are. I wasn't anything more than an ac-countant."

"Captain!" Norlin saw the other man reaching for a pistol. He put it to his head and then broke the circuit. Norlin heard nothing, but he imagined the

sound of the weapon firing and the explosion within the captain's head that ended his life.

"Rough way to go," commented Barse. "If he'd thought on it for a second, he could have gone down fighting the alien fleet. Would have amounted to the same thing."

"We'll see," Norlin said, his belly tied in knots over the officer's suicide. He had graduated from the Empire Service Academy with more idealism than he'd thought. Pragmatism had been drilled into each cadet; Norlin had be-lieved the officer corps to be more loyal and re-sponsible than he'd seen. Mutiny. Suicide. If any had remained, would they have attempted to collaborate with the aliens? He pushed the horrible notion from his mind. He hoped that any human would die fighting rather than turn traitor to his own race.

"Let's go," he said. "I'll conduct a brief inspec-tion, then I need to go down."

"On-planet?" Barse peered out through a quartz port at Lyman IV hanging suspended in the jet black sky. Thin wisps of snowy clouds formed into force-ten storms over the primary ocean—falsely named Tranquility Ocean by overzealous promoters and developers. The four major land masses stretched brown and gray and green and brought a lump to Norlin's throat. It looked so much like Sutton II. He had been born on Earth but remembered little of it except for the pollution, overcrowding, and rank-conscious populace. He thought of Sutton as his home after arriving for academy training. It looked so much like Lyman, he hated to think of it laid to ruin, too.

"There are several people I need to find."

"Why bother? They're ground-grippers. Oth-erwise, they'd've been on the station when the mutinies started."

"Civil unrest is the way Captain Emuna de-scribed conditions on-planet. Have you any-thing more to add to his report?"

"No, Captain."

Norlin's eyes widened in surprise. Barse had called him captain for the first time.

"Is there anyone you or the others want to contact on-planet or try to get off?"

"No one for me. This isn't my world—or my type of world. Can't say about Miza or Sarov. And I don't much care if Liottey has anyone there. He's a vacuum brain."

Norlin noted the woman's comments about the others in the Preceptor's crew. She didn't care for Liottey. He couldn't tell if it was a per-sonal or professional disliking. He followed her into the small shuttle and wiggled forward to lie beside her.

"Ready, Cap'n?" Barse didn't wait for his an-swer. She slammed home the locking lever and pressurized the bullet-shaped shuttle in the same movement she launched them toward the cruiser. Norlin took the acceleration on the bottoms of his feet. He felt lightheaded for a few seconds, then recovered swiftly. Barse had intentionally launched fast to test him. His week at more than two gravities stood him in good stead. He

reached over and put his hand on hers atop the throttle.

"Cut back. I'm in no hurry. I want to study the station's exterior."

"We can take a quick tour by the defense tur-rets," she offered. He nodded assent. She worked the throttles expertly and fired the side jets to turn the shuttle. The off-vector thrust caused a roll. Norlin never hesitated. He pushed her away and took over. The tiny ship righted itself. Barse silently allowed him to conduct his sur-vey of the immensely powerful chemical-laser turrets. Norlin's heart sank when he saw that the engineer might be right about rusty lasing tubes. The exteriors showed no sign of maintenance in months, possibly years. Micro-meteorite pits showed everywhere. The rebel at-tacks had been directed at worlds other than Lyman IV. The garrison had become lax. Even if a full crew remained to man the laser cannon and kinetic projectile weapons, they'd have a difficult time making their equipment function properly.

"Enough," he said. "Take us to the Preceptor." He turned the controls back to her and settled back in the thinly padded couch, lost in thought. Defending Lyman would be more difficult than he had thought—and his first impression had been one of desperation.

Barse docked the shuttle in the cruiser's huge cargo bay. Norlin barely noticed the details. He had seen cruisers before, and the Preceptor looked no different from standard designs. His mind ranged out and down to the planet. Neela Cosarrian needed him.

He swallowed hard. It went beyond that. He needed her. He missed her soft touches, the feathery kisses that turned into true passion, the shared moments afterward.

"You all right?" asked the engineer. "You're shaking."

"I've got to go down," he said. "Is there a ferry?"

"We can refuel your picket ship. We might have to rip out the shift engines. That any trou-ble?"

"No. They're modular. I shifted in on the ship but haven't used them since beginning my pa-trols."

"You don't need the electric ion engine, either. Reduce weight, increase fuel for the rocket."

"See to it," he said. "I'll conduct a quick in-spection and then be on my way."

"You got it, Cap'n. Give the boys and girls my best." Tia Barse wiggled around and let him out. She resealed and jetted off even as he opened the inner airlock and saw the interior of his command. His. Shock at such a major promotion under war conditions struck him anew.

"You're the sublieutenant Tia found on picket duty." A small, dark woman stood with arms crossed. Her head had been shaved on the sides, leaving only a thick scalplock of jet black. Woven into the topknot were silvery strands and what looked like sensors.

"I use them to augment," she explained. "I

plug them in to the computer and get a dozen new inputs. Some are light prompts, some aural, and a few turn warm or cold."

"You're the computer op."

"How astute, but then Barse said you were fast." Cold eyes darker than space raked him. She rocked back slightly in obvious distaste for one so young commanding her cruiser. "Chikako Miza, Subcommander with nine years of space duty."

"Pier Norlin, Captain, recently graduated from Empire Service Academy on Sutton II," he said in way of introduction.

"Captain?" Miza said cynically. "They're turn-ing them out young. You must know people in high places on Earth."

"I know how to pilot, I know how to com-mand. I assume you know how to run your de-partment as efficiently." He spun and faced a man his own height but twice his girth and bulk. Like the computer op, the man stood with bulging arms folded in an aggressive manner. He had bristly dark hair cropped down almost to the point of being shaved off. Thick, bony ridges hid muddy brown eyes. A feathery net-work of scars crisscrossed his left cheek.

"Sarov? Engineer Barse has spoken well of you." Norlin turned and glanced back over his shoulder. "Of you, too, Miza."

"What about me?" came a soft, almost femi-nine voice. Norlin frowned when he saw Gowan Liottey. Barse looked manly; the first officer had a distinct effeminate appearance. Sandy hair piled in unruly curls toppled from the head into

a knot tied on the side. Blue eyes Norlin could describe only as beautiful peered at him from behind long lashes. Liottey saluted. Long fingers ended with decorated nails.

"Report on our condition, Lieutenant Liottey. Critical status systems only." Norlin felt odd or-dering about men and women who were not only superior in rank but also in age and experi-ence. Liottey was easily five years older, Miza ten, and of the stolid Sarov he could make no guess. The bulky tactical officer might be ten or even twenty years older.

"Engineer Barse has everything shipshape, Captain," Liottey reported. "We need only to do the final vectoring checks and we're ready to whip our weight in aliens!"

"We'll have to do better than that," Norlin said dryly. "We're a single ship against an entire fleet." He turned to Chikako Miza and said, "Contact Barse and determine how long it will be until I can drop down to the planet. After that, we can start a shakedown cruise."

The woman tipped her head to one side and touched a silver bud in her scalplock. "She pulled the shift engine and the electric ion drive. There wasn't any authorization to get for refuel-ing—or anyone to honor it, even if she had bothered. The picket ship is ready. Barse will have it in the cargo bay in ten minutes."

"So fast?" Norlin realized how capable his en-gineer was.

"She likes engines better than people," sniffed Liottey.

"I would, too, if you were the only human onboard." Miza mimicked the man's tone, then said, "I'll return to my duty station, Captain, unless you need me for something else." This time the sarcasm stung like acid.

"Dismissed." Norlin tried to maintain some hint of authority. The crew calling him by his title helped, but their tone showed no deference. He had yet to prove himself.

"Do you want me to accompany you?" asked Liottey.

Loud enough for all three to hear, Norlin asked, "I'm going on a rescue mission. Do any of you have relatives or friends you'd like re-trieved?"

"You'd risk your neck for my friends?" asked Miza. Her cynicism dropped for a moment, then rose like a palpable mist. "There's no one on this planet." She stalked off, returning to her com-puters. Mitri Sarov shook his head once.

"No one. We just arrived from Earth," said Liot-tey. "I haven't had time to make many... friends."

"Very well. Prepare for the shakedown run when I return."

"Should you go?" asked Sarov. "Barse had trouble finding a pilot—any pilot. To risk your life is to risk our mission."

"I'll be careful. Thanks for your solicitude." Norlin pushed past and went back to the cargo bay airlock and waited for Barse to dock. She pulled the picket ship in close enough for him to run a flexible 'lock extender over and magneti-cally grapple it to the steel airlock ring. He hur-ried back to his first command.

Cramped as it was, the picket ship had be-come home. He felt comfortable inside. He knew its quirks—and its simplicity of operation.

"All yours, Cap'n," Barse said. "How do you like the crew?"

"I just hope Liottey doesn't get to liking me too much," he said, grinning crookedly.

"If he does, just let me know. I'll put him in his place. I eat executive officers for breakfast."

"Don't. He might clog the engines if you stuffed him too far into the Venturis." Barse laughed and slapped him on the back so hard his teeth rattled. "You're going to be just fine. If you can pilot, the Preceptor is going to be the hottest ship in space." Norlin held back his retort. It might be the only Empire Service ship in the entire Lyman system. He waited for Barse to uncouple and pull back the extensible airlock, and then he hit the jets. He shot away from the cruiser's bay, oriented himself, and quickly calculated his de-scent. Fuel was of little concern. Barse had filled it to the hull after removing the shift drive and ion engines. He plunged downward, correcting con-stantly, using unconscionable amounts of fuel as he located the university and circled above.

From an altitude of two kilometers, the campus appeared calm. Using his sensors and magnifying the pix showed a different world. Buildings had windows knocked out. The com-puter communications center had been razed. Smoke still spiraled upward from the building. Huge craters had been blown in grassy areas,

and several of the research laboratories he was familiar with had been turned into burned-out husks. His heart almost stopped when he thought of Neela caught in the middle of such mob action. Norlin fought the buffeting and brought his picket ship down near the lab where Neela had an office. He winced as his exhaust cut through one wall and brought down an administration building. The equipment inside exploded with a ferocity usually reserved for fulminating bar-rage shells. If the structure hadn't already been breached, Norlin would have done millions in damage.

The true destruction had preceded his land-ing. He killed the jets and left the ship on standby. "You will not launch unless I use emer-gency code sequence Neela," he ordered. Norlin didn't want anyone tampering with his ship or trying to hijack it while he sought his girlfriend.

"Understood," the computer answered. He noted the huskiness and outright baritone ring. The machine was under immense stress.

Norlin adjusted his belt comlink to the cruiser, checked the weapon tucked behind the com, then unslung the laserifle and checked its charge. The readout showed almost a full maga-zine. He had at least a dozen shots at full power and three times that at half-power.

He left it on maximum and exited the ship.

Acrid smoke bit into his nostrils. On all sides came the sights and sounds of devastation. The rioting had passed through days ago, he judged,

but the smoldering fires and slow deterioration lingered.

Walking quickly toward Neela's lab, he saw a few people ducking from sight. He decided they were too far away to do him any harm, and get-ting into his ship would be impossible using anything less than a monatomic hydrogen cut-ting torch. He worried more about what they had done rather than what they might do.

"Captain?" came Liottey's voice over his belt comlink. "We're picking up incoming vessels. Miza thinks it is the Death Fleet."

"Acknowledged," Norlin said, touching a stud at his belt buckle. "I'll hurry."

"Miza estimates an arrival time within the hour. Those fellows are coming in fast—and none of the cometary detectors let out a peep."

Norlin didn't respond. He pushed past the debris blocking the front entrance to the astro-physics laboratory and stared up and down the length of the marble-floored corridor. He felt as if he had walked into an elevator shaft—and there wasn't an elevator there. His stomach fell endlessly and his breath came in quick, harsh pants. Much of the lab equipment had been thrown into the corridor and smashed wantonly. He ran toward the fifth room on the left: Neela Cosarrian's.

"Neela!" he called, not expecting to find her. The computer console had been ripped out and its tough PLZT ceramic vidscreen cracked. He used the muzzle of the laserifle to push through debris hoping for some clue to the woman's whereabouts.

"Liottey!" he barked into his comlink. "Can you locate individuals on-planet?"

"There's a chance Chikako might be able to tie in to the master computer at Empire Central Control. I'll check." Static almost drowned out the words. Norlin frowned. The reception had been good before. The breakup in communica-tion might be the result of alien action. Destroy contact, swoop in, kill, rape, pillage, and re-treat.

"Who do you want?" came Chikako Miza's voice. Norlin told her. Miza snorted, then broke off for several seconds, coming back with, "Got it. She's in the police computer as a dissident wanted on a variety of charges."

"Not Neela!"

"She started a riot the first day after news of your discovery leaked. Hmm. She was involved, at least. Hard to tell if she started it. She cer-tainly knew those who did." Norlin nodded. Neela's politics were more radical than his own, and she knew some campus activists.

"Where is she?"

"They have her jugged in a temporary lockup in the building next to the one you're in. At least, they had her there three days ago. That's the last entry anyone bothered to make." Norlin raced from the lab and burst into the sunlight. Except for the more visible destruc-tion, he found it hard to believe this world was in any turmoil. Wind whistled softly through the trees in the green areas. The blue sky had enough fluffy white clouds to hide the sun every

few minutes and put to rout the rising summer heat.

He was so intent on reaching the next build-ing he didn't hear the whistle above his head. When the second rocket launched, he saw the flare and dived onto his belly. The rocket swerved and tried to home on him. It blasted a small crater in the ground behind him.

Norlin swept his laserifle in a circle and turned .the side of the building into slag. He didn't wait to see if he had killed the sniper. He got to his feet and ran on, smashing into the wall, spinning, and plunging into the interior.

He fired at a moving object. The woman let out a scream and fell backward, pistol falling from her lifeless hand. Norlin kicked the weapon away and began a systematic search for Neela. He gagged when he saw the corpses in the first three makeshift cells. Someone had penned the victims inside and blown them apart with a rocket pistol.

The men in the next two cells were little bet-ter than dead. They stirred feebly. Norlin tried to interrogate one. "Neela Cosarrian. Where is she?"

The man reached out weakly. Norlin opened the cell door and hurried on. He had no hope that the man might get free, but it was all he could do for him.

He found her in the last cell. Norlin wouldn't have recognized her except for the blouse she wore. He had given it to her on her birthday two months ago.

"Neela!"

"Pier? They put me in here. Dr. Scotto tried to rescue me..." Her voice petered out. She col-lapsed in his arms. Norlin swung her over his shoulders and lifted. She hadn't been fed in days; she was feather light. He reached sunlight again and stopped. Two men armed with rocket pistols prowled around the ship. These lacked the power to breach the ship's lock, but they were more than adequate to blow him and Neela into atoms.

Thoughts of honor and duty and his oath to protect the civilian population flashed through his head. Pier Norlin lifted the laserifle and touched the trigger. A deadly bolt of coherent radiation erupted and turned one prowler's head to vapor. The other returned fire.

By this time Norlin had started across the lawn separating him and Neela from escape in the ship. The man fired wildly, the rockets never coming close enough to lock on to Norlin. A second bolt from the laserifle sent the man scurrying for the cover of a burned-out floater car. Norlin kept firing and forced the man to stay under cover. The laserifle left little more than sludge where the car had been; the man sought cover farther away.

Norlin tossed away the rifle when it sput-tered, its magazine exhausted.

"I put the energy to good use," he said to Neela. "I got you back." He gave the 'lock opening sequence to the ship and heaved the woman inside. "Close, prepare for liftoff," he ordered.

The ship did not respond. He cursed. The two men had somehow damaged the computer, he thought.

"Fuel is critical," the computer said. "Is the added cargo necessary?"

"Cargo?" Norlin cried, outraged. "You're talk-ing about a human." No response. Norlin turned to where he had laid Neela on the floor. Her eyes were closed and a look of serenity had erased the pain when he had first found her.

"It'll be all right," he said, cradling her head in his lap.

"There is only one human aboard," the com-puter said. Again came a long silence. "She is no longer alive."

Norlin panicked. He pressed his fingertip into Neela's throat, searching for a pulse. He found none. His hand under her nostrils betrayed no exhalation. Prying open one eye he saw only a fixed pupil. There wasn't any reaction to light.

"No!" he cried. "You can't die on me! No!"

"She is dead," the computer repeated. "Fuel is critical. Please unload any mass not required." Pier Norlin held back the tears as he dragged his lover outside and laid her behind the ex-haust tubes. He couldn't give her a proper bu-rial. Cremation would have to do.

"Launch," he said in a choked voice. "Get us to the Preceptor as quickly as fuel allows. Launch code Neela."

The computer said nothing. Lights dimmed as power shifted to the control circuits and the engines ignited. Norlin was crushed into his couch. Only then did he cry. The tears streamed back across his cheeks and spattered on the bulkhead behind his couch.

It was all he could do for her, and it wasn't enough.