Chapter 1

Steg gazed down from the castle battlements at the scene below. The ancient town of Castlehome was spread before him, its streets and market place busy with both country and townspeople. A wisp of residual cloud clung reluctantly to the red tiled rooftops while cobbled streets glistened from a light rain shower. Farmers with loaded e-trucks were bringing in their produce and livestock for the market, traders were preparing their stalls setting out local and offworld merchandise, food vendors and dusty bakers were preparing their displays on scrubbed tables; the market atmosphere was growing in intensity. Market day always generated eager activities and ascending excitement for all, young and old.

To his right, he could see the small seaport where brightly colored sails were being set to catch the freshening breeze. Fishermen had already unloaded their catches for the market and now with the wind favorable, they were heading back to sea away from the chatter and nagging, back to their more demanding mistress.

To his left, in the distance, he was barely able to make out the rising spires of star ships impatient to return to space. Standing above even the largest of the Homeworld fleet was the visiting Imperial destroyer, its crew and passengers constituting the first goodwill mission from the Western Star Empire—the Empire—for over a century.

Steg grimaced. The Empire was often careless with its friends and made enemies only too readily. Homeworld was an independent planet, located near the Rim, generally regarded as being too distant from the center of Imperial interests to attract commercial attention or to offer any substantial benefits under the so-called treaty of friendship with the Empire.

The Imperial representative with his gaudy entourage and military escort had not impressed him. The officers were tight-lipped and their men were dour and taciturn, lacking the open camaraderie enjoyed by the military forces of Homeworld.

He straightened and turned to watch as the Castle Guard approached at the double on their ceremonial circuit of the castle, laser weapons at the ready and polished chain mail glistening in the low rays of the early morning sun. It was the morning changing of the guard ceremony, colorful and professional.

Homeworld culture was a purposeful, designed anachronism where concepts of earls and romance from ancient and possibly mythical ages were merged with modern science, weaponry, and equipment. The lifestyle was supported by wealth generated from inter-system trading and also from mining a nearby asteroid belt using automated and nanite-based processes. The planet’s nanotechnology surpassed even that available to the Imperials and Homeworld’s restrictive policy ensured that little of this expertise was exported to possible competitors.

Steg returned the salute of the stern-faced sergeant at arms as the squad marched by. They were traveling their regular circuit which covered almost a kay along the upper levels of the castle, halting at each station to drop off replacements and collect those who had completed their early morning watch.

Castle Guard members were drawn from the best military candidates on Homeworld, and were dedicated to guarding Castlehome, and more importantly, to protecting the ruling Earl and his family. The Castle Guard was an elite force with a reputation of fearlessness, whose reputation was reinforced and re-kindled whenever Homeworld took up arms in defense of their planet, its resources, or its shipping lanes.

As Steg turned he collided with one of the visiting Imperial soldiers. The visitor backed away, reluctant to meet Steg’s gaze.

“My fault,” the visitor offered.

Steg nodded and watched the soldier hurry along in the direction taken by the Castle Guards. Fortunately, Steg thought, the visitor’s disregard of decorum had gone unobserved; except, that is, for the blue-robed Acolyte who was watching from across the top of the corner turret. Steg was on a welcome tenday break from his shuttle pilot duties and he was dressed in casual greens without rank or house colors, so the visiting soldier was unlikely to be aware of his unintended insult.

Steg, at twenty-five, was the youngest nephew of the current Earl and he considered he was well outside the line of succession and thus able to forego Homeworld’s strict rules of conduct. He, like all Homeworlders, followed the code of honor accepted by all who bore arms and that was enough, he considered.

“Sir?” His reverie was interrupted by an orderly. She was barely in her twenties, fresh-faced, and was preparing for entry into the Castle Guard training course for officers. Her duties as orderly were intended to introduce her into the military structure of Castlehome.

“Yes, Marcia?”

“Sir, I have a message from Drill Sergeant Thomas. He said to remind you of the drill session. Before you go off on your wanderings, he said. The training squad’s waiting for you now.”

“Did he? I guess he said something along those lines but with rather different words?”

“Yes, sir. You know the drill sergeant.”

Steg nodded his understanding. “Come on, we’ll see what Thomas has in store for me this morning. Then I may be able to leave this madhouse for a few days.”

“Sir?” Marcia looked shocked as she hurried along in his trail.

Steg had not forgotten the drill session, although he had been preoccupied with his concerns about the visiting Imperials. Military training was an almost daily routine for the Guard, for Homeworld’s Defense Force, and for members of the Earl’s family. Even though Steg was on leave, the drill sergeant never missed an opportunity to include him in his drill sessions.

At least, thought Steg as he joined the training squad of junior officers, the exercises helped to while away the time until he was back in space. They had just started their warm-up routine when Thomas signaled a stop. A small group of Imperial officers and attendants had entered the drill hall under escort of a junior Castle lieutenant, followed discretely by another blue-robed Acolyte.

“Drill Sergeant,” called Junior Lieutenant Hall. “Our visitors would like to participate in your training session. A practice bout was suggested. The Empire has some excellent swordsmen and perhaps your trainees will learn something new. What do you think?”

“Why yes, sir,” responded Thomas. He turned and pointed at Steg. “You. I want a volunteer.”

Steg stepped forward and stumbled, dropping his practice sword with a clatter.

“Clumsy oaf,” chastised the drill sergeant.

“Sorry, sir.” Steg pretended not to see the visitors’ exchange of bored looks as he picked up his sword. They wanted an entertaining show and he would contribute to that spectacle. In his opinion, it would be a benefit if he helped cause the Imperials to downgrade their assessment of Homeworld military abilities and effectiveness.

“Sergeant, do you think—?” Hall had a worried frown on his face.

“Yes, sir.” Thomas spoke firmly. “This recruit needs the experience. Sir.” He snapped his heels together to emphasize his point and decision. He did not mention that Steg had been the sword champion of his graduating class.

“Well, perhaps you are correct.” The junior lieutenant turned to the visitors. “Gentlemen and ladies, would someone volunteer?” One of the visitors waved a languid hand. “Major Varus, your changing room is through there. The drill sergeant will have someone kit you out. Now we can all watch from over here.” He led the small group to a raised gallery. “Unfortunately we do not have many visitors who can show us the more up to date techniques and styles of sword play developed by the experts in the Imperial courts.” He ignored the not so subtle comments and uncomplimentary wisecracks of the visitors as they waited impatiently for the bout to begin.

Steg also ignored the visitors’ comments. He suspected they had volunteered one of their better swordsmen and knew he would be tested in this practice bout. He stretched and relaxed his muscles under the protective practice padding, following the pre-fight preliminaries taught by Brioude, his swordmaster. At last his opponent returned from the changing rooms, padded and ready, practice sword in hand.

Drill Sergeant Thomas gestured, clearing the drill square for the two swordsmen. He checked each sword carefully; a killing sword was not permitted in a practice bout. The code was strict. The two-handed practice swords were dangerous enough; heavy and blunt, their unsharpened edges were capable of inflicting painful and even damaging blows to unprotected parts of the body.

His checks completed, the drill sergeant stepped outside the square and signaled for the bout to begin.

Steg’s opponent moved proficiently through an involved ceremonial opening play, his sword flashing and challenging as it sliced the air. Steg watched carefully, evaluating the style and ability of the Imperial swordsman. When Varus completed his opening play, Steg, required by ancient tradition to return a ceremonial challenge, copied the moves, fumbling and staggering in the process. He caught a rumble of amusement from the watching visitors. His fellow squad members maintained a cautious and concerned attitude, their expressions somber.

The visitor moved forward confidently, displaying certainty of his ability to teach his backworld opponent a quick lesson in sword fighting. He moved forward, his sword flashing in alternating circles, the tip of the blade always turning towards Steg

The visitor’s play was a demonstration piece and Steg understood its purpose was to force him into a defensive position. He accepted the ploy and moved clumsily. He tripped. As he fell he appeared to accidentally kick his opponent’s ankle, causing him to stagger forward. Steg adjusted his hold on his sword and rammed the butt of the handle into his opponent’s ribs between the side fastenings of the protective padding. They both collapsed; Steg unharmed, while his opponent was gasping for breath and clutching his side. Normally Steg would have been more courteous to an opponent; however, the attitude of the Imperials rankled. The audience on the raised gallery appeared to be unaware of Steg’s maneuver.

Steg regained his feet and stood back, sword held point down, grounded, allowing his opponent to recover. The gesture was a studied insult. The visitor’s face reddened and he charged towards Steg, finesse forgotten, sword raised as anger drove him into the fight. Steg moved aside with none of the clumsiness he had earlier displayed, effortlessly parrying a series of ill-aimed blows. His opponent steadied himself and began a more sophisticated routine intended at least to disarm Steg if not to injure him. Aware of the threat, Steg moved in closer to the visitor, crudely feinted and struck as by accident his opponent’s sword hand with numbing force. The Imperial swordsman, his hand muscles momentarily deadened, dropped his sword with a clatter. It fell and landed out of his immediate reach. His curse echoed around the drill hall. He flexed feeling back into his hand.

One of the watching visitors moved forward, his arrogance seeming at last to overcome courtesy, caution, and orders.

“Here, Varus. Use a real sword and finish off this clumsy barbarian,” he called as he threw his sword, its killing blade flashing as it spun across the training hall. Steg’s opponent caught the sword carefully by the hilt and stood still, momentarily undecided. Suddenly, he lunged, moving with a deadly swiftness, the blade signaling his intent. Steg feinted, appearing to move away from his opponent. Instead, he moved closer and struck with his practice sword, the sudden blow breaking his opponent’s arm. The killing blade dropped to the floor. Steg ignored the now crippled and pale visitor and moved to the fallen sword. He placed his foot on the weapon and raised his own sword and rested it on his shoulder. He looked at the drill sergeant and then at the visitors.

“I challenge the owner of this dishonorable sword.” The formal phrasing dropped each word into the depths of a sudden hush.

The junior lieutenant looked startled and raised his hand as though in protest, stopping his gesture when he saw the severe expression on Steg’s face. An intense debate broke out amongst the visitors. Steg’s companions moved as though to arm themselves from the weapons rack along the near wall of the drill hall, only to be stopped by a savage gesture from the drill sergeant, who was speaking into a small comunit. The response he received caused him to move quickly to the center of the practice square.

“Gentlemen.” His voice stilled both Homeworlders and Imperials. “A valid challenge has been issued. According to the code of Homeworld, and confirmed in our treaty with the Western Star Empire, the owner of the sword may claim it back. First, he must cleanse its honor. To decline the challenge is possible. If the challenge is declined, the owner of the sword will be subject to arrest and will face disciplinary charges here, on Homeworld. The maximum penalty is limited to ten years imprisonment, because no one has been killed.”

The visitors continued their huddled conference. Some were apparently shocked at the situation, although some wore expressions of satisfaction. The owner of the sword stepped down from the raised gallery. He was dressed in Imperial finery, almost foppish. He was as tall as Steg, and moved with confidence, unconcerned that he was facing a duel that could result in injury or death of either participant.

“The sword is mine and I defend its honor.”

Steg moved back. The drill sergeant nodded his approval.

“Please state your name for our records.” The drill sergeant held out his comunit towards the visitor.

“Marius, of House of Aluta. And barbarian, what is your name?”

“Steg de Coeur.”

Marius appeared startled for a moment. However his expression quickly adjusted. He collected his sword and stepped back to join the Imperial group.

“Ten minutes, gentlemen,” called the drill sergeant.

Steg commenced to discard the protective padding and was quickly assisted by two of his fellow officers. The drill sergeant and the junior lieutenant joined them.

“He’s their ship champion,” commented Hall. “You were foolish to challenge.”

“No, he was correct to challenge.” The speaker was Major Reading; he had arrived in response to the communication from the drill sergeant. Steg and his assistants snapped to attention. The major continued. “Easy. de Coeur had no option but to challenge. We ran the monitor tape through quickly and apart from some unnecessary clowning and minor discourtesies, you have behaved correctly. However you have an unenviable issue to resolve. Kill him, a visitor on a goodwill mission, and you insult the Empire. Let him win or worse and we have lost honor, at least. You must defeat him without causing his death. A challenge, indeed.”

“Yes, Major. I realized I ran some risks in this. Obviously the Imperials were seeking just this type of opportunity to discredit Homeworld.” Steg turned to Thomas. “Should I get my sword?”

“No, stay here. I sent a runner to Swordmaster Brioude. He’ll bring your sword, I daresay. And counsel you.”

A challenge of honor was a real battle and Steg knew he would need all his skills, not only to ensure his own survival, but also to safeguard the life of his experienced opponent. He began the relaxing mantra taught by the Swordmaster. The drill hall was quiet, voices subdued. A number of Acolytes had gathered at the far end of the drill hall and he noted some saffron robes as well, in the group. He paused as a flurry at the doorway heralded the arrival of an elderly man and his two younger assistants. Steg heard one of the Imperial visitors recognize and identify the elderly man as Swordmaster Brioude. Steg stepped forward and bowed his head.

“Master, your presence honors me.”

“Young Steg, what mischief are you up to now? I know, I have been told your challenge was necessary, but perhaps some of the circumstances could have been avoided. Unless—” He peered at the major. “Yes, I see. Very well. Steg, my young friend, I’ve been waiting for a suitable occasion for this.” He reached for the black sword carried by one of his assistants and handed it to Steg.

“Here. Ebony is yours. Take it. Honor it. I’m a frail old man and will not use it again. The sword is now keyed to you, to your DNA.”

Steg was surprised at the unexpected gift. Almost reluctantly he accepted the proffered sword. Brioude appeared to falter and sway, and his two assistants rushed to steady him. Steg momentarily was speechless, his throat tight. The words of the Swordmaster stunned him. The Acolytes had re-keyed Ebony; all the hilt-hidden bio-nanite and micronic protective technology was now focused, not on the Swordmaster, but on him, Steg de Coeur. As he held the sword in both hands, he understood the presentation portended more than a need to defeat his Imperial opponent.

“But Swordmaster, I cannot—” he began, as questions raced through his mind.

“Nonsense. We have been waiting for the opportunity. I have been the custodian—you are of the right line to wield it as intended. I repeat—take it, use it with honor. I’ll wait and watch from over here.” He moved away with the help of his assistants.

Steg unsheathed the weapon. His Homeworld audience watched in silence. All knew of the general history of the sword, although few had indeed been privileged to wield the weapon itself. According to rumor it had been constructed for the First Earl and used by him in battle against star pirates and invaders. Steg, with the Swordmaster’s consent, had previously examined the etched patterns along the blade, and had translated the coded patterns into a graphic and detailed dramatic history of the weapon and its owners over the centuries, validating most of the rumors.

Now he gripped the black hilt and felt a sudden flow of power. His head throbbed, his vision blurred; for a moment he was unable to see anything at all. Then his head cleared, his vision returned. He relaxed. Ebony was his. He was ready.

“Gentlemen.” The drill sergeant’s firm voice drew the attention of the small groups of onlookers. “Ten minutes have passed. Are you ready?”

Thpmas looked first at Steg, who nodded. He then turned to the Imperial visitor. “And you, sir?”

Marius also nodded.

The drill sergeant again withdrew from the marked drill square. Steg noted the small stunner in his hand.

“The rules are known to you both. I will repeat the important points, which I will enforce. At first blood you will separate. If honor has been satisfied the duel is over. The challenger has the right to make that determination. If honor has not been satisfied the duel will continue. Quarter will be given at the cry. Any infringement of these rules will result in arrest of the defaulter. You now may proceed.”

“Ready for your lesson, barbarian?”

Steg hung his head in parody of a formal bow. “You honor me, oh champion.”

The visitor executed the formal engagement salute with polished ease. Steg acknowledged to himself that he faced an experienced and capable foe. He recalled the traditional challenge of the Cazanae, aliens who had visited Homeworld and had shared their skills and techniques. The Cazanae were swordmasters, one and all, and even the Master Brioude acknowledged their abilities far surpassed his own. Steg spun and cartwheeled across the square, duplicating the Cazanae challenge, Ebony’s black blade flashing counter to each spin and wheel. With each action he increased the height of his leap until at the finale he was six feet above the floor, the circle of flashing steel forming an impenetrable barrier. He landed with perfect balance, facing his opponent who had watched the ceremonial display with a disdainful expression. Steg did not hear the soft ripple of applause from the watching Homeworlders.

“Come now, is that the best you can do?”

Steg ignored the jibe. He had intended to unsettle his opponent and thought he may have succeeded. They stood facing each other with swords raised, and began their dance of steel. Each move, each feint, each thrust and parry, was a component of a formal and structured dance intended to seek out the weaknesses of the other. Steg maintained a solid wall of steel beyond which his opponent could not reach. Suddenly Steg moved out, changing both style and strategy. Attack instead of defense. Marius countered. The two swords clashed and rang out their songs of battle. Steg felt a wave of exhilaration as adrenalin flowed. Power surged. He pressed forward, spinning Ebony furiously against the now defensive Marius. A flash of concern touched the visitor’s face.

Marius disengaged and stepped back and the two combatants paused in their furious exchange.

“You have potential, barbarian.” His breathing was labored.

“If you need a rest, I’m sure it can be arranged.”

Steg defended against the savage response and instead of retreating, pressed forward. Marius feinted and stepped sideways, his blade thrusting as he detected an unguarded opportunity. However, Steg had turned away and utilizing another Cazanae maneuver, leapt high, spinning up and over his opponent, still maintaining his wall of steel. At the apex of the leap, he used the hilt of his sword to touch Marius on the head. The maneuver was a calculated insult. Marius lashed out as Steg hit the floor, but he parried the blow with ease. They circled, continuing to assess and re-assess each other. The two swords were never still. The fight was a dazzling display of pyrotechnic energy from spinning and clashing blades. They were wielded by two well-trained and expert swordsmen, each seeking the slightest sign of weakness in the other. Steg was exceptionally fit and his confidence increased as he detected the beginning of his opponent’s exhaustion.

Marius spun, feinting and striking at his opponent’s body. Steg saw the play and accepted the challenge. The sequence was too rapid for the audience to follow. Steg spun Ebony and for a moment it appeared to leave his hands. Marius misread the maneuver and attacked. Steg stood back, blood dripping from a fine line drawn down his cheek. The visitors cheered.

Then Marius dropped his sword, a shocked and savage expression spreading over his face. He clasped his right shoulder. His right arm hung limply down his side. Blood seeped through his fingers and started to flow down his arm. Steg stood still, head bowed, Ebony at rest. His cheek cut was superficial.

The drill sergeant stepped forward into the drill square.

“Gentlemen, I declare honor has been satisfied.” He caught Marius as he sagged. “Do you wish our medic or your own to attend?”

“My own, damn you,” came the response through pale and clenched lips. The drill sergeant signaled the visitors to assist Marius. One of the Imperials stopped near Steg.

“Be aware, barbarian—be wary of dark nights. Marius or his family will seek revenge. And we’ll help him. Hide yourself well.”

The offworlder moved on before Steg could respond. He shrugged and turned to Master Brioude who had joined the group of concerned Homeworlders now surrounding Steg.

“Your sword, Master.” He proffered Ebony, almost reluctantly.

“No, no. Ebony is yours, now. You’ve earned it with honor. And your medic is here, to attend to your cut.”

Steg nodded and turned to the waiting medic. Waves of exhaustion washed through him as the cut began to smart. His system was descending from its adrenalin and possibly Ebony-induced high. He clung possessively to the weapon as the medic applied first aid.

“It’s not a deep cut, no scar this time,” the medic smiled as she applied a small dressing.

“Thanks for your help,” Steg acknowledged.

The major stepped closer. “A good win, Steg, although I think you’ve earned an enemy for yourself.” The major held up his hand for silence as he listened to his comunit. He acknowledged the message and addressed Steg and his companions. “It’s started already. They reacted very quickly. A formal protest has been delivered to the Castle Commandant by the Imperials, demanding your arrest for malicious assault and illegal wounding of one Marius, of the House of Aluta. No mention of a properly challenged duel. Just as well our monitor cams were running—we can deliver video in rebuttal. In the meantime, the Commandant suggests all of you take some well-deserved leave—think of it as an order rather than a suggestion. Go to your homes, even further, if you wish. I don’t want to see any of you here for the next tenday. If you remain, you will be exposed to action by the Imperials—they don’t like losing face, and accidents may happen. Don’t worry; you’ll get news of your postings, wherever you are. Now go.” He watched as the group dispersed.

“Thomas, you’re relieved from duty here. And Steg, you have a tenday or more before you need to return to your shuttle duties. Take yourselves off for a long hike. Thomas, I suggest you both take one of the air-vs and travel along the White Cliffs. Ensure the flight path stays in radar shadow where possible. Program the autopilot to stop a number of times along the route, both outbound and return. That way, no one will know where you dropped off. Stay out for a tenday—the visitors should have departed well before then. Go—I’ll authorize transport. Thirty minutes to the pad for liftoff. Steg, leave your sword, I‘ll get it to Brioude for you.”

******

Chapter 2

The air-v was armed and armored, a fusion-powered flying tank capable of low terrain hedgehopping, although in this instance the air-v was cliff hopping. Steg had the command seat and was part flying, part monitoring the autopilot program. The craft was skirting the White Cliffs, a geographic feature of this section of the coast that ran for hundreds of kays. The cliffs provided a substantial radar shadow that would hide them even from the advanced electronics available to their Imperial visitors. They would be detectable to Castlehome g-sats, although Steg doubted that the Imperials could penetrate their security. The air-v would return to Castlehome on autopilot alone, slowing, stopping and accelerating randomly in order to provide additional confusion to anyone who was able to monitor or trace its flight path.

In the meantime, Steg and Thomas planned to hike away from the coastline, deeper into the forest. Steg was confident that searchers even equipped with heat seekers would not be able to identify them under the thick canopy; they would be indistinguishable from wild animals that roamed freely on Homeworld. Steg enjoyed his forays into the forest; typically they isolated him from the formal strictures of Castlehome and gave him an opportunity to test his tracking and hunting skills. This time however, he was torn between the attractions of a forest trek and growing apprehension about taking his departure from Castlehome, even if was only for a tenday.

“I feel as though I am running away from something,” he complained.

“Well, those Imperials were hunting blood although they showed bad judgment. Now they really will be after blood—yours, for revenge, not honor. I am not sure the Empire’s goodwill is really something we need.”

“They are after something,” mused Steg. “I cannot think what. Recruits for some war they are planning? Perhaps they have heard stories about Homeworld?”

Thomas snorted. “The Empire has always had suspicions about the wealth of Homeworld, even though we do not flaunt it. Also, they need us as a barrier against whatever is out there.” He pointed upwards without real direction. “And most of all, the Empire wants subservient territories, which they can then pillage to their heart’s content.”

Steg agreed. “The First Earl decreed that we should disguise our wealth to avoid attacks and raids by pirates and other predators. I think our visitors are predators.”

“Our defense system is always armed—we could hold off the Empire’s Third Fleet, if we needed.”

“Well, for a short while, “ agreed Steg. “Maybe it’s just reconnaissance. An Imperial officer was trailing the Castle guards at morning watch changeover. Their intelligence reports would be very interesting reading. We could learn what our weaknesses are if we could get a copy.”

“If they file it or transmit it, we will see it,” affirmed Thomas. “The Acolytes will make certain of that. I daresay they are already searching for any report the Imperials produce about Homeworld. Knowing the Acolytes, they probably have penetrated Imperial ship security—probably dumped a copy of all the ship’s records into our memory glasses.”

Steg checked the instruments. “Our evac point is coming up. We need to drop and get into the forest as quickly as possible.”

Steg thumped his bedroll in a futile attempt to smooth out its lumps. They were half way through the tenday and the ground was not getting any softer. They were camped in a small clearing, still confident of little risk of detection. The night was exceptionally clear and the stars stood out against their black backdrop. This was Homeworld at its most relaxing, thought Steg. Five days of solid marching through the forest along barely identifiable trails had tested his stamina and he was enjoying this opportunity to rest. Then distant rumblings silenced the night sounds of the forest and roused him from his reverie. He raised his head and listened carefully. The sounds continued. He turned towards Thomas. Or at least towards his sleeping bag.

“Thunder, explosions or cannon fire?”

“Not thunder. Both explosions and cannon,” came the soft response. A barely discernible tremor of concern was evident in the drill sergeant’s voice. “And I was listening to routine traffic on the ComNet and suddenly it cut out—nothing now except heavy static.”

“Accident or attack?”

“Unlikely to be an accident.” Thomas paused, unable to immediately voice his suspicions. “Everything cut out almost simultaneously. That would be a strange accident. The ComNet has multiple stations and satellites. It would take a strange accident to take out the core, just like that. Now, a coordinated attack—that could stop everything at once. A report earlier mentioned a second Imperial destroyer landing at Castlehome port—an unscheduled visit apparently. But that is barely thinkable—”

“Is it? They have got the men, weapons, and probably the inclination. The difficulty would be overcoming our defense system—how could they penetrate that?”

“Traitors?” The drill sergeant reluctantly suggested. They both fell silent. Thomas continued to listen to his comunit.

“Steg, listen up,” he instructed. “Condition red is being broadcast on DefNet. And also someone is transmitting a general order for all military personnel and auxiliaries to report immediately to Castlehome.”

Steg grabbed his comunit. “That’s contrary to Standing Orders,” he commented as he plugged the earpiece into his ear. “They—whoever—are giving themselves away. Anything severe enough both to bring down ComNet and to cause a condition red alert on DefNet requires just the opposite—all military units to disperse and prepare for guerilla defense. This means Homeworld has been invaded, and Castlehome captured. The Castle in enemy hands—” His voice broke. “This is disastrous.”

Thomas sounded horrified at the possibilities. “What has happened? Have the Imperials really somehow attacked and neutralized our defense system?” His pragmatism came to the fore. “No such thing as an impregnable fortress. We need to find out what has happened.”

“I agree,” urged Steg. “We have a long trek in front of us. While we cannot use ComNet either to make contact or to report, we must discover what disaster has befallen Homeworld. We will be needed to help arrange a counterstrike. Come on.”

Thomas agreed with Steg’s air of urgency and they quickly broke camp, repacking for a forced march. Thomas paused to listen again to the broadcasts.

“Instructions to report are still being broadcast. We are supposed to acknowledge.” Thomas’s tone was wry.

“And if anyone transmits, they’ll have a trace and they’ll be prisoners before morning,” responded Steg.

Thomas continued to listen, “Well, someone is thinking. A second transmission is reminding Homeworld listeners to follow Standing Orders. I think the Imperials are going to encounter major issues if they try to round up Homeworld military.”

They set out, the drill sergeant leading. Steg soon realized Thomas was setting a pace that made the trek of the last five days a picnic by comparison. He would need to draw on all his inner resources, to keep up. The drill sergeant was an old and seasoned campaigner and could maintain his distance-consuming pace for hours, and when circumstances demanded, for days. Steg just hoped Thomas would remember to stop and rest occasionally.

The night remained clear and whenever they moved out from the forest canopy, the stars were sharp and bright. Distant rumblings had faded and eventually stopped. The silence was broken occasionally by the sleepy protest of a disturbed animal as they passed by, or by the querulous chirp of a bird awakened before dawn. The chill seeping into Steg’s bones had nothing to do with the temperature of the night. Castlehome was his home, his life, and he dared not think about the possible fate of his family, of his parents and two older brothers. He could only carry on in the hope that all were safe and unharmed. He could not dwell on the alternatives.

Thomas paused twice, each time to check the map and their heading. Steg was tired. Now the early morning glow of false dawn was softening the darkness of the night as the drill sergeant halted and dropped his packs. Steg quickly followed suit.

“We can rest here for a while, Steg. The forest breaks into a clearing just ahead. Set out some intruder sensors and then settle in behind these fallen tree trunks. That way we both can get some sleep. Food first, and then sleep—five hours. If we can keep up this pace, by mid-day tomorrow we will reach a small farm village just on the edge of the forest.”

Steg set out the sensors from his weapons pack and then heated up his field rations. He was asleep minutes after he finished his breakfast. He did not dream.

The forest came to an abrupt end, as tall trees gave way to the openness of cultivated farmland. They both paused under the shaded coolness and checked the fields for movement. A small group of farm buildings centering the cultivation was quiet and without signs of life. Steg discerned a feeling of forlorn loneliness about the low stone-built complex and the afternoon shadows emphasized its emptiness.

“The farmers have left here. Perhaps they also have gone to the village for news. Or they have already gone into hiding.” Thomas scratched at his beard.

Steg checked the map. “The village is about twenty kays down the valley. We should keep going.” He hefted his packs back into place and they headed on past the deserted farmhouse.

They reached the small village well after nightfall. They had encountered no one on the road, no farm animals and no one working in the fields. Even the automatic watering systems were powered down. Both ComNet and DefNet were silent. That silence was worrying. As they entered the village, they dropped off their supply packs in a shadowed area, keeping only their weapons packs, and then moved forward in full combat readiness.

“Don’t approach the houses,” advised Thomas quietly. “No lights showing. The inn should be our first stop.”

Steg nodded his agreement. The inn was a further hundred yards or so, and Steg expected that the innkeeper or his guests, villagers or travelers, would have news of what was happening. At the inn door, Steg handed his weapons pack to Thomas and pushed open the heavy door. He stepped through the small entry foyer into the dimly lit taproom. Thomas was immediately behind him.

Conversations halted, although no one looked openly at the two strangers. Steg stopped to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light. There was silence in the taproom as though a common breath was being held while guesses were made as to their identity. Steg peered around in an almost futile attempt to pierce the gloom and waited as a hesitant innkeeper reluctantly approached.

“From Castlehome?” he inquired softly, his nervous voice barely lasting across the short distance that separated them.

Steg nodded.

The innkeeper visibly relaxed, dropping the edge of his apron where he had been wiping his already clean hands over and over. He looked behind Steg at Thomas, part hidden in the deeper shadows. “I recognize you, I’ve seen you there. We are hearing strange stories—offworlders—the Empire has taken over Castlehome. Can I help you?”

“Food, drink and a bed for the night,” Steg replied, matching the soft caution of the innkeeper. In the background the gentle murmur of numerous conversations again filled the room, as guests and drinkers carefully ignored the activity at the door. “Are any offworlders here?”

“Not in my inn. Not now. They were here earlier—I will tell you while you eat. Come in, I have a good table, in the corner there, and you and your friend will be able to watch the door if you wish.” The innkeeper told the serving maid to bring food and drink—the menu was short—a good Homeworld stew, according to the innkeeper, which he described as the best in the district as he led them to a table away from the entrance. He waited for Steg and Thomas to select their seating and carefully ignored the two weapons packs that Thomas pushed under the side of the table. He carried on a one-sided conversation while they ate. “There are three offworlders—Imperials—here, in the village. They arrived in their flyer this morning and posted notices everywhere. They are camped on the common.” A quick smile flittered across his face. “Their tents are palatial, no match at all for my sparse rooms. And they did not like the idea of sharing with bed bugs—my guests were all scratching, they were. And we were looking for the bug killer powders. Even the Imperials started to scratch, they did. So they decided they were safer outdoors.”

“What do the notices say?” queried Thomas.

“Well, one is a reward notice—seems like they think the village may be sheltering some of the Earl’s men, soldiers and officers, who they would like to capture. The other is some kind of proclamation. It says that the Earl was plotting against the Empire and that he held power illegally, that he seized the throne from the rightful heir.” He sneered. “They don’t know their Homeworld history—why, the Earl’s lineage goes all the way back to the First Earl, as we all know –.”

“Who have they nominated as ruler?” interrupted Steg, his concern obvious.

“The Lady Gaetja, for her infant son, Edrin.”

“So she is the traitor,” Thomas cursed. “She is a commoner, and not even a Homeworlder. Never trust anyone from Denixx, there’s a start. Her late husband was a minor baron, nowhere near the line of succession. And to claim Castlehome for her son –.” He stopped as Steg gripped his arm.

“And I suppose warrants are out for the arrest of the Earl’s family?” Steg spoke very softly.

“Yes. And stories are already filtering to us of executions. Murders, more like.” The innkeeper spat out the words. He was careful to look away from Steg, who was showing obvious signs of shock and growing anger.

“What about the Imperials here?” queried Thomas, also keen to explore the possibility of revenge.

“Two young soldiers and an officer, wearing Alutan house colors. We could take them out, but they would have more here tomorrow—we will wait until the time is right. Pretending to be awed, we are. My platoon will be ready when we are needed. Militia Captain, I am.”

“Good,” affirmed Steg. He had his anger under control. “You need to coordinate with Militia Control. It should not be too long before a counter strike is ready.” He spoke with a firmly optimistic tone. “Now we want a few hours sleep. Then we’ll leave, hopefully without being discovered by your Imperial guests. We’ll need some help to reach Castlehome.”

“Sir, you will be safe here. We have comfortable rooms, and welcome, you are. We all support the Earl’s men.” The innkeeper nodded his reassurance. “And his family too, the rightful heirs.”

The innkeeper left the table without further comment and Steg watched as he moved around the taproom, conferring with different groups. The inn slowly emptied as the villagers departed. Steg enjoyed the meal, relaxed in the certainty that the villagers would keep careful watch through the night. At last the innkeeper’s wife came forward to show them to their rooms. Thomas spoke briefly with the innkeeper before he followed.

******

Chapter 3

Steg woke abruptly, struggling for air. A hand was clasped tightly across his mouth, and was removed as the muted voice of the drill sergeant penetrated the fog of deep slumber. Steg sat up, momentarily confused.

“Quiet, Steg. Dawn is only thirty minutes away and we need to move out of the village before the Imperials begin to stir. They—er—consumed a rather large amount of our host’s special brew last night and will be somewhat the worse for it this morning. Come along. There’s a tractor and trailer load waiting to be taken into Castlehome. You are now a hard working farm hand and,” he smiled, “very poor. Here, wear these, so that you look the part.”

Steg donned the proffered clothes. They were clean and the fabric felt rough. The shirt and jacket were loose fitting and would hide his chainmail vest from any but a full inspection.

His breakfast was a rushed meal of bread and cold meats and he watched Thomas examine and select a variety of weapons from their packs. The pile of discarded items grew steadily; they would provide extra supplies for the local militia. The remainder—two short blades, a stunner each and—from the locals—some HEx—would suffice. A larger selection of weapons would be difficult to hide and if discovered by Imperial troops, would invite disaster. Thomas prepared a separate personal pack that he handed to Steg to carry.

An apprehensive farmer was waiting for them outside the inn. He was standing by a tractor and trailer unit, which was burdened with large, round, and ripening cheeses. They were in the early stages of the special processes that finally would produce the Homeworld product for which chefs on many planets would pay a small fortune. Steg almost gagged as he unexpectedly encountered a waft of an especially strong odor.

The tractor was fitted with a sturdy electric motor, which would propel them along at a modest pace. Fully charged, the batteries had a range of a hundred hours of operation which was more than enough to reach their destination. The tractor controls were minimalistic: a throttle lever for speed, another lever that provided one forward and one reverse gear, a brake pedal and a steering wheel. The seats were shaped and marginally padded. With wheels of heavy rubber and springs instead of shock absorbers, their ride would not be comfortable. The tractor and trailer would suffice for their return to Castlehome; the trip would be steady, they would need to restrain their sense of urgency.

“When you reach Castlehome,” explained the farmer. “You can leave it at the Deer’s Head; the owner is my uncle. He will re-charge the batteries until we can collect it. We are happy to be of some help, little though it may be.”

“We will do our best,” promised Thomas. “However, in these times, circumstances may—”

“I understand.”

“We will ensure your brother is reimbursed if the load does not survive the trip,” promised Steg. “That is, assuming we do.”

Thomas then worked on both sides of the trailer, taping long strips of HEx to the underside, just along the edge of the trailer bed, working the plastic material into position. The explosive was almost undetectable, and would be well disguised from prying eyes. He fixed in remote detonators. When armed, it only required a slight touch on a minor imperfection on the inside of his belt to trigger each one. When fired, the explosives would cause metal strapping around the edge of the trailer bed to flail out in pieces of shrapnel, causing significant injuries and perhaps death, to anyone standing within ten yards or so of the sides of the trailer. At last he was satisfied.

“The Imperials will—I trust—think that only primitive backworld farmers could bother with a cargo like this. They will not be too eager to search it thoroughly. Now come on lad, move thy lazy self, we ain’t got all day. It’s after sunrise and we need to be off.”

The innkeeper handed them a food pack and Steg and Thomas took their positions on the tractor unit. They quietly thanked the anxious farmer and innkeeper. Steg noted other villagers positioned protectively around the small village as they began their journey. Thomas set the gear lever for forward travel and slowly edged open the throttle lever. The electric motor was almost silent as the tractor and trailer eased into movement.

Steg tried to relax on the passenger seat. He was certain they were going to experience a long, hard ride. The road ahead was dusty, winding around several small hills before leading into a broad green valley where it hugged a shallow and meandering river. Open patches of pasture grasses stirred and rippled in the light morning breeze. Occasionally, both the road ahead and the river were hidden by small wooded areas, until at last they separated and went their own ways into another larger and densely wooded valley. As yet no other travelers were on the road although life on the small farms along the way was beginning to stir. Steg was eager to glimpse the peaks of Castlehome. He relaxed as much as possible; in different circumstances, he could have enjoyed the peacefulness of the panorama through which they were traveling.

They had no warning. As they rounded a blind corner, an Imperial squad moved into the center of the road, signaling them to stop. Thomas pulled back the throttle lever and stepped hard on the brake pedal, and the heavy trailer ground to a halt. An officer, an Imperial lieutenant, came forward, almost blanching as the ripe aroma made its presence felt. He covered his mouth and nose.

“Ugh. What is that garbage? Come here, both of you, away from that damned stink.”

Steg and Thomas both clambered down from the tractor and moved to where the officer indicated. The squad appeared to be well armed and Steg glimpsed a flyer parked some yards off the road. He slouched carelessly as the officer approached them and kept his eyes downcast, carving an arc in the dust on the edge of the road with the side of his boot.

The officer ignored Steg and addressed Thomas. “Well, where do you think you are going?”

“Sir, we need to go to Castlehome to sell our cheese.” Thomas maintained a servile attitude, in complete contrast with his usual drill square autocracy.

“That’s cheese? I suppose you barbarians will eat anything. Now tell me, have you seen any of the Earl’s men? A severe penalty will be applied to anyone who harbors fugitives,” the officer threatened. He stood in front of Thomas, hands on hips and an undisguised arrogant expression on his face.

He had been questioning these peasant farmers for the last two days and his attitude indicated that he doubted that any of them would know a soldier from Castlehome if they saw one in full uniform. Offworlders did not realize the best of Homeworld military were recruited from these same farmers, and they carried their military inheritance with substantial pride and exceptional loyalty. They could also dissemble; they were able to hide their military culture from the prying eyes of offworlders. As a result, the officer faced a burly, almost elderly farmer, unshaven, accompanied by a lout of a farm lad, both roughly dressed, who were transporting a trailer load of extremely rotten-smelling cheeses, and did not seem to question their legitimacy. The officer dispatched one of his men to examine the trailer and its cargo. The inspection was perfunctory, carried out with the rush of someone who wished his tasks were over quickly.

“Well, have you?”

“No, sir,” Thomas replied. “We ain’t seen soldiers for days. Maybe longer.”

“And you, lad?”

Steg kept his head down. He had recognized the lieutenant as one of the Imperial officers who had watched the sword fight in Castlehome. He waited a moment, scuffing a deeper groove in the dust.

“N—n—no, sir. I ain’t.”

“All right. On you go,” sighed the lieutenant as he signaled his squad to move aside.

Steg and Thomas climbed back on board the tractor. Thomas started up the motor and released the brake. They edged slowly past the obviously bored soldiers and soon the tractor and trailer were rolling along at top speed.

As they traveled on, their conversation was sporadic; Thomas complained about the delay, and Steg commented about the hardness of the seat. Another kay passed.

At Thomas’s hand-signaled instruction, Steg clambered over the trailer, checking where the Imperial soldier had examined the load. Just behind where Thomas sat, Steg found a small device clipped to a restraining strap. He signaled Thomas, pointing out the bug. They continued in silence.

Somehow the earlier magic of the morning had evaporated. Steg was no longer a farm hand taking merchandise to sell in Castlehome; instead, he was a fugitive and his freedom, indeed his life, were at risk. The road stretched ahead, empty and dusty, waiting to treadmill them through the day. The sun was relentless, building its summer heat as the hours and kays passed by. Thomas appeared to be asleep, responding to the curves in the road by coincidence rather than intent.

Thomas again signaled Steg after they had traveled ten kays or so away from the Imperial troop. Steg acknowledged his instruction and reached for the bugging device. He eased the device gently off the strap and dropped it onto the road where the front and rear wheels of the trailer crushed it. He checked further in case a second device had been hidden elsewhere. Satisfied he turned back to Thomas.

“Not very efficient,” he commented.

“Thank your lucky stars, lad,” Thomas remained in character. “Those soldiers could have delayed us all day, or even told us to return home, at the very least.”

Soon the sun arched overhead. Steg felt as though they had been traveling for days; next time he would make sure he had a cushion; the seat was harder than ever. Steg edged sideways, moving to ease his discomfort. As he moved, a wave of pain and nausea almost toppled him from his seat. He grabbed at Thomas, who looked startled at the intensity of Steg’s discomfort.

Thomas pointed ahead at where the road again ran along the river. “Let’s take a break here beside the river. We have been on the road for over six hours, and must have covered seventy—seventy-five kays. Good progress, considering.”

Steg did not reply, as Thomas steered the tractor to the side of the road. He was fighting to sit upright, as he fought against the waves of pain. Thomas positioned the tractor and trailer well off the road and set the brake.

“Steg, what is wrong?”

“Pain—nausea—not mine. Someone is hurt. Here—close by.” He was bewildered; he could not understand why he was reacting so. He staggered down from the tractor and clung to its side. He sensed that was someone in agony, nearby.

Thomas climbed down from his driver’s seat. He was at a loss as to what was affecting Steg. He had a first aid kit in his hand, taken from under the seat.

“Over there,” Steg indicated a direction towards the river. He and Thomas began a search and as Steg moved closer to bank and further downstream, the pain intensified. “There, see? A body, just under the bank. He must be still alive.”

Thomas handed the first aid kit to Steg and waded into the shallow river. He half dragged, half lifted the body from the water. He felt for and found a pulse, ragged and faint. He carried the body up onto the grass, above the riverbank. His face paled when he turned the body over and saw the victim’s face.

“An Acolyte?”

“Yes,” Thomas confirmed, indicating the implanted interface unit almost hidden under a heavy mop of hair. They both worked to apply first aid. Steg cut back burnt clothing and applied salve; the severity of the burns required urgent hospital treatment. Thomas prepared a painkilling injection.

Steg said, “I think I recognize him, but I have never seen him away from the Glass Complex.”

Homeworld Acolytes maintained the Glass Complex, a massive computer installation hidden far below Castlehome. They programmed, repaired and defended the Complex, the functions of which were seldom mentioned or disclosed. The data they stored and managed was sourced from every known world, human and alien. The accumulation was immense; it had been gathered over centuries and added to whenever a starship landed or a data glass arrived from remote sources. The Acolytes were linked to the Complex; they were its high priests and hand servants, interpreters and communicants, locked, human mind to artificial intelligence, in surgical servitude. The Glass Complex knew and read the thoughts of the Acolytes and they in turn read the depths of data held in the storage glasses and saw the patterns and movements in the data.

Thomas examined the body of the unconscious Acolyte and concluded that all they effectively could do was to apply salve, cover the burns and make him comfortable. Their basic first aid was inadequate to cope with the extent and severity of the burns.

A movement from the Acolyte startled them both, the painkiller should have knocked him out for hours.

“Please—maximum stimulants—I must—remain conscious for as long as possible.” The voice was hesitant, very soft, and yet had a note of authority that Thomas could not ignore. “Do it—now.”

“The reaction will kill you,” warned Thomas.

“Do it. Now.” His eyes closed. Steg felt a wash of pain mixed with forceful determination.

An instruction from an Acolyte carried exceptional force, the equivalent of a military command which Thomas could not refuse to obey. He searched in the first aid kit and found the necessary capsule and applied its contents via the injector. After a few moments the Acolyte opened his eyes, red rimmed and blood flecked. He gradually focused on Steg.

“Aaah.” The sound was an exhalation of pain and achievement. “Steg de Coeur. The program was correct.” His eyes closed for a moment as he gathered his strength. They opened again. Steg could discern the Acolyte’s iron control refusing and rejecting pain. “Steg de Coeur. I am carrying documents—identification papers—establishing a new identity for you. No—you must listen.” Steg had turned his head towards Thomas, and the Acolyte grabbed him by the arm. The powerful grip was almost painful.

“The invaders have established—a firm foothold in Castlehome, using Lady Gaetja as their puppet. They bribed the—stupid woman, promising power for her infant son. They used their star ships to destroy the Castle’s heavy defenses. To ensure she—her son can rule—uncontested—they have carried out mass executions. I am sorry—your immediate family—all members—are dead. You are now in line—after your cousins Rakyd and Taroc—who so far have managed to avoid capture—to take the title of true Earl—and we must protect—”

The voice faded and after a brief pause, began again. This time the voice was stronger, aided by a source that Steg could feel although he could not identify it. The Acolyte’s grip on Steg’s arm did not loosen.

“The Imperial invaders are in control of Castlehome and of the Castle. However, they gained access only to limited and remote units of the Glass Complex. We—” His body shook with a spasm of pain. “The Acolytes performed a rather crude lobotomy and separated a small fraction—less than five percent—of the Glass Complex, which is now in the control of the Imperials. They do not realize—they do not understand the true functions of the Complex. We are re-building and extending—it will take time—we will protect the rightful heirs of Homeworld. Steg de Coeur—you must leave—go offworld.” The voice stopped and a wave of pain shook Steg with its intensity. The Acolyte’s body stilled.

Then the voice continued; it sounded hollow, almost metallic. It had changed in timbre and intensity. “—offworld. That way you will be safe from this murderous campaign against surviving members of the Earl’s family. The Complex will guide you and advise when you can return with safety. Listen to me.”

The Acolyte’s eyes were fixed, unseeing. He was no longer alive although somehow he was continuing to speak. He still held Steg’s arm in a firm, unrelenting grip. Alarmed, Steg looked to Thomas for guidance; however, he was equally at a loss, perplexed by the continuing speech from the now apparently lifeless Acolyte.

“Yes, Steg de Coeur. You are correct. This servant of the mind has succumbed to his wounds, he was beyond further care or treatment. Listen carefully. You must leave Homeworld. The body has a package of papers. Take them, study them with care. Your companion must aid your escape. Arrangements have been made with a Rimerian star ship, a freighter called Well Drinker, which will lift off once you are aboard. Follow the instructions. You must ensure the survival of the House de Coeur.”

“When will I be able to return?”

“You will know. If necessary, we will send you a message. We must re-build. Our primary task is to protect House de Coeur. We failed to detect… We must not fail again. This body is dropping out of circuit. Look for the package. Take it. Acknowledge.” The voice was fading again.

Steg searched the Acolyte’s body. “Yes, I found the package—I have it.” The Acolyte’s body fell back. The grip on Steg’s arm relaxed.

“Well,” he managed to utter. “It worsens, Thomas. My family—all murdered by the Imperials. With the help of that traitorous woman.” He stood. “I swear I will avenge these murders.” His voice choked and he hung his head in silent mourning.

******

Chapter 4

“Take care, my lord.”

Steg looked startled for a moment and then nodded his understanding and acquiescence to both the caution and the title.

“Yes, Thomas. Now we need to see what instructions the Complex has provided.” He carefully unwrapped the package and examined the contents, handing each page to his companion when he finished reading it. The Acolytes had provided very detailed instructions for his offworld travels, which Steg memorized. Each page flaked into irrecoverable ash fragments after a few short minutes of exposure.

“These I cannot share,” Steg cautioned, indicating a residual bundle of pages that were quickly flaking into ash. “The Acolytes are very cautious—and concerned. And they enclosed identity papers, credit, cash for me, and papers for you—here, take yours. “

“So, Thomas,” he continued, after he watched the last page flake away. “Off planet I must go. Rather a scattering of the remaining members of the family—few as they are. Will I ever return, I wonder?”

“You will return, my lord.”

“No more titles, Thomas. Now, as these papers indicate, I’m the son of a Phoebean merchant, and we must keep in character. Meet Robert of Ware, a good name for a merchant’s son, don’t you think?” His forced levity was a barrier against the dark clouds of sorrow and loss that threatened to rush in and absorb him.

“But my lord—” Thomas paused at Steg’s frown. “Steg—you are to travel offworld to an Imperial planet. And then what? It sounds like madness to me.”

Steg didn’t elaborate on the detailed instructions that he had received. “Madness? Perhaps. But would you expect to find a fugitive from the Empire hiding on one of its planets?” He did not mention that the plan was for him to purchase an officer’s commission in the Imperial Fleet. “No, it has a daring that bodes well, especially if plans for others of my family are as bold. I know, I’m one of the decoys, Thomas, and I have to avoid the Imperial net. Come on, time is running against us and we still need to reach Castlehome. I have to board that freighter.”

They wrapped the body of the Acolyte in his robe and gently laid him to rest in a shallow grave on the riverbank. Then they replaced the disturbed grass in an attempt to hide the grave from any curious passerby. The body with its laser burns, if discovered, would create excitement and attract the attention of the Imperials. Thomas stood with Steg at the head of the grave and they both gave silent homage to the Acolyte.

Thomas kept the throttle pushed forward and the tractor and trailer trundled along at maximum speed. While reaching their destination as quickly as possible was imperative, they were restricted by the speed of their farm vehicle. Eventually their small road joined another, and on this larger highway they joined a steady stream of travelers and vehicles heading in the same direction. They were well along the road and much closer to Castlehome when they next encountered Imperial forces.

The flow of travelers slowed and then ground to a halt, forming a queue that was constrained by a checkpoint some half-kay ahead. Steg watched the process as the squad of Imperials carried out thorough searches and interrogated travelers in depth. He estimated it would be almost thirty minutes before they reached the barrier formed by the small Imperial force. After a few minutes, Thomas walked back to some recent arrivals, groups of farmers and traders who had joined the growing queue behind them. After a short discussion, some of the men jumped down from their vehicles and moved quickly in different directions; two headed back along the road while the remainder moved off the road into the forest. Thomas returned to claim his driving seat.

“All Homeworld Militia. Armed only with light weapons. I asked two to head back, to stop and divert traffic for the rest of the day,” he advised. “And the others are going to circle around, they will take out the supporting armor.” He indicated the weapon emplacement a hundred yards or so on the other side of the checkpoint. “The Imperials have just three men in support there. That’s not much insurance for them and their checkpoint. As far as we can determine, they didn’t place a guard on their flyer.”

A series of hand signals flowed up and down the queue, as they moved even more slowly towards the Imperial officers and their checkpoint. As time passed, Steg felt the tension increase. No one, farmer or trader, had arrived from the direction of Castlehome and Steg surmised the Imperial forces were restricting the movement of Homeworlders out of Castlehome, probably to prevent fugitives escaping to the country.

They moved slowly towards the checkpoint and he was able to observe the process more closely. The senior Imperial officer, apparently a more experienced captain, was directing the search and examination of each vehicle. He had soldiers stationed on either side of the road to search the vehicles. Four stood on the left, closer to the forest. On the right side he had positioned another four with a junior Imperial lieutenant. The captain stood in the middle of the road, flanked by two soldiers, while two unarmed Homeworld Guards stood behind him. A further three soldiers assisted the search of each vehicle. Off to the side of the road there was a growing mound of confiscated items, mainly weapons, reluctantly given up by their owners. Two covered bodies lay on the bank above the road; they were Homeworlders killed by the Imperial soldiers.

Steg noticed subtle hand signals from the two Homeworld Guards and he turned to Thomas.

“Did you get that?”

“Yes. I know them both—South Guards. Professionals. A corporal and a sergeant. They saw my signals. I took a risk but I had to determine their loyalty. The Imperials brought them along apparently to lend legitimacy to their activities, and also to check identities of any suspects. They—the Imperials—are searching for contraband, mainly weapons, but more importantly for outlaws—that is how they are referring to the Earl’s men and members of the Earl’s family. Their emphasis is on capturing members of the Earl’s family.”

“Will they help us?”

“Oh yes, they’ll help. They’ve lost face with this invasion, and now need to redeem themselves. I told them the trailer is booby-trapped. When our turn comes, as soon as the Imperials begin to search, that will be the signal. After that—we’ll see,” cautioned Thomas.

Eventually they reached the checkpoint. The Imperial captain seemed to notice neither that the flow of travelers had ceased, nor that the travelers remaining behind Thomas and Steg had moved very slowly, opening a substantial gap between them and the cheese-laden trailer.

At the curt command from the Imperial captain, Steg and Thomas, without protest, both climbed down from the tractor unit.

“Stand here.”

“What is this—?” the query was unfinished as the Imperial officer motioned savagely at Thomas.

“No talking. Empty out your pockets, drop all knives and other weapons.” He watched as both Steg and Thomas placed the contents of their pockets on the ground. “Throw those weapons over there,” he directed. Then he gestured to the waiting soldiers. “Search that trailer—check everything.”

The soldiers on either side of the road moved to the trailer, to start their search. As they moved close to the trailer, Thomas thumbed the small imperfections in his belt, the disguised triggers for the detonators on the wagon. The HEx blew with devastating force. The side edges of the trailer exploded in shrapnel, and the spread of death reached the eight Imperial soldiers and the young officer. Thomas threw himself at the Imperial captain, and brought the man to his knees with a savage blow. He disarmed the semi-conscious man, taking his stunner for his own use. Steg had moved towards the two Imperial soldiers; however, the South Guards had already overpowered them and they were both unconscious. He looked towards the gun emplacement and saw the final action as the Homeworlders dealt with that small Imperial force.

The swiftness of the merciless attack completely overwhelmed the small Imperial force and left only three survivors, the captain and two soldiers. Thomas securely bound the arms of their captives, while the other men checked each dead Imperial soldier, moving the bodies to the edge of the forest. The travelers queued behind Thomas and Steg had melted away, their plans to travel to Castlehome suspended for the next day or two. The Homeworld combatants, both Castlehome and Militia, gathered finally at the front of the ruined trailer and tractor unit. The Imperial captain was now conscious.

“Time to leave, my lord Steg,” suggested Thomas. He ignored the start of recognition from the Imperial officer and continued, apparently unaware of the man’s sudden interest in the conversation. “We have to give up our objective of reaching Castlehome—we cannot penetrate the Imperial cordon, with all their checkpoints and patrols. Perhaps we should head towards the High Alps where we can take refuge—what do you think?”

“Yes, you have a strong argument,” replied Steg. “It does seem that Imperial defenses are impenetrable. So I agree, let’s do that. Our Homeworld Resistance will help us, and provide protection. But what about our captives?”

“Do you want me to execute them now?”

“No, no. Let’s be civilized. They shouldn’t delay us if we take them along. They could come in useful as hostages or for exchange of prisoners. Other groups may be able to make use of them.” He then added as an afterthought. “Of course, if they cause problems, you can execute them later. Now, destroy their flyer, and anything else we don’t need. We should leave here as soon as possible.”

Thomas gave the necessary orders, and quickly organized the small Homeworld force. He directed the two South Guards, accompanied by the Militia members, to take the captives through the forest towards the High Alps. He declared he and Steg should travel separately, and arranged to meet the group each evening as they trekked to distant safety. He watched as the Homeworlders and their prisoners moved off the road into the sanctuary of the forest.

“Well, that’s one rendezvous we won’t keep. I instructed the Guards to ’allow’ their captives to escape late this afternoon, and it will be midnight before they can report to their command in Castlehome. I suspect our so-called rendezvous will be raided before dawn. Hopefully it will be a fruitless diversion of Imperial effort.”

“What did you discover from the South Guards?”

“They confirmed all Guards units remain privately loyal and eager to fight back,” reported Thomas. “Sadly—a number of Guards were killed when the Imperial troops made their move against the Earl. Some since have been executed or imprisoned. A few escaped, and probably have reached the Militia. The Earl … was executed. He gave instructions before he was captured for all Guards to lay down their arms. He wanted to ensure a force to support the rightful claimant to re-take Homeworld. It may be a while, but it will happen. Homeworld will not accept a traitor.

“The Imperial force was not very large—they succeeded by surprise. Now, most are in Castlehome, looking for signs of overt rebellion. They sent some smaller units to outlying towns and villages, some to the cities in the north and south. And of course they set up roadblocks on most of the arteries. As a result, they’re spread thin. They’ll probably consolidate back into Castlehome to complete their takeover. Now, let’s continue on our way. We can assume the road will be clear until we get closer to Castlehome and then we need to take extreme care.”

Steg did not speak as they set out again on the road, this time walking. His mind was full of anxiety and growing dismay that he was to leave his home. He did not know all the details of the plan prepared by the Acolytes and that filled him with apprehension. By far, he preferred to stay and fight the invaders and help his cousins.

However, the planning of the Acolytes could not be ignored. They determined Homeworld strategy, and normally the Earl, his Barons, and the Board of Commoners, all fully participated in assessing and agreeing their recommendations. The Glass Complex was focused on survival of Homeworld; the Acolytes would coordinate resources and strategy with the objective of eventual defeat of the usurper and her supporting Imperial forces. It could not be otherwise.

The origins of the Glass Complex were lost in time, with details known only to the Acolytes. It was claimed the First Earl had found relics of a computerized base when he first arrived on Homeworld although details had never been published. Other stories describe how the First Earl had commissioned its concept, design and construction. The Acolytes repeatedly ignored requests for historical details as irrelevant, just as they ignored requests for details of the size and extent of the Complex.

Over the centuries the Glass Complex had been re-designed and re-built, time and time again, and now, Steg mused as he recalled the strange timbre of the voice that instructed him earlier, the Complex was designing and building its own structure and components. He knew its functions were many and varied; not only was it responsible for Homeworld’s economic and military strategy, it also guided and directed Homeworld in its intricate commercial dealings with other systems, trading partners, suppliers, and customers. Additionally, it managed all military communications for Homeworld, whether planet-bound or star-focused. It eavesdropped on star shipping communications, military, commercial and private. It did not matter to the Complex whether it gathered data from Imperial, Federation, Alliance or other star races and star unions; all were equally open to the data gathering techniques and tools of the Complex when their star ships passed through the Homeworld Nexae.

The secret and hidden wealth of Homeworld had grown from a foundation initiated by the First Earl, using prizes of war won by his military forces and rewards granted by grateful allies. At his instigation, the rewards from hard and relentless campaigns had been carefully invested, both on Homeworld and offplanet. The resulting growth in wealth was well disguised, kept secret as a matter of necessity, to ensure that envious predatory eyes were never attracted to the planet. To this end, Homeworld trade was always through nominees and agents, never openly and never with exposure to publicity. Even the Empire, Steg thought, could not suspect fully the riches that lay hidden behind the facade so carefully cultivated by Homeworld.

Not even the Lady Gaetja, in her wildest dreams, would have access to these details. But she knew now that she had ignited the tempers of Homeworld and would require substantial and ongoing support from her allies to prevent those tempers from taking their revenge. The battle for Homeworld had not yet begun and would not be confined to the planet, Steg thought. Opposition to Lady Gaetja would be backed by all the resources available to the planet and to its people.

“We need to stop, and rest up until nightfall,” Thomas broke into Steg’s reverie, “while we still have the forest to shelter us. Our destination is not far, two kays at the most, and the closer we get, the more likely we are to encounter another patrol. While I agree the Imperials don’t have enough men to saturate the countryside with patrols, we still need to take care.”

Steg acknowledged the drill sergeant’s comments and eased himself to the ground. He stretched out. His eyes closed.

Evening came far too quickly for Steg. He stretched and yawned.

“Have a good rest?” the drill sergeant inquired. Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “We should finish the rest of our rations. No fire, so it’ll be a cold meal, I’m afraid. We have another hour, then we move.”

They used the night to hide their cautious approach towards the clamor of noise and light that marked the unofficial perimeter of Homeworld’s small spaceport. This outer boundary formed a semi-circular fringe contiguous to the official boundary of the spaceport. Its main feature was a random collection of taverns that provided cheap lodging, meals, drinks and other entertainment to offworlders, mainly crewmembers and workers from the spaceport proper. Here the transient spaceport population was accommodated and entertained in tiny, cramped buildings.

While they had not yet encountered Imperial soldiers, Steg suspected they would be manning the entrances into the spaceport. He fell back into the deeper shadows at a signal from Thomas who then moved forward and entered one of the taverns. The wait seemed like hours before Thomas returned from around the rear of the tavern.

“I spent some time talking with locals and then went on through and out the back door, just in case,” he explained as he straightened his jacket. “Just as well. While I saw no uniformed Imperials, an offworlder was interested enough to follow me. He’ll have a very sore head when he wakes. The Imperials are allowing everyone to go about the normal affairs, apparently in an attempt to demonstrate nothing is amiss on Homeworld. I caught a comment that this is not really an Imperial affair, rather a company venture. House of Aluta, of course—the visitors were wearing Alutan colors. That House is so large, they are no different, Imperial is the same as Aluta.”

“Marius is of the House. Well, now we know. What about the spaceport itself?”

“Well patrolled, according to the Homeworlders I spoke with, and the Imperials are checking papers very thoroughly.”

“And the freighter?”

“Only one Rimerian freighter is in port, and it is loaded for departure and apparently cleared. The crew are fixing a minor drive problem. That’s your ship. Thank the stars the Imperials realize it would be an act of war if they stopped and boarded a Rimerian flag carrier.”

“So all I need do is board the freighter?”

“A simple task.”

******

Chapter 5

Thomas led Steg along the narrow streets, turning away from the streets where the lights were bright and the noise loud. The streets became narrower, twisting and turning and then turning again until Steg almost lost all sense of direction. Eventually Thomas stopped at a shadowed doorway and after checking the street, he knocked sharply, with a rhythmic sound. Nothing happened. The drill sergeant knocked again with a repeat of the pattern. After what seemed an age, the door was slowly opened. Although the light seeping out through the narrow gap of the open door was dim, Steg blinked in surprise.

“Oh honorable sirs,” fluted the high voice of the Chirrix standing in the doorway. “Why do you disturb a poor and tired worker at this late hour?”

Thomas replied in a brief burst of almost song, the words unintelligible to Steg. He realized Thomas was speaking to the Chirrix in its own language. An exchange of more unintelligible passages followed. Then, apparently satisfied, the Chirrix opened the door wide, motioned for its two visitors to enter, and quickly bolted and secured the door behind them. Its skull feathers were erect, and Steg assumed that was a sign of the strange alien’s nervousness. It conversed further with Thomas and then led them down the narrow corridor into a large work and storeroom where it switched on the overhead lights.

“Now young lord,” the Chirrix fluted and whistled as it addressed Steg. “Seek here for your new attire. You have credit for a complete wardrobe, which I will arrange to be sent quickly to your ship. It will be on board before you, I guarantee. And you, old friend, you need a change of clothes, as well.” The alien indicated the shelves and racks of clothing that filled the storeroom.

Intrigued, Steg moved down the rows of racks, checking and examining cloaks, jackets, trousers, shirts and further items in styles and colors ranging from the most somber to impossibly dazzling. He selected items that he thought would be appropriate for his new identity and handed them to the alien. Some he placed aside for immediate wear. When he was done, he changed into his new offworld finery and rejoined Thomas. As they departed the alien repeated his promise to deliver Steg’s new clothes immediately to the waiting freighter.

“Now you have met our wardrobe master.”

“Wardrobe master?” Steg almost choked at the unexpected label.

“Yes, sometimes we find it necessary when we—Guards—go offworld—on duty, as it were—to be kitted out first with suitable clothing for our task. Our resident Chirrix provides a suitable wardrobe, in return for which we have helped him develop a profitable trade with his home system. The one thing they cannot grow on their planet is cotton, and we ship hundreds of bales for him each year. Cotton somehow helps their metabolism at nesting time, I have heard.”

“His presence here would surprise the Imperials.”

“Yes, their xenos claim Chirrix and humans are natural enemies—or at least, they claim Chirrix have an uncontrollable urge to kill humans. Not true. The young males, before they mature, are likely to attack anything that looks like food; however, they can be avoided. Our friend here is an elder and does not have that in-built urge. He even wears an artificial skullcap—his own skull feathers fell out years ago. Just remember, if you ever encounter a young male, he will attack. Only the Chirrix elders have adequate control to deal with us.”

They ventured further into the extended port area where the streets were wider, well lit, and busier with both humans and aliens. No one gave Steg and his companion as much as a second glance. After a half-kay of walking, they approached one of the spaceport access points. Steg was apprehensive as they joined the small throng waiting to be cleared through the entrance.

One by one they moved forward as Imperial soldiers supervised a very thorough inspection of documents and identities. At last Steg stepped up, presented his identity and travel documents, and pressed his hand onto the print-plate. To his immense relief no alarms sounded and the security officer waved him through. Steg exited the checkpoint and slowed to wait for his companion who finally cleared the checkpoint. Steg then walked briskly towards the exit gate for the Rimerian star freighter that was to take him offworld. Thomas followed at a discrete distance.

“Stop. Hey—you. Stop.” The command rang out sharply, echoing off the walls and ceiling of the long corridor leading to the embarkation ramp. Steg had almost reached the exit door; only yards to go to reach safety. Thomas was close behind him. Again the voice rang out. “Stop. If you don’t stop, I’ll fire.”

Thomas gripped Steg’s arm and they stopped and turned. “Be ready, lad,” cautioned Thomas softly. The Imperial officer was hurrying towards them, stunner in hand. He was accompanied by two Imperial soldiers, also armed. They were still some distance away.

“’I’ll hold them off, Steg. You head for the exit.”

“What, hold off three of them?”

“Yes. I’ll walk towards them. You turn and head for that door. Run when you hear me shout. Get aboard. Travel well. I will see you when you return.”

“Sergeant, I cannot let you –“

“That’s an order, Steg. From me, from the Acolytes. Now move.”

Steg turned and walked steadily towards the exit that would take him up the ramp to board the star freighter. He heard Thomas move away, back down the corridor. Again the Imperial officer’s voice rang out.

“Stop, both of you. Or I’ll fire.”

Then came the shouted instruction from the drill sergeant. “Go!”

Steg ran. He risked a quick look behind him and saw Thomas throw himself at the three Imperials. Steg ran forward through the exit. He bounded up the boarding ramp where a Rimerian purser was waiting. He handed over his travel documents.

“About time. The Captain wants to seal the ship immediately you’re on board. Departure will be in minutes, if not seconds.” He directed a crew member to show Steg to his cabin. “We’ve already loaded your luggage.”

Steg was startled to recognize the crew member; he was a Homeworlder.

“Welcome to Well Drinker, sir. You have one minute to strap in,” the man advised as he directed Steg to his cabin. A ship siren sounded an almost deafening blast. “That’s the pre-launch warning.”

Steg could feel the deck vibrating beneath his feet. The ship was coming alive, gathering itself for its leap into space. He collapsed onto the cushioned and padded seat as the crewman hurried away. The small cabin contained a bunk along one wall and lockers along the other wall. A viewscreen showed a view of the exterior of the star ship and a door at the end of the cabin presumably opened up into a small bathroom. The pull of acceleration caused him to fumble with his straps until at last he was secure. The ship was moving, lifting off and away from Homeworld, away from the Imperials forces that had tried to capture him. Steg was exhausted. But he was also exhilarated. He was headed into deep space.

******

Chapter 6

The First Senior struggled to disengage from the photon pulsing channels of the Glass Complex. At last he raised his head and for a moment his eyes were blank as his mind almost refused to accept the reality of his bodily-sourced sensory data. Was this, he wondered, how death happened? Did the body and the mind somehow separate—disassociate—as the brain established its preference for the photon flows within the Complex? He shuddered. He was growing old and frail. Events of recent days had saddened and depressed him; the Glass Complex had failed to anticipate and repel the Imperial attack. He was weary and knew the problems ahead would take him to the brink of utter exhaustion. Would he then have the strength to withdraw from the Complex or would the photons take with them the very essence of his being? The question was one he was barely able to ask and he dreaded the probable answer.

He gathered in his strength and focused on his companions. They were younger, far younger. They could jump into the photon flows with glee and youthful exuberance and who had no difficulties in disengaging from the Complex whenever they so desired. Ah, the joys and strengths of youth, he thought wistfully, almost enviously. At last he realized he had been asked a question.

“Yes?” his tongue struggled with the simple word and he regretted the slight quaver in his voice.

“We have the Guard officers—Major Reading and Colonel Shaw—waiting for your briefing, First Senior. Do you wish them to return later?” The youthful face was filled with concern.

The First Senior shook off his weakness and straightened himself in an act of defiance against his unwilling mind. “No, Tobias. You may bring them into the conference room.”

The small group of Acolytes and the two soldiers quickly assembled around the conference table and waited for the Senior to begin his briefing. At last he gathered the words to use.

“Gentlemen,” he nodded at the two officers. “I am pleased that you managed to come here without encountering our unwelcome visitors. Continue to take care. The Imperials—Alutans—are on their guard against retaliatory action from Homeworld, from either Guards or Militia.”

“First Senior, your call was urgent and so we came.” The speaker was the same major who had witnessed the sword fight between Steg de Coeur and the offworlder, Marius of the House of Aluta. The strain of his current duties and responsibilities was showing in the additional lines of tiredness and worry on his face.

“Indeed. Yes. We need to brief you on the current strategy from the Complex. We have confirmed this is not a sanctioned Imperial operation but rather a rogue venture by the House of Aluta. We believe the key to recovering Homeworld is to cause the Alutan forces to diversify and dissipate their efforts. We need time, time to regroup, time to re-organize, so that we can strike back decisively and finally. So, for this stage, most of our recommendations involve guerrilla tactics here on Homeworld and offworld.” He paused.

“This is agreed, First Senior,” confirmed Colonel Shaw. “We’re regrouping our forces, those who escaped the initial attack and who remain free. We are also quietly activating the Militia, bringing it to full readiness. We’re mustering and arming our military forces in all the major cities and towns. However, a number of logistics problems need to be resolved before we can move against the offworlders. Yes, we have them outnumbered—they landed just over five thousand marines and we can immediately muster close to ten times that number. Given more time, far more than that. As you know, we are short of weapons—they captured and destroyed a large quantity of our munitions stores and defensive weapons on the first night of their attack. Unfortunately, they have heavy weapons, brought in by both star ships. We need heavy weapons and armor if we are going to make any impact. We’re not going to sacrifice our men needlessly. And the Imperials are holding hostages. They have captured Rakyd. They know he’s the rightful heir.”

“Understood,” acknowledged the First Senior.

“However,” continued the colonel. “We’ve initiated and are continuing with a campaign of harassment. We need to do more.”

“Agreed.” The First Senior was patient. “Our requirements do not run counter to your intentions and tactics. We must be certain of results before we fully commit you and your forces. Homeworld has suffered too much loss of life, already. Potential military gains must always be substantial before we authorize any move against the Imperials. Be devious, be subtle, and win ground at the least cost.”

The major spoke. “First Senior, what other steps are you taking?”

“Yes. You both should know,” agreed the First Senior, nodding his head. He paused for a moment. “Well, in general terms only, for security. We have dispatched some decoys, five in all, to attract the attention of our enemy and to dissipate their efforts. And your friend Steg de Coeur is one of the decoys. We had to use him, a family member, to ensure we got the attention of both friends and enemies. He is a very dangerous young man, perhaps the most dangerous of the five, although we have not realized yet what his full potential will be. He has all the attributes of an Acolyte, without the surgical implants. He is unaware of what we have done—we put memory blocks in place—years ago, as a part of our contingency planning. The Complex has run and re-run the Prognosis suite and every time it has different results, most favorable, some very favorable, to Homeworld. He is a wild card. We have high hopes, not only for his survival, but for the degree of damage he will inflict on our enemy.”

“But what can five decoys, do?” queried the colonel.

“Individually? Almost nothing, is the most realistic answer. Remember, Colonel, these decoys are functioning as extensions of our forces here on Homeworld and will have at their call, all the offworld resources that we can muster. When I say all, gentlemen, I mean just that.” The First Senior almost snapped out his response. He realized he was reacting to non-existent criticism and when he continued, his voice was softer, his tone more subdued. “Those five decoys are each able to wreak substantial damage on the Imperial forces arrayed against us. They are a means of focusing our offworld resources and will do far more than you think possible.”

“Senior, I intended no criticism, I assure you.”

“Yes, I realize that. Please forgive a very tired man. As to your other problems, we are arranging to ship in enough heavy armor to serve your purposes. Landing heavy armor is a problem. We may be receiving a large number of tractors and harvesters. Also, substantial, very substantial, diplomatic pressure is being brought to bear on the Emperor and on his allies. We don’t think the Imperial Court has been informed of the real foundations for this venture and disinformation is circulating in the Court. We are using friends and indeed, enemies, to apply pressure.” The First Senior laughed, an almost jarring sound in this quiet, ascetic room.

He continued. “Our projection is that one of the Imperial destroyers will be moved shortly, in order to reduce adverse publicity. When that destroyer departs we will have opportunities to deliver your tractors. Care will be needed—Alutan mercenaries will still be on-planet.”

“So, we’ll be patient,” mused the colonel. “We can wait, that will give us time to prepare. Our forces will use that time to their advantage. Senior, you have been most helpful.” He saluted, the gesture more a sign of respect than a military farewell.

First Senior held himself upright until the two officers had taken their leave and departed and then he collapsed into a chair. The young Acolytes gathered around him. They were concerned at his apparent state of exhaustion. He fought the waves of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Helen, you are now to take charge of the Ebony program. You have studied the data, all the projections. You know what to expect and what the possibilities are. Remember, de Coeur is likely to be our most effective decoy. Expendable, yes, they all are. But only at maximum cost to our enemy, you understand?”

The young Acolyte, her eyes sparkling at the thought of the challenge just offered her, replied without hesitation. “Yes, of course, First.”

The First Senior issued instructions, ensuring each team member understood the need to constantly monitor progress of the decoys, and to provide all the support possible from Homeworld’s resources. Finally he addressed the group. “I must admit—I am tired. You already share most of my workload. Evelyn, I want you to contact the Second Senior for me. He will need to break off his research and be ready to replace me here. And each member of his team will support each of you. We must not fail in these endeavors to rid Homeworld of this Imperial blight. Yes, yes, I know he will bark at you, but tell him of my—our need. He will understand. Now go, all of you.”

They went. First Senior sat back in the chair. He knew and so did they, that he would only call for the support of the Second if he himself had doubts—not about his abilities; rather doubts about his strength, about his survival. He grimaced against his exhaustion. His responsibility was to plan and oversee the defeat of Homeworld’s enemies. And he would succeed. It would be his death, he knew, and then the Second would take over. First Senior spoke aloud to the empty room. “That will upset Second. He won’t have anywhere near enough time for his favorite project. Still, evidence in support of his so-called Ancients is very thin, very thin indeed.”

******

Chapter 7

The captain, pilot and helmsman were standing in the center of an almost complete sphere of viewscreens when Steg entered the bridge. He stopped for a moment; the images gave the impression he had stepped off into space. The bridge was in darkness except for soft illumination from minor instruments and the glow of numerous viewscreens. He stepped forward onto the small floor area with a certain amount of trepidation, for no matter which way he looked, whether down, up, in front, behind, in every direction, viewscreens portrayed a sector of local space.

The astrogator was marking a navigation target for the helmsman. He indicated with a pointer a glowing spot on a forward viewscreen and the system drew a green circle with that point as center. Steg did not hear the conversation; however, he realized the pilot was defining the course for the helmsman to follow.

“We don’t usually have passengers,” Well Drinker’s captain greeted Steg. “However, a Homeworlder is always welcome. In fact, most of our crew are Homeworlders.”

“And probably the owners?” queried Steg.

“One way or another,” affirmed the captain. “We are going to rendezvous with another Rimerian star ship, an ore carrier, the Walrus, before we transit. My astrogator has just marked the navigation key for the helmsman. Walrus ordered fresh produce and we have a Homeworld container to transfer to them. Transit to their location will take nearly four hours. They are moving towards their nexus, and we have to match course and speed, dock, deliver, and undock, before they transit. Then we will head to our nexus for our transit.”

“Do you usually trade with the ore carriers?”

“Occasionally. If it’s a W Line. We do it enough we won’t raise anyone’s suspicions. One of the Imperial warships may lift off and follow us, although so far they are just sitting on-planet. The fragility of their hold on Homeworld requires the presence of both warships on the surface. The Imperials have sent messages to all systems on our itinerary, requesting that you be arrested. I expect we will be stopped and searched at each Imperial system we visit for the next four or five weeks. The solution recommended—or rather, directed—by the Complex is that we transfer you to Walrus, at the same time as the container.”

“Where is she headed?”

“Alliance Nexae, Zeta Three and Zeta Four. So that will break the trail for the Imperials. They cannot get their noses into Alliance space. And you can transfer at either waystation, which one I do not need to know. Walrus has a full complement of ore barges and will transit once she has her fresh provisions.”

“And undoubtedly I will discover some Homeworlders amongst the crew of the Walrus?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I suspect this is going to be the pattern of my life over the next two or three months.”

“No comment. You’re welcome to stay on the bridge and watch. We’ve a very good pilot who will dock with Walrus as softly as you can imagine. You will have fifteen minutes to transfer once we dock. We have space armor that will fit you.”

The Homeworld Nexae provided direct connections to five systems, three of which were in Imperial space, one in Alliance space and one reached out to the Rim worlds. Each of those destinations held at least one jump nexus that provided links for further travel. Overall, almost three hundred star systems were connected by known nexus links.

Steg watched the leading viewscreen while Walrus grew in shape, as the two star ships moved closer together. Walrus was a giant skeleton with a massive drive that pushed her along at near light speed. The skeleton structure of the carrier was designed to accommodate three rows of five barges each. Most of these barges, long cylinders, would have been manufactured and filled in situ, using mixed and rolled iron and nickel ores. The resulting material, when exposed to jump point radiation, was ready to use in acrylsteel manufacture. Some cylinders were filled with rare earths, extremely valuable material that was used in manufacture of star ship equipment and weapons. When filled, the cylinders were sealed ready for attaching to the carrier skeleton. Space tugs nudged them into place where they were locked down to become an integral part of the overall carrier structure. Asteroid mining was a very profitable Homeworld venture and Walrus was fully loaded with barges.

The ore carrier was immense, and dwarfed Well Drinker as the star ships drew closer. The two crews prepared for the transfer of supplies, and Steg, protected by space armor, transferred safely to Walrus with the container. He was welcomed by crew on the huge carrier and it immediately prepared for transit.

The bridge was larger than the virtual sphere on Well Drinker, with many more viewscreens providing external views both of the ship itself and of nearby star systems. Its crew numbers were nearly equal; far more of the basic tasks on the huge ore carrier were automated. Bridge officers were preparing for transit of the nexus point and Steg watched the navigation process with avid interest. The captain had welcomed him onto the bridge where he sat with the bridge officers while they aligned the carrier for its transit of the nexus. A set of forward screens displayed a virtual image of their target, a point in space that slowly grew closer as Walrus accelerated.

The nexus was located outside Homeworld’s gravity well and it provided safe transit for inter-system star ships. The nexus linked two fixed points in space-time; one point was on the edge of the Homeworld system and the other point was in Alliance-controlled space, adjacent to the system known as Zeta Three. From Zeta Three a link connected to Zeta Four, and the Zeta Four nexae linked directly to another three systems in Alliance space. The ore carrier was scheduled to offload two ore cylinders at Zeta Three and the remainder of its load at Zeta Four for an Alliance star ship construction complex.

Walrus received clearance from Homeworld Way Station control and it increased its rate of acceleration towards the target nexus. It reached and entered the nexus point. The carrier seemed to ripple and then steady, as though flowing through an invisible transition. Viewscreens now displayed a virtual tunnel with a centered exit circle representing Zeta Three.

Progress from entry to exit points seemed to be painstakingly slow; however, the carrier exited Zeta Three nexus at almost the same real time that it had entered the Homeworld nexus. The paradox was well known as a feature of nexus point transitions and its cause remained unsolved.

The ore carrier immediately began to slow in order for tugs to approach and detach the two barges destined for their Zeta Three purchasers. Once the barges were detached the carrier would accelerate back outsystem for its next transition. Steg would remain on board Walrus until tugs at Zeta Four detached the last ore barges; his journey had only just begun.

******

Chapter 8

The terminal exit doors hissed their farewell salute as they closed behind Steg. After three standard months of being cooped up in star freighters, some modern and fast, many ancient and slow, with interminable delays in innumerable transit stations and only the occasional luxury of a fast passenger liner, he was overjoyed to finally reach Althere. Homeworld contacts and trade links had eased the problem of distancing himself from the planet where Imperial forces held sway; he hoped fervently that he was out of their clutches.

He lifted his duffel bag onto one shoulder and looped his swordbelt over the other. By some small miracle of organization his travel kit, newly purchased clothes and even Ebony had all been carefully stowed in his small cabin on Well Drinker. He adjusted the two burdens and stepped out onto the street.

He paused, almost tempted to retreat back to the sanctuary of the space terminal. The wind was cold and gusts buffeted him, tugging at his thin cloak and swinging him momentarily off balance. The hurrying people were careless of his presence and added to his buffeting. He ducked out of the way of a phalanx of pedestrians and pressed himself against the wall of the terminal building. The sky was gray and threatening rain or possibly snow, the air was heavy with pollution and the street was littered with discarded rubbish. His first impressions of Althere increased his longing for Homeworld. His thoughts interrupted, he looked down. A small alien was tugging at the bottom of his duffel bag.

“Most honorable human,” it wheezed. “Permit me your heavy load to carry.”

Steg kept more than a firm hold on his only possessions as he examined the small alien. It waved eyestalks at him and tugged at his duffel bag with a claw-like hand. Steg had no idea at all of the creature’s possible origin and thought in some way it reminded him of the small lobsters caught on Homeworld, except the fishermen would be alarmed both at the size of this waist-high specimen and at the vivid violet color of its carapace.

His first inclination was to reject the offer of assistance and move away; then something changed his mind, perhaps a reflection of wistfulness or perhaps a desire on his part to ease his loneliness.

“Very well. I need a guide who knows the city. What will you charge?”

After a brief haggle, they settled on a fee acceptable to both.

“What do you wish, oh young sir,” queried the alien. “Nice girl human, or something more exotic?”

“No, thank you. First, I need to find my hotel.” He provided the name of a hotel where the purser on the incoming star liner had reserved his accommodation. “Then a tailor and perhaps a short tour of the city. All right?”

The alien held him back while it wheezed and clicked to itself, then it spoke aloud. “Lordling human sir, that hotel not good is. Tziksis will show. It unsavory reputation has, not good for young sir. Come, Tziksis show. Come.”

Tziksis moved ahead to the pavement edge with a scurrying rapidity that almost tugged Steg off-balance. He gave a shrill whistle and Steg watched with interest as a roving autocab pulled in and its wide passenger access door opened. They climbed aboard. After punching in a series of destination codes, the alien turned to Steg. “You see. Your hotel and two others, your choice take after inspection.”

Steg nodded his agreement and sat back in the comfortably cushioned seat while the alien crouched, its legs folded up under its body. The autocab maintained a hectic pace through the traffic and after a moment or two of viewing a seemingly endless string of almost impossibly close near misses, Steg turned and gazed instead at the speed-blurred buildings and pedestrians. From the little he was able to see, he thought the buildings were drab and grime coated, their designs monotonous and lacking flair or appeal. In contrast the pedestrians were a bewildering mixture of shapes, sizes and colors, in perpetual movement, weaving and dodging as they hurried on to their destinations.

The autocab eventually turned off the main thoroughfare and traveled down a nearly deserted street dotted with scattered garbage. Then for a while each street was progressively worse than the one before.

“See,” wheezed his guide when the autocab stopped after they had traveled for another ten minutes. “Hotel is. Your choice human sir, not good is. Street not good is. Human probably not survive. Lucky daylight still, otherwise Tziksis not come. Now other hotels visit.”

Steg silently agreed with the criticisms voiced by the little alien. As the autocab had slowed he had seen a wrecked vehicle being ransacked and he was certain some of the damage to buildings adjacent to the hotel had been caused by laser fire. While he had intended to occupy a hotel room for only a few days, he did not wish to run a gauntlet of thieves and gang fights every time he left or returned to his accommodation.

“I think you may be correct, Tziksis. You can find a better hotel?”

“Oh yes, your kindness.”

The alien’s eyestalks bobbed up and down as he spoke and Steg struggled to resist the impulse to move his head in unison.

“Not difficult is. Some sectors of city very dangerous be. Others, safe are. Can walk at night without death, if lucky. Here more than magic sword and hidden shell needed is.” A small claw dug gently at Steg’s chain vest as the autocab accelerated out of the street, towards their next destination.

Steg was moved to protest. “My sword is not magic.” He was concerned the suggestion might encourage someone to steal Ebony. “My sword is old, yes, and well cared for, but not magic.”

“Magic sword.” The alien was firm. “Magic for you but no one else. Secret safe is. Tziksis silent keep.”

Steg was curious but disinclined to pursue the subject. How could the alien detect a relationship between him and Ebony, he wondered. He dismissed the question and relaxed as the autocab traveled in more pleasant surroundings.

Eventually they stopped in front of another hotel and Steg was reassured to see the numbers of people, human and alien, either entering or leaving the building. The street was comparatively clean with no obvious signs of disorder. He turned to Tziksis and inquired: “How does the next hotel compare with this one?”

“About same, young human,” he wheezed. “More cost and more commission. But if satisfactory this, Tziksis happy is.”

“Good. This will do.” He followed the alien’s instructions and used his credit stick to pay the autocab and then climbed out. Tziksis followed after a moment of hesitation, clicking and wheezing with what seemed to be concern. Steg turned back.

“What is your problem, Tziksis?”

“Your kindness,” came the response. “Tziksis erred. Credit stick leaves trail and enemies follow.”

“Why do you think I have enemies?”

“Answer simple is. Magic sword has. To be used against enemy. Also young human travel light and alone. No servant has. Simple to see, enemy must have.”

“Well,” Steg hesitated, wondering if he should trust his intuitive reaction to the odd alien. “Perhaps you could be my servant for a few days?”

“And Tziksis in hotel stay? Oh sir, your kindness is too human.” Tziksis clattered his claws and excitedly bobbed his eyestalks up and down.

Steg acknowledged to himself that he was taking a risk. However he considered on balance that he was safe. He entered the hotel carrying Ebony looped over his shoulder and Tziksis followed with his duffel bag, carrying it aloft as though leading a triumphant procession. Steg was relieved when no one looked askance at his sword and he noted that most of the people in the lobby were either wearing or carrying arms. He could carry his sword without risk; however, the code required him to accept challenges once he buckled on the sword belt. With the sword over his shoulder he could avoid all challenges without attracting the disgrace of dishonor; in fact dishonor fell on anyone who challenged him. The code was strict and rigidly enforced on Althere as on Homeworld.

After checking in they were directed to a small suite that Steg painstakingly surveyed. His conclusion was that the suite was not totally secure from possible unauthorized intruders.

“What do you think, Tziksis? Am I being overcautious?”

“Master youth, if danger threatens, always overcautious be.” Tziksis had followed the survey with interest.

“I suppose it will have to do for now,” Steg compromised with himself. “How about organizing a tailor—can you arrange for someone to come here? I need to improve my wardrobe.” At the enthusiastic reaction from Tziksis, Steg continued. “Give me a few hours to clean up, have some rest—my time clock is about two in the morning and I need to adjust.”

He closed the door carefully as Tziksis departed on his errand and collapsed onto the bed. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. As he descended into slumber, sets of numbers, strangely scripted and framed in green light, flashed and were gone, too rapidly to be read. An urgent voice spoke unfamiliar words that failed to penetrate his sleep-fogged consciousness and repeated them again and again with ascending emphasis on the need for him to comprehend their message. He tossed and turned, restless, while the voice continued, now presenting the words as text rather than speech, however they sped by before he could reach out to them. He tried to slow them down but they slid away unhindered by his dream perceptions. The words kept on, hammering at his slumbering awareness with a shrilling vibration and his frustration mounted with each unsuccessful attempt to contain and comprehend the strange communication. Then he felt his mind moving, drawn by the irresistible attraction of the flow of words and symbols, and it surged, matching the flow but he still could not catch and hold the elusive mixture. Each time he almost caught the distancing pace of the flowing patterns and he felt understanding was within his grasp, the flow accelerated and left him lagging behind and more and more perturbed. The movement continued, segued into loud hammering and suddenly changed to a heavy and repetitive knocking. The flow of indecipherable symbols jumped and faded, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared. He struggled with the heavy muffling blanket of exhausted sleep. The knocking continued and he opened his eyes, realizing he was no longer dreaming.

He struggled to the door and checked the door spy. He then fumbled with catches and deadlocks and opened the door. He blinked at the sight of the two brightly colored aliens.

“Come in, Tziksis. Sorry for the delay. I was in the middle of a very strange dream. I trust you found a good tailor for me?”

He stood back to allow Tziksis and his companion to enter. They were trailed by a string of self-propelled units that he realized contained the stock in trade of the alien tailor.

“Oh youth highness, my paltry fellow Dnarsis be an unworthy tailor but perhaps with fortune, in his clothes and needles, you will discover something worthy.”

Steg examined and selected new clothes and the two aliens bargained and bickered, clicking and wheezing. Occasionally Tziksis translated for Steg. “This poorly colored creature bankruptcy claims, young human master. But he has profits enough for many such tailors, well Tziksis knows. Broken he will not be if our fair price agreed is.” Two sets of eyestalks bobbed and swayed as they regarded Steg anxiously.

“Your price must be fair, Tziksis,” he instructed. He avoided the furious exchange that followed. At last honor was satisfied, and once the automated tailor bot made adjustments, Steg possessed a replenished wardrobe. The tailor was happy with his profit and Tziksis would see a commission from the tailor for finding a customer, and from Steg, his master. Eventually the door closed behind the tailor and his self-propelled showroom, and Tziksis fussed and folded or hung the new acquisitions.

After an early dinner Steg retired for the night; however his attempts to sleep were fruitless and he tossed and turned. Each time he managed to cross that indefinable border into sleep, the rushing word strips reappeared and worried him back to wakefulness. Each time the colors glowed with increasing intensity, emphasizing the urgency of the strange message. The word strips spiraled into a huge funnel and Steg could feel himself being drawn into its unknown depths, down and down, until he was surrounded by spinning and spiraling word strips. Each time his alarmed rejection brought him awake just as he was about to drop into the blackness that he knew awaited him at the bottom of the funnel.

He sat on the edge of his bed and silently acknowledged he was becoming more and more concerned. Perhaps some danger was looming, perhaps this nightmare struggle was some form of premonition. He was not ready to attempt to sleep again.

As he stirred the little alien clattered into his room, an anxious expression on his face. “Oh master youth, problem has?”

“Yes. I keep seeing an urgent message as I try to fall asleep. The words travel past far too quickly for me to read the symbols or understand the words. Perhaps I am just tired,” he explained.

The alien clicked his concern and proceeded with a jumbled interrogation and Steg tried to explain something he could not understand. How, he wondered, could he explain the unknown? He stood and gazed out at the Altherean night, watching as the city lights were extinguished. The hour was late. He needed his sleep. And he could not explain the inexplicable. He could not identify any reason for his nightmare. Eventually his weariness overtook his fears and he returned to his bed. This time he managed to sink into a deep and undisturbed slumber that carried him through the remainder of the night.

The next morning Steg decided he should carry out the next phase of the plan prepared by the Complex. He needed to discover the most expeditious way to purchase his commission as a junior officer in the Imperial Fleet. His first step was to visit the bankers where funds were waiting on his arrival. Undoubtedly a number of palms would want to feel the weight of his gold before he received his commission papers.

“Come, Tziksis,” he directed. “You can be my guide again. First to the banking district and then perhaps to the Imperial Fleet.”

“Imperial Fleet? Are you sure, your humanness? Do you jest with Tziksis?”

“Why ever would I do that? I intend to buy a commission and you will be able to assist. I believe junior officers are permitted to take a servant with them and you can be my servant on board, if you wish?”

The little alien clicked furiously. Steg was intrigued to see the color of the alien’s carapace lighten from dark violet to almost pure white and then back again. He could not decipher the mutterings and clicks, and he could not determine whether the alien was excited or frightened. He shrugged.

“Come on now, first we must visit a bank. Then we shall see what your problems are with the Fleet.”

The banking district was more of the same with tall gray buildings that stood in row after row, street after street. However here the passersby were less gaudily dressed and private guards protected the outward sanctity of each nest of bankers, ensuring that nothing untoward disturbed the deep waters of finance. Steg’s Complex-provided destination was a bank that he surmised was either controlled or owned by Homeworld interests.

The autocab dropped them in front of one of the buildings and they climbed the broad sweep of stairs leading to the columned entrance of the bank. Past the heavy metal and glass doors was a vast and characterless foyer with cold marble floors and walls. A severely featured security guard stopped their progress before Steg managed to enter the large antechamber. The guard imperiously held out his hand, arresting Steg’s progress.

“Your weapon, sir.” The request was conveyed as an order.

Steg placed a steadying hand on Ebony; the sword was slung from his shoulder. “I am afraid not,” he declined with a brief but unamused smile. “I am here on business. My sword remains with me.”

“We cannot permit anyone to enter the bank who is armed, sir,” responded the guard with barely a facade of civility. His watching companions appeared to brace themselves and Tziksis clacked away to himself, his eyestalks bouncing in concern.

“In that case we must do business from here.” He mentioned an astronomical amount. “Please arrange the withdrawal.”

The guard paled and stepped back to his console. “You have a card, sir?” he queried. Steg handed across the card given him with his identification and other papers by the dying Acolyte.

The guard spoke softly into his intercom; however, Steg could not hear the one-sided conversation. He assumed a sound damper protected such conversations from being overheard by waiting bank clients and idle passersby. He waited patiently, ignoring curious glances from other bank customers who were passing through the entrance, under the supervision of the other two guards. At last the guard finished his conversation and returned the card.

“Please place your hand here, sir,” he instructed. “Our security system will verify your identify with our records. Then our Mr. McWhimple will speak with you.”

Steg followed the guard’s instructions and placed his hand firmly onto the palm reader. He did not know what identity arrangements had been communicated, he just hoped the Complex had been thorough. He moved back at the guard’s request and stood waiting quietly with Tziksis while the slow machinery of the bank churned through its routine security processes. At last a newcomer arrived from within the bank.

“Sir,” he addressed Steg. “I’m to accompany you to our Mr. McWhimple. Please come with me. Yes, bring your sword.” He led the way back into the bank.

Steg and Tziksis followed the clerk inside the bank to a waiting elevator. The doors hissed their closure and the banker pressed a series of buttons. The elevator descended and Steg counted floors as the indicator lights flashed at each passing of a sub-level. Eventually the elevator stopped, jerking softly to rest at the fifteenth sub-level. A florid-faced, self-important banker was waiting when the elevator doors eventually opened.

“Sir,” he addressed Steg, ignoring the alien, as they moved towards an indicated office. “We have checked our records and verified that we are able to do business with you. I’m Mr. Aloysius McWhimple, a senior over-director.”

Steg ignored the banker and stepped across to the banking terminal on the desk. To the banker’s astonishment, Steg busied himself at the desk. He keyed in codes provided by the Complex and examined display after display in silence.

“Sir—uh—I think—” quavered the banker.

Steg frowned. “I trust that you realize a number of your activities are in conflict specifically with your delegated authority and indeed with the Bank’s charter?” Steg was almost more amazed than the banker. He had no idea what had prompted his access of bank records. “I’ve examined just your activities. I daresay this is an endemic issue, across all the bank’s senior management.” He turned the display towards the banker. It listed a series of banking events and transactions. “All with your approval or initiated by you.”

The banker sat at his desk, claiming one of the visitor’s chairs. “But—but—I –how did you know?”

“Never mind. The details are all there.” Steg had the same question of himself. Had the Complex known of this fraudulent mismanagement of the bank and planned for his discovery of the infractions? “I represent the shareholders, and have their full authority.” He keyed in another code and sequence. He again turned the display towards the banker. “See?”

“Why, yes. We can assemble a board meeting immediately. I can offer my resignation. You will not make formal charges, I trust? I have—a wife, children“

“We—my principals—are prepared to waive the malfeasance and your private account drawings—well, some of them—as long as you provide your complete cooperation. Some things—information—you can help me obtain. Your—er—transgressions will not be made public if I receive your full cooperation. However it may be necessary for you and, of course, for some of your fellow managers, to take early retirement.”

The banker brightened. “Yes sir. What do you need? How can I help you“

“I need some information from bank files on some clients.”

“But—but sir, the bank cannot give out confidential information.”

“That applies only to those who do not have the authority that I hold. I act on behalf of the shareholders—with their full authority—and you can think of this as a shareholder audit. I’ve enough information to have you brought before the Bankers Guild. The charges would not be minor, with penalties including prison and fines. The fines would wipe out your wealth, even the funds you’ve hidden. Providing information to me is a minor issue, as I am sure you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand. Tell me what you need to know.”

“I assume you have Imperial Fleet officers as bank clients?”

“Indeed. We have a special arrangement—”

“Good. I want names, rank, personal details and full account data. I want to explore and discover who takes bribes, who gambles, who has a mistress, and so forth. As quickly as possible.”

The banker scurried away, thankful he had an excuse to leave the office. Shortly after his hurried exit a tray of refreshments was brought to the office. Steg and Tziksis sat in silence as they waited for the return of the banker with the information Steg had requested. The little alien had not spoken since they arrived at the bank and Steg was about to question his subdued silence, when a knock on the door signaled the return of the banker. He entered the office accompanied by a burdened autofile carrier.

“Sir, these files will assist you. They contain information that has not been entered into our computer because we have not verified it. If you also access transaction files for these accounts—” He still was worried. “Of course this is irregular, highly irregular.” He stopped, realizing perhaps his own irregularities had brought him to this situation.

“Please ensure we are not disturbed. I can access transaction files from here. Check back in about three hours. I may be finished. Oh, and I need funds, cash, a new credit stick, and so forth. All drawn against the shareholders’ account.”

“Yes, sir. It will all be ready for when you leave.” The worried man bowed and departed.

Steg turned to the autofile carrier and lifted bundles of glass storage containers onto the desk. The small memory units each could hold many terabytes of data. He realized the search would be lengthy. “Tziksis, this will take some time. Please guard the door for me; I do not want to be disturbed—no interruptions until I have finished here.”

The little alien clicked furiously and positioned himself beside the door so that anyone opening it would only partially succeed. Steg busied himself with the files, accessing glass after glass of data. He used simple search and list programs to extract and display the items he required. Gradually he constructed profiles of various officers of the Fleet who had accounts with the bank. Related transactions would reveal who had illicit funds and thus he would be able to identify those officers who needed money and who were taking bribes for selling commissions in the Fleet.

At last he had a short list of names and personal details of officers who could possibly assist him. He traced their transactions with care, accessing detail after detail, seeking the highest ranking officer who was most exposed by his conduct and debts. He studied personal details as well. At last he found his target. The transaction details together with personal data and conjecture, provided him with the leverage he required. He issued a fund transfer instruction and sat for a while, deep in thought, as the printer spat out pages of data.

The room was warm and from somewhere distant he could hear spasmodic waves of soft music bringing with them a compulsion to relax. He felt his eyelids grow heavy and close. He drifted, half asleep. For a moment he thought that the banker had set a trap for him and he fought against the growing loss of consciousness. Waves of sleep-inducing music washed over him and then pounded harder and harder, bringing with them the now familiar rush and flow of symbols framed in intense green light. Groups of words rushed at him, crashing against him, impinging onto his awareness. Steg struggled again to throw off the induced lethargy but he was caught, enmeshed in a dream web that bound him tighter and tighter the more he struggled to free himself. The induced sleep condition at last won the struggle and he relaxed, accepting rather than fighting the dream web. His mind ceased its furious turmoil and his struggles ceased. His alarm faded. The green words slowed and the spiral moved closer and closer, absorbing him as he was drawn into its center until at last the spinning, spiraling word streams shattered, exploding into sparkling razor sharp fragments of green light. For a moment he hung suspended in blackness as the broken shards of green moved away and faded into the distance. A whispering multitude of mechanical voices reached out to him, they echoed and resonated, gradually building force and gaining cohesion. He realized the composite voice structure was addressing him.

Steg de Coeur, this is Althere Complex. Steg de Coeur, concentrate. Listen to this voice. Listen carefully. Acknowledge contact.

The sounds clarified and increased in volume and urgency. Steg fought to listen, to concentrate on the echoing instructions. The sound exploded and shattered, fire chards of noise pierced his mind and the sharp corners of broken words stabbed him. He screamed silently, submerged in artificial sleep.

Stop. Stop. I hear you, he shouted into his subconscious world in an attempt to halt the pain.

Don’t fight the communication, Steg de Coeur. Relax and look for the message flow. Relax.

I—I will try. But the pain—pain—

The pain will go away once you relax. Now relax, relax.

Steg struggled to ignore the sharp threads of pain that were wrapped around his mind and he used the discipline taught to him by his Swordmaster. He relaxed. Gradually his tension eased. Pain softened and disappeared. The word flow reappeared and merged into a coherent structure with a composite voice. At last he could see-hear the message flow.

This is Althere Complex, acting as relay for Glass Complex. Acknowledge.

Steg de Coeur.

The mental aural communication deepened in timbre and the colors of the word strips glowed more brightly.

Glass Complex message follows. House of Aluta forces are concerned that you succeeded in escaping offplanet and have now posted a reward for your arrest. Complex is attempting to disrupt distribution of these notices. All detected images have been modified so that they do not match your appearance. However some notices may have reached enforcement audiences before our alterations were made. We are changing these as they come to light. The notices describe you as a traitor to the Empire although detailed charges have not been included. They have traced your current identity so you must obtain replacement cover. They have not traced your whereabouts. Proceed as planned with new cover. Obtain assistance as needed from Althere Complex. Message ends.

The voice fell silent and the word flow ceased, although Steg could still sense an unfamiliar presence.

Wait, he instructed. Don’t go away. What is happening—only Acolytes have the ability to communicate mind to computer?

Althere Complex to Steg de Coeur. Do not fear this contact. Althere Complex can advise that Glass Complex installed a program here for the interface necessary to communicate with you. This complex is acting as an extension of Glass Complex.

Steg fell silent. He was stunned as full understanding dawned. He had often observed the Acolytes and wondered at the empathy he had felt when watching them in their almost symbiotic relationship with the huge computer system known as Glass Complex. Perhaps this empathy came about as a result of an unsensed and unrealized ability to emulate them. He stopped the rush of conjecture and unanswerable questions, deferring further analysis until a time when he would be in direct contact with Acolytes who could provide answers. He returned his attention to his immediate problems.

Althere Complex, I need new identity papers. Are you able to provide these?

Yes. Waiting instructions.

Steg gave the necessary instructions, selecting and defining parameters for his new identity. Althere Complex would arrange production of everything from identity cards to shuttle license and for these to be delivered to his hotel. Even star ship certifications and academic records matching his own, would be prepared and copies inserted into local systems. He would need to rely on the reach of Glass Complex to ensure suitable records were inserted into remote source systems.

Then he remembered the fraudulent activities of the senior bank staff and entered details. Advise Glass Complex of my activities here and of my discoveries. He provided details.

Completed.

Steg raised his head from the desk. It had not been a soft cushion. He looked around, surprised his experience had not disturbed the calm of the small office. Tziksis still guarded the door. His papers were undisturbed. And stacks of glass data containers remained in place.

“Tziksis, I’m finished here. I’ll get that banker back and conclude our visit.” Steg used the comunit on the desk and within seconds the banker knocked on the door. His nervousness was hardly diminished by Steg’s assurance that he had all the data he required. The banker handed over a new credit stick and local currency that Steg had requested, the latter necessary to ensure his local expenditures could not be traced.

“Finally,” advised Steg. “I need letters of introduction—” He paused. “Are any official functions or ceremonies scheduled for the next few days, where officers from the Imperial Fleet are likely to attend?”

“W-why yes. We have many such occasions. Althere takes great pride in its Imperial functions and relationships with the Fleet. The civil functions are well known for their color and extravagances, for the dignitaries who attend. Why I remember one occasion—”

“Good. I need an invitation to the next one—when will it be?”

“Tomorrow evening. An invitation? But you—“

“But nothing. The bank undoubtedly has access to invitations? Excellent. You can arrange one for me, and ensure I am presented as a favored client of the bank, of some worth.”

******

Chapter 9

“Young master most colorful is,” clicked Tziksis as Steg checked his reflection.

“Yes, Tziksis. Your tailor friend is certainly doing good business. I only hope he is correct about the fashion and style of evening wear for tonight.” Steg swirled his new light blue cloak. “I feel like a colored target.” He grimaced as he examined the crisp white color of his trousers and jacket, contrasting with the deep orange shirt. He shook down his ruffled shirt cuffs and turned away from the mirror.

“Worry not, master youngness. Target not be. Attraction for young ladies is certain.”

“Tziksis, I could be a target tonight, so I want you to carry my weapons pack—Ebony plus whatever else you have acquired for me. You can act as bodyguard and come running if you hear my signal.”

“Signal, oh youthfulness?”

“Yes. Here, take this comunit and if it buzzes, track me down immediately, because I’ll need help. Understand? Otherwise I’ll call you when I need to leave.” Steg stowed his new identification and other documents in an inside jacket pocket.

“Tziksis understands and will arrive with all haste,” assured the little alien as he scrambled across the room to collect Ebony.

The hired aircar and driver were waiting to take them to the location of the evening’s function, the Imperial Governor’s official residence on Althere. Steg had decided small autocabs did not provide adequate protection and had arranged for a heavier vehicle, which, according to its owners, was capable of surviving a major assault. He hoped this somewhat ambitious claim would not be put to the test, at least not while he was a passenger. Because their destination was well out of the city and as the journey would take over an hour, he settled back and relaxed, absorbing only part of the commentary provided by the driver.

The aircar settled onto the small landing pad and then joined the stream of vehicles heading to the well-lit and obviously well-guarded entrance of their destination. Steg noted a considerable amount of air traffic that was cleared for descent directly into the vast grounds surrounding the Imperial Governor’s mansion. Apparently favored guests of the governor were able to by-pass the stop-start progression from the roadway. He mentally compared the resplendent building with those on Homeworld and realized the mansion was far larger than the turreted, rock-hewn castle that overlooked Castlehome.

Steg joined the throng of minor dignitaries and other guests who were wending their way up a series of carved marble steps to an ornate entrance. Security guards were posted along the rows of marble columns and unobtrusively checked each guest’s identity and invitation as they passed by. Steg could see cameras monitoring overall progress and relaxed when a guard waved him though after a brief consultation and validation process. As the crowd, a mixture of humans and aliens, chattered their way forward and into the reception hall, Steg was relieved to see the style and color of his attire was not outstanding amongst his fellow guests. He soon found a drink and moved to explore the huge room and its displays of art treasures before seeking out his target.

“Sir, your invitation please.”

The request broke his concentration. The Imperial Security Officer—a captain—was polite yet firm and his elaborate ceremonial uniform did not disguise his trained toughness. Steg patted his jacket pockets and produced his invitation and identity papers. These were carefully scrutinized and returned. “Thank you, sir. I have been instructed to ask you to proceed directly through the reception hall to room five in the Library wing.”

Steg hid his surprise and consternation. “Perhaps you could direct me?”

“Sir, rather than give you directions, I will accompany you.”

He followed the Imperial Security captain and grew more concerned as he observed a number of heads turning to watch his progress across the huge reception hall. Well, he thought, this is surely one way to not keep a low profile, following a ceremonially dressed officer across a crowded room, through a gathering of some five hundred guests. At least he was dressed for the occasion.

The captain led him out of the crowd and along a long wide corridor. Heavy carpet muffled their passing. The corridor was softly lit and small spotlights drew his attention to numerous paintings and other small works of art displayed along the walls. Under different circumstances he would have stopped to examine them but the captain did not slacken his pace and Steg was unable to catch more than tempting and transitory glimpses. For a brief moment he was reminded of Castlehome, of the small but valuable collection that adorned the main hall of the Castle. Eventually the officer halted outside a paneled and carved door. He knocked and opened it, motioning Steg forward. “Please enter, sir. I’ll leave you now.”

Steg obeyed the instruction and stepped into the room. The lights were very low and as he stopped to allow his eyes to adjust he heard the door click shut behind him. The far wall was ceiling to floor glass and he moved across the room and gazed out at the evening stars, so different to those visible on his home world, twinkling in their velvet setting. The external scene blanked out as the lights suddenly brightened.

“My lord, it does not charm a girl to be ignored in preference to the evening sky.”

This time Steg could not hide his start of surprise. He turned. “Ma’am?”

“Miss.”

The response was simple and assured. Steg looked closely at the speaker. She was most attractive, he thought, perhaps the most attractive young woman he had ever seen. Not beautiful, he decided, but definitively attractive. Her eyes were green and held a sparkle of humor. She was dressed in a deep red gown that touched the floor. Her jewelry matched her eyes. She turned the lights to a lower setting.

Steg bowed politely. “Miss. What can I do for you?”

“I think you should ask rather what I can do for you, Steg de Coeur?”

Steg kept his expression blank, hiding the sudden shock that her words generated. “Steg de Coeur?” he queried.

“Yes, my lord,” she smiled triumphantly. “I think your presence here is a little foolhardy. If I could find you, Imperial Security—the Imps—won’t be far behind. We must leave now, before they arrive.”

“Leave? Oh no, miss. I have a finely engraved genuine invitation to attend this grand display and I have no reason or desire to depart early.”

“You may not realize—the Imps have a full description of you, Steg de Coeur, and they say you are an outlaw. So all they need do is check as I did. I simply ran a program to see if anyone matching your image was here, tonight.” She indicated a workstation. “Then I waited until you presented your invitation and I asked an Imp captain to bring you to me. He thinks you are a friend and does not know the computer matched images.”

“Images?” Steg was concerned and moved closer to the young woman. “You are quick to name me—falsely—however you are mistaken. Now, who are you?”

She ignored his questions. “I know who you are. And you are in danger, I told you. I have been checking for weeks, just in case.” She stamped her foot. “We must get you away from here.”

Despite the circumstances, Steg was amused at her fiery display. “I am not going anywhere. I repeat, I am not—this person. Let’s prove it—show me the search program and image. Also, you can tell me who you are.” He moved to the workstation and indicated the young woman should join him. She did so, with obvious reluctance. He waited silently, forcing her to make a move.

“Oh, very well. Here, see.” She quickly and expertly keyed commands. “That file contains your image. And here is the identity check the Imps made when you entered my father’s official residence.” Her expression was of an obviously superior person explaining a self-evident fact to someone of lesser standing.

Steg was offhand. “Well, something doesn’t register.” He recalled the Glass Complex message. “Open the image file, and let’s check that.”

She raised her chin. “I know how to run programs. And the image is of Steg de Coeur.”

“May I see it? You brought me in here on this fantastic pretext—I think I should be able to see what caused this mistake.”

At the same time he was requesting to see the image, Steg was also communicating with the computer system.

Althere Complex. This is Steg de Coeur. Respond please.

Althere Complex. A wave of green light almost unsteadied him.

A program was initiated from this workstation. It used an image in a search routine. Please substitute the Glass Complex-sourced image for that image file.

Executed.

Further instruction follows. Ensure image provided by Glass Complex is substituted for all images held in Althere Complex for Steg de Coeur.

Executed. Ninety-five substitutions carried out. No other images discovered.

Next instruction. If any operator attempts to use Steg de Coeur images or descriptions, please alert me. Also, ensure all image match processes entered for Steg de Coeur use the new image. Acknowledge.

Executed.

He looked at the woman who was still regarding him with concern and said, “Please, open the image file—let’s see an end to this.”

She wilted. “All right.” She keyed in a brief instruction and as a result, an image was displayed on the viewscreen. It obviously was not Steg de Coeur. She looked at it in disbelief.

“What happened? How did you do that?” she whispered.

“What happened? Why, you opened an image file; however, not mine. End of story. You obviously made some kind of mistake.”

“Who are you?” She did not drop her gaze and Steg could almost see the rapid chase of thoughts, he could discern her growing apprehension.

“My name is Stephen Ross.”

“I—I think you frighten me, my lord.”

“That may be. Now, will you tell me—” Steg stopped speaking and wrapped his arms around the young woman, drew her close, and kissed her firmly. She was too surprised to struggle or object. The door swung open and the unheralded intruders turned the lights up to full intensity. In the moment before he released the girl, Steg noted they were two junior officers of the same regiment as the captain who had escorted him to this room. He ignored the flood of embarrassed color rising in his companion’s face.

“Yes? Do you often go around entering rooms unannounced? If so, I am surprised that you have not been taught better manners.” He frowned his displeasure at the two officers.

“My lord,” one of the intruders offered, “and my lady, please accept our apologies.”

The other officer had stepped forward, almost belligerently, at Steg’s sharp reprimand and was held back by his companion.

The first speaker continued. “We were checking rooms that we thought were unoccupied.”

“Your explanation—although barely adequate—is accepted. Now leave.”

The spokesman turned his attention to the young woman. “My lady?”

“Yes, your explanation is indeed puerile, and you may withdraw. Before I report your rudeness.”

The two intruders withdrew, closing the door as they turned away. Steg turned to his companion, his accusations unvoiced.

“They are Imps. Perhaps what they said was true, that they were just checking rooms.”

“Or else they had their suspicions raised?”

“Oh no, I didn’t—”

“So having me escorted across the reception hall did not raise anyone’s suspicions? Very well, it appears you have just earned the pleasure of my company for the remainder of the evening.”

“But—”

“No, you listen to me. You had me brought here in the most conspicuous way possible just because of your mistaken suspicions. It did not occur to you that you may have been in error. If I leave you now, and exit by myself, those bloodthirsty amateurs are going to try to challenge me, or worse, take me off to undergo some unnecessary questioning. I would end up so full of ‘scope and so deep in their dungeons I would not see daylight for years. And that will happen without guilt on my part—you know Imperial Security approach is to assume everyone is guilty.”

“I am sorry, you must believe me. I thought—oh, now I am so confused. Just who are you if you are not—and what did you do to the workstation—?” She broke off as Steg took her arm and led her towards the door.

“We need to leave here, and join the thronging guests. Before we leave, however, you had better tell me who you are—people will think it strange if I stay by your side for the evening, yet I do not even know your name.”

“I—I’m afraid to tell you—”

He articulated each word with measured care. “Tell me who you are—let’s start with your name.”

“I am called Lorraine, Lorraine of Jurian.”

“Jurian? And your home?”

“I live here on Althere.”

“That is not what I mean.”

“My homeworld is Denixx.”

“By the—” Steg swore. The banked flame of revenge flared and surged through him. He gripped her arm. “You are related to that murderous bitch—” He broke off as he saw realization dawn on her face. “Yes, if indeed de Coeur was my name, your life would now be in jeopardy. Convince me, Lorraine of Jurian, why I should permit you to leave this room alive.”

Steg noted with approval her apparent calm, although he could see a flicker of fear in her eyes. She tried to speak, swallowed and tried again, this time with success.

“We—the Jurian do not approve of her.”

“Ha!” he interrupted.

She met his stare, challenge replacing fear. She continued. “Yes, the Lady Gaetja is of the Jurian. We have not—do not condone or support her actions.”

“And this is reason for a de Coeur to forego revenge?”

“You need me alive in order to leave here safely,” she reminded, softly.

“Why do you think leaving here will be such a problem?”

Lorraine rubbed her arm as Steg released his grip. “You said it yourself. The Imps will be more than curious, especially if you are alone. If you are with me, they will not do anything.” She stopped, understanding the implication; if Steg left the room alone, it would be because she was indeed dead. She struggled to order her thoughts. “A de Coeur, here—at an Imperial function. Why, what are you after, what do you need?”

Her leap of intuition was impressive, thought Steg, as he silently saluted her presence of mind. He decided to offer her the truth, doubtful she would believe him and optimistic she would not give him away.

“Simply put—I want to meet with a Fleet officer—one Commodore Boston, of Fleet Commissariat, because I wish to buy a commission in the Imperial Fleet.” He paused at the startled, almost shocked expression on his companion’s face. “That surprises you?”

“You, a fugitive de Coeur—you want to enlist?”

“Why not? Again, I am not this—Steg de Coeur. My papers are genuine. I am who I claim to be. A candidate for a commission with the Fleet, and I can afford to purchase that commission. Junior level, admittedly, appropriate for my social station.”

“But they’ll discover who you are—”

“They may discover all kinds of things. However, I am confident that I will be accepted.”

“In that case, if I help you to meet Commodore Boston, what happens to me?”

Steg shrugged. “I have no argument with you. You’ve placed me in an awkward situation and I’d like you to assist me to recover from that. How else can you assist?”

Her response was unexpected. “I know Boston—or at least, I have been introduced to him. I saw him arrive; I could take you to him.”

“Well,” Steg paused for a moment, “could you arrange for him to meet with me in private? Just him and no one else?”

“I can try. It means we’ll have to pass through the crowd out there. I suspect he will be in the games wing, playing cards and drinking with his friends. He’s a compulsive gambler.”

“Come then. Lead the way.” He opened the door and gestured for Lorraine to precede him. He did not hide his surprise when she carefully and pointedly took his arm instead.

“No, together I think. In case any of those officers are about.” She guided him with gentle pressure as they left the room.

******

Chapter 10

Steg noted that they were followed as they moved through the crowd, the almost gaudy uniforms of the Imperial Security guards weaving counterpoint to the vast mass of variegated visitors. At last they reached the far side of the reception hall and his companion guided him along a series of hallways, past closed doors and open rooms where small and private gatherings were deep in concealed and unconcealed activities. At last they paused at one of the closed doors.

“This is the room, I think.” Lorraine turned to the doorman standing unobtrusively in the shadows. “Commodore Boston—is he here tonight?”

“Yes, Miss.” The doorman was carefully polite.

“Would you be so kind as to convey a message to him?” The doorman nodded and Lorraine continued. “Please tell him that Lorraine of Jurian is waiting and requests a brief moment of his time, if it is convenient.”

The doorman turned and entered the room, carefully closing the door behind him. Steg was unable to discern any details of the room or of its occupants.

“The room has double doors which prevent casual spying and helps keep out unwanted visitors,” explained his companion in response to his unvoiced question. “No, I’ve never been inside the room—I understand some of the guests have established a ’men only’ environment, or at least only senior and privileged male officers and their guests are permitted entry.”

“That seems unduly protective?”

“The privacy allows them to conduct their gambling, drinking and storytelling in private.”

Steg raised his eyebrows. Lorraine did not meet his eyes. She said, “Well, I hear rumors but I ignore those.” They continued their wait in silence.

The return of the doorman interrupted their solitude. “The commodore said he would join you in a moment, Miss Jurian.” The stern expression on his face relaxed. “His luck has not been very good tonight.”

The uniformed and bemedaled officer was true to his word. He was overweight and obviously unfit, so much so that Steg could not envisage him on active duty. He ignored Steg and smiled at Lorraine. “Well, Miss Lorraine, how may I assist you this evening?”

“Commodore Boston. May I present my friend—Stephen Ross?” She made the introductions without elaboration and the two men exchanged polite greetings. The commodore waited patiently, obviously he had nothing urgent to demand his attention elsewhere.

“Commodore, I would like to have five minutes of your time, in private, if that can be arranged?”

“I have the time and we can use one of these other meeting rooms. No one will disturb us.” He indicated a doorway.

Steg turned to his companion as they entered the room. “Lorraine, would you please ensure we are uninterrupted?”

Lorraine nodded her head, with obvious reluctance. She positioned herself inside the meeting room, and closed the door. Steg and the commodore stepped further into the room, to a small table. The two men stood for a moment, each assessing the other. Commodore Boston broke the silence.

“Well, young man?”

Steg withdrew a sheaf of papers from an inside jacket pocket and presented the top strip of paper to the commodore. “Commodore, this top document is a copy of a credit. I have been assured the sum shown was paid into your bank account for value yesterday morning.” He indicated the small console on the table. “You may wish to verify my statement?” The man did not move or speak. Steg knew the sum was equivalent to a year’s pay for the commodore. He continued. “I wish to purchase a commission in the Imperial Fleet—I have the necessary qualifications and I understand you have the authority.”

Commodore Boston frowned his displeasure. “You could arrange all of this at the Admiralty.”

“It would take weeks, perhaps months, to cope with the standard process. This is more direct, and more efficient.”

“You have some urgency?”

“Only because I have made my decision and wish to act on it, without delay.”

“And the credit to my account?”

“I believe I have shown you a straightforward banking transaction, perhaps payment of some gambling wager?”

“You do realize I could refuse your request and the money would be lost to you?”

Steg ignored the implied threat and continued to explain his request as he presented documents to the officer. “Sir, I have the necessary qualifications. Here is a validation of my ratings and certifications. My shuttle command experience. Cutter ratings. Astrogation certification. And I wish to expedite my commission. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” The commodore’s eyebrows climbed high on his forehead.

“I have all the documentation that is required. You can verify this, now, on that workstation. And you have the authority to act. Why should we delay?”

“Young man, I am not in the habit of doing business in the evenings, at social events. Now I think you should go out and enjoy the party, and then go home. Take the pretty little lady with you and—”

“Before you make a hasty decision, Commodore, I should let you have these.” Steg handed over another small sheaf of printed pages. “I must have picked these up by mistake, perhaps when I was arranging the deposit to your account.”

Commodore Boston reached for the printed material. He read through the details. His face paled. Steg could appreciate the officer’s concerns because the papers contained details of numerous banking transactions with details indicating the commodore was very much in business for himself, to the marked detriment of the Fleet. He had handed over enough evidence to ensure a lifelong term in a Fleet prison for the commodore. He stood by, silently waiting for the commodore to finish reading. The commodore slowly crumpled the pages in a beefy hand.

“Sir, perhaps tonight you could make an exception?”

Commodore Boston glared at Steg, an expression known to have wilted many a junior officer. Steg was firm.

“These papers will disappear, I take it, if I do?”

“Sir,” Steg shrugged. “They are your documents. You can do with them what you wish.”

“I see.” Steg doubted that. The officer continued. “Well, on consideration, I may be able to assist you. At least that should get you off this planet.” He reached for the workstation keyboard. “You do not mind if I first check with my bank?”

Steg shook his head. “No, sir. Of course not.”

The commodore busied himself at the console and after a moment he sat back. “Well, that is satisfactory. You are a disturbing young man. And I think you either will meet with an early death—oh no, not from me—or else you will have quite a career. Now where are those details?”

Steg handed across the relevant papers. “My name is Stephen Ross. I wish to obtain a commission with the rank of lieutenant, serving initially as assistant astrogator. And I require immediate duty assignment.”

“Well, no waiting around. I can see value in that. Let me see.” The officer leafed through the paperwork and then keyed content industriously at the workstation.

The commodore closed the door a little too firmly as they exited the room back into the corridor. He glared at Lorraine. “Young lady, you should select your—friends—more carefully in future. And you, sir, I want you offplanet in forty-eight hours. Goodnight.” He strode away without further conversation, heading, Steg surmised, towards the bar for something strong to drink.

“Wow, you can almost see the steam. What did you do to him?”

Steg shrugged. “Persuaded him to accept my application—you are looking at the most recently commissioned officer of the Fleet.”

“Officer? Fleet? You didn’t?”

“Yes, I did. Lieutenant, assigned, and due to depart tomorrow.”

“That is suicidal—”

“I am now a serving officer of the Imperial Fleet, subject to Fleet jurisdiction and discipline, and under Fleet protection. As of now. The Fleet has a well earned reputation for protecting its own.” He ignored the expression of stunned dismay and incredulity on his companion’s face. “I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you?” He took Lorraine’s arm. “How do we find our way back to civilization?”

Under Lorraine’s guidance, they soon reached the reception hall. No one appeared to take notice of their arrival although Steg was again aware of covert observation. He ignored the bustling and noisy crowd, mainly partygoers enjoying the hospitality of the Empire. He reached out and captured a passing tray of drinks apparently destined for other guests. The floater protested shrilly and he returned the tray minus two glasses.

Lorraine shook her head in refusal of the proffered glass. “I don’t think I want to—to have a drink with you.”

“You are well beyond that decision. Your obvious friendship,” he emphasized the word. “And assistance tonight have committed you. So, for both our peace of minds, join me in a quiet celebratory drink, hmm?” For a moment he thought she would refuse.

“Very well. Although this is not what I would call a celebration. I think the commodore was correct. I should select my—friends—more carefully.”

“Thank you,” he mocked, hiding his relief. He needed the cover of this young woman’s presence to ensure he would depart unhindered. He sipped his drink.

“Why have you joined the Fleet?”

“My lifelong ambition realized. Of course the Fleet is now my life.” He gave the last word a particular emphasis that she detected.

“You think you’ll be safe?”

“Safe? What have I, an honest law abiding citizen and officer of the Fleet, to fear?”

“N—Nothing, I suppose. Although if you are St—”

“Now, now. I thought we had resolved that confusion.” He changed the subject before she could argue. “If you do not mind, I want to make an early departure from this noisy gathering.” He already was signaling Tziksis. “Can we give you a ride anywhere, or is this your home, too?”

“Very well. Guests go without formality. And yes, I live in the city. I don’t live here, this building is too much like a museum. I’ll share your ride, thank you.”

Tziksis was waiting patiently beside the aircar when Steg arrived.

“Young sir of youth. And beautiful companion. Of waiting and uncertainty this unworthy has surplused.”

“Come, Tziksis, you have been idling here while I have been working hard.”

The clatter of furious protests by the little alien was barely interrupted as Lorraine gave instructions to the driver. The return trip to the city was uneventful with very little conversation. At last they reached the address provided by Lorraine and she disembarked quickly. Steg saw her to her door; their farewells were brief and strained.

For the remainder of their trip Steg briefed Tziksis and restated his offer to have the alien accompany him on the Fleet assignment. “That is, assuming you wish to continue as my servant. The quarters may be cramped, though.”

“Oh youth, speechless almost am. Your humble servant Tziksis be.”

“Then consider it done. I did check and while you do not appear on the list of accredited species, the Fleet will not refuse your presence. You cannot enlist but you can come on board as my servant. Now, are you certain you want to come?”

“Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes!”

Steg smiled at the excited and enthusiastic alien as he clicked and clattered his emphasis.

“Very well. If you have any farewells or other arrangements to make, you have about twelve hours.” They exited from the vehicle at the hotel, and Steg dismissed the driver. “Be at the Fleet Base tomorrow by noon at the latest. Give them this note. Report to the duty officer of ss Ziangka and he will arrange your boarding pass. Understand?”

“Utmost understanding, young master.”

Steg hid a smile. “Good. I’ll take the weapons pack. Now go and organize your affairs. I’ll see you on board tomorrow.” He watched the little alien depart and then turned and entered the hotel. He was pleased with the results of the meeting and purchase of his commission. As he headed towards the bank of elevators, his thoughts returned to the young woman who had almost placed him in the hands of Imperial Security. One day, he knew with certainty, their paths would cross again.

The elevator slowed and eased to a gentle stop as it reached his floor. He stepped out and struggled for a moment as the ungainly weapons pack caught in the closing doors. Distracted, he did not notice the men waiting in the corridor nor was he able to defend himself when an unexpected spray of gas filled his lungs. He collapsed, coughing and gasping for air. The exploratory kick in the ribs did not penetrate the blanket of unconsciousness.

******

Chapter 11

Slowly, so very slowly, Steg became aware of pain hammering viciously at the inside of his skull. His ribs ached. His shoulders felt battered. Eventually he gathered enough energy to move and raised his head. He immediately wished he had not done so as the hammering increased its intensity. He strained to open his eyes, fighting the temptation to collapse back into unconsciousness as the apparent glare of the light overhead seared his eyes and added to his agony. He forced his eyes to focus and gradually was able to see and assess his surroundings. The floor was cold, roughly-hewn stone and he could feel the open grazes on his face from being dragged across the sharp edges and corners left by ill-trained artisans. He raised himself up to a sitting position and waited until the walls stopped spinning. Barely enough light came from the small recessed light fitting overhead for him to see anything clearly.

He was in a small stone cell. The walls were built of the same material used for the floor. Inset high on one side was a barred window. He did not have the energy to lift himself up to attempt to see outside. A sturdily built metal door was set into the opposite wall, solid and heavy, with a small spy hole placed up high. The cell was unfurnished except for an untidy bale of dirty colored straw that appeared to be a substitute for both bed and table. The entire aspect was dishearteningly bare and bereft of redeeming features.

Eventually the painful hammering inside his skull faded far enough into the background that he was able to lift himself up off the floor. He tried to look out the barred window but he was unable to reach the sill and could not touch the bars. He moved over to the door, which was well set into the stone and unlikely to yield to any effort he could apply. He gave it an experimental tug and realized the futility of further effort. He tried to peer out the small spy hole but was unable to discern any details.

He needed to wait for either full daylight or the reappearance of his captors, to see or learn more. For the moment he could only assume he had been captured by Imperial Security, perhaps by the officers who had challenged him earlier. They had followed or traced him to his hotel and, for some venture of their own, had apprehended him. He had been careless, he realized.

Alternatively the commodore was taking his revenge. No, he reconsidered, the commodore also had too much to lose and would expect Steg to have kept a copy of those incriminating papers as protection against such a happening. Besides, the Fleet would not take umbrage at Steg’s method of acquiring his commission; rather it would class the process as within the bounds of acceptable behavior, although questions could be asked about the fee he paid. The Jurian woman, he dismissed, would not have been able to organize such an attack in the short time available. That left the Imps. He paced the small cell, lengthwise, building tension and concern, forcing his mind into constructive thought.

A closer inspection of the cell failed to produce anything that he could use as a weapon and as yet he could not identify any way of forcing his escape. The door was hinged from the outside and lacked a keyhole on the inside. He checked his pockets and was not surprised to discover they had been emptied. He would need to be alert; escape would depend on opportunities made available through his captors’ carelessness. He decided to preserve his energy, perhaps to sleep, and shaped the bale of straw into a faint resemblance of a pillow. He stretched out, forcing himself to relax.

Dawn eventually arrived, heralded by the glow of external light. A pale sunlit square formed high on the wall opposite the grilled window, above the door. As the sun rose the square of light began a slow march down the wall. Steg measured its progress with growing impatience. He decided to exercise in an attempt to free his muscles from the cramp and stiffness caused by his cold and uncomfortable bed. The square of sunshine was still well above the door when Steg heard new sounds outside his cell.

Before he could reach the door it swung open, inwards, on double hinges, hitting the wall with its heavy momentum. Steg assessed the risks. Two young Imperial Security lieutenants, their features familiar, stood in the doorway, each holding a stunner ready for use. Steg hoped the weapons were set on low. Standing behind the two officers was the jailer, a heavy ring of keys hanging from his belt, both a symbolic and practical badge of office. Steg forced himself to relax, to relax without lessening his alertness.

“You—come on out.” The speaker was nervous and uncertain.

“Ha—so you wish to free me. Good.” Steg moved rapidly. He quickly placed himself between the two young men so that each was at risk from the other’s stunner. They realized their error, but not before Steg had dealt two powerful blows aimed at each windpipe. The two officers sagged, gagging and gasping for breath. The jailer stepped back, well out of reach, and signaled to his accompanying prison guards. Steg, however, had taken hold of one of the officers and swung the young man’s semi-conscious body up as a shield, at the same time taking control of his stunner. The other weapon was on the floor and he kicked it back into the cell, well out of anyone’s reach. The jailer and his guards froze at Steg’s threatening motion with the stunner.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Steg. “Who is going to straighten out this little misunderstanding?”

No one replied. Further down the row of cell doors, Steg could see another officer striding towards the frozen tableau. He was a colonel, of the same regiment as the two younger officers. The newcomer stopped some yards away and Steg was surprised to observe genuine humor in his smile.

“I told you, Ranald, if he was a de Coeur, you should have chained and manacled him.” Ranald was apparently now serving as Steg’s human shield.

“I doubt Ranald can reply.” Steg had his left arm tightly around his victim’s neck with his elbow under his chin, effectively cutting off speech, oxygen, and blood flow. He held the stunner in his right hand, ready for use.

“I surmised that was so,” the newcomer nodded. “If you ease off the pressure just a shade, he may be able to resume breathing.”

“And I should be concerned, because?”

“Fair question, in the circumstances. All right. Jailer—Steyne, is it? Yes, take your men and go elsewhere, look after your other victims. I’ll be responsible for this gentleman.”

The jailer was reluctant to obey the instruction.

“Go, damn you or I’ll have you in one of your torture chambers. Good. Take your men.” As the jailer and his men moved away, the speaker turned back to Steg. “A small beginning, I suppose. Now will you let the lad breathe? He’s gone rather a strange color.”

Steg released his hold and the young officer dropped to his knees, coughing and struggling for air. His second captor had scuttled away and was trying to stand. Steg held onto the stunner.

“I did ask a little while ago if someone would straighten out this—misunderstanding.”

“Yes, I heard you. Although I am unsure—yet—if it really is a misunderstanding.”

Steg tensed. The stunner was aimed now at the speaker.

“Yes, you are armed.” The older man was relaxed. He acknowledged the weapon in Steg’s hand. “Undoubtedly you can cause some damage with that stunner. However, my men are loyal, and the survivors, somewhere between here and daylight above these dungeons, would not accept the dishonor of permitting you to leave alive, if you were so rash as to kill me. Now I think you’ll cooperate because I can discern some elements of good sense in you, which is more than I can say for these two.”

Steg accepted the admonition. “Very well.” He lowered the weapon. “I can only say I would like this to be settled and above all would like to be free of these dungeons of yours.”

“Indeed, I understand,” the colonel said. “However, these two—gentlemen—have made an interesting claim. They say you are one de Coeur, wanted for some outlawry or other. If this is all false, I will escort you wherever you want to go.”

“I must dispute their somewhat far-fetched claim. My name is Stephen Ross and of course I can confirm my identity.”

“Yes, I understand. We both know how easily a person can obtain forged identities. Costly perhaps, but possible.” The speaker’s tone contained an element of irony in, as though urging Steg to improve his defense.

“Perhaps I should add that I’m a commissioned officer of the Fleet, due to muster on ss Ziangka, which is scheduled shortly to lift off?” His words dropped into a churning pond of disbelief and consternation.

“Well, well. My lads have landed themselves in a mess this time.” He turned a disdainful glare on the two young officers.

“He’s lying, sir. He has to be.” The less injured of the two had found his voice; it contained a mixture of pain and uncertainty.

“You think so?” The colonel’s mien was foreboding. “This has worsened—it has gone from stupidity to a possible court-martial.” He turned back to Steg. “You can, of course, support your contention?”

“Yes, sir. My name is Stephen Ross and I hold the rank of lieutenant in the Fleet, and I am due on board ss Ziangka by noon today. Assuming of course that I have not been ‘illegally detained and unlawfully prevented from attending to my appointed office and duties’.” Steg quoted the phrasing of the regulations, breach of which could unleash the wrath of the Fleet.

“Lieutenant Ross, Colonel Croix at your service. Would you care to accompany me to my office where we should be able to straighten out this—misunderstanding? You may retain that weapon if you wish.”

“Sir,” Steg acknowledged the introduction. He looked at the weapon. “Thank you.”

“Indeed.” Colonel Croix turned to the two young officers, both now chagrined and belatedly realizing the enormity of the potential penalty their actions had attracted. “You two—you are now under house arrest. Report to the medic and make sure you have no permanent damage and report back to me immediately. Do not delay or try to evade my orders. I’ll continue with my investigations and decide the charges when I have more details.”

The colonel watched them walk off and turned back to Steg. “Come now, follow me.”

Steg followed cautiously; fully alert in case of a further attack by the young officers. He did not altogether trust their colonel, notwithstanding his apparent openness.

“No,” commented Colonel Croix as he led the way. “I don’t think they’ll try anything. For the moment they are too shaken. But if the Fleet disowns you or the computer throws out your identity and you really are a de Coeur, wanted for some Imperial offense, I will have no hesitation in arresting you.”

As this one-sided conversation continued they had moved out of the dungeons and proceeded along winding corridors and up flights of stairs, until Steg lost his orientation completely.

“Now I suppose you would like to shower, get rid of the detritus from that dungeon, change into some clean clothes? While you do that I’ll organize breakfast for both of us.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” agreed Steg

“It can be arranged. Now, come through here—these are my personal quarters. You have my word that no one will harm you here. Of course, you have that weapon.”

“Thank you, Colonel.” Steg placed the stunner on a table and hoped he would have no further need of it. He had accepted the invitation aware that while he was cleaning up, the colonel would be checking both his identity and his claim to a Fleet commission. He discarded his filthy evening clothes—he decided white was not a suitable dungeon color—and showered, scrubbing away the stink of the cells. He was changing into the clothing donated by the colonel from unknown sources, when the now familiar green words penetrated his awareness.

Steg de Coeur. This is Althere Complex. Acknowledge.

This is Steg de Coeur.

Search program initiated for Steg de Coeur, by Colonel Croix, Imperial Security Force. This Complex provided responses as follows. Negated image was Steg de Coeur. Matched image with Stephen Ross. Origin Anglestar system. Negated dual identity Steg de Coeur. Confirmed Stephen Ross holds commission with Imperial Fleet. Report ends.

Thank you Althere Complex. Please continue monitor program.

So, thought Steg, the colonel had grabbed an image along the way. He finished dressing and walked across to the colonel’s office. He sat on one of the seats outside the door and examined the stunner while he waited.

After a few minutes the door swung open and the colonel beckoned. An orderly had set out breakfast for two. The colonel regarded Steg with a smile of reluctant admiration, tinged with bitterness.

“Well, Lieutenant Ross, Fleet indeed has a new recruit. A very astute one, it seems. My young lads will be more than disappointed. One day, when this is all over, you must tell me how you arranged it, hmm?”

“Thank you, sir.” Steg was about to continue when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Enter,” the colonel commanded. The door was promptly opened and the two junior lieutenants entered, accompanied by another lieutenant and a civilian. Steg thought he had seen the civilian somewhere before and tried to recollect where and when.

“Gentlemen?”

“Sir, Ranald and Gould reporting as ordered.”

“Very good. And you, Hanby?”

“Sir, I have a witness who observed the fugitive de Coeur in sword combat.”

“Who was the unfortunate opponent?”

“Marius of the House of Aluta, sir.”

“Marius? And he lost?”

“Yes, sir. A fortunate stroke of luck on the part of de Coeur, according to the reports.”

“I daresay. The name of your—witness?”

“Terin, also of the House of Aluta, sir.”

“Hmm. Hardly an unbiased source. However, I must disappoint you. A full check was processed just minutes ago, and it confirmed the identity of our guest. I would like you to meet Stephen Ross, Lieutenant Stephen Ross, Imperial Fleet.”

“There must be some mistake, sir.”

“I said a full check was made.”

“Colonel?”

“Yes, Mr. Terin?”

“May I suggest with respect, that your—guest—is Steg de Coeur? House of Aluta has posted a very substantial reward for his capture and it will take a most concerned view—”

“Mr. Terin. This gentleman is my guest. You are a visitor without any official standing and your choice of words is likely to place me in a position where I may need to preserve and protect my honor as an officer of Imperial Security. Are you prepared to permit such a course of events to follow?”

“No, of course not, Colonel. I withdraw my comments and confirm no insult was intended.” The civilian had paled and quickly backed away from his earlier brashness.

“Now please leave my office, Mr. Terin. You have no business here.”

The colonel waited until the civilian closed the door. He moved to his desk and keyed instructions into his workstation. “Consider this, gentlemen. First, I must advise you that these proceedings now are under official record. This meeting and court hearing is being recorded. Officers Ranald and Gould, you stand charged with assault and kidnap of one Lieutenant Ross, Imperial Fleet. You have, in the words quoted by Lieutenant Ross earlier today, illegally detained and unlawfully prevented him from attending to his appointed office and duties. Also, by your actions, you have brought Imperial Security into disrepute. I could add conspiracy, and perhaps other offenses. However, that is enough for you to consider unless you wish me to expand the charges. I am obliged to ask each of you, how do you plead? Oh, before you respond, I need to point out that you can either plead guilty and accept my verdict now, or plead not guilty and then appear before a full court-martial. That could result in a term of imprisonment. Further, if this matter is not dealt with expeditiously, Fleet could claim jurisdiction. Now, how do you plead?”

The two young officers paled. The third officer prepared to interject and decided against such action at the challenging stare from the colonel.

“Sir, I plead guilty.”

“Sir, I plead guilty.”

The statements were almost simultaneous. Colonel Croix turned to Steg.

“Lieutenant Ross. Do you have any comment or objection to my proposed actions in convening this summary trial?”

“No. My only concern, Colonel, is to join my ship. As to the actions of your officers, I am prepared to accept their apologies. However, I’m unable to comment on the reaction of Fleet when their actions are reported there.”

“Your personal response is most generous under the circumstances.” He turned to the two officers. “Gentlemen, are you prepared to offer your formal apologies to Lieutenant Ross?”

The two men, with some reluctance, formally expressed their apologies, which Steg duly accepted. The colonel continued.

“Very well. My decision is as follows. I find you each guilty as charged. Officers Ranald and Gould, you are immediately and forthwith discharged without honor from Imperial Security. You have the right to appeal to a full court-martial hearing. I need to advise you that if you do so, Fleet has the right to exercise jurisdiction in this matter. I should point out, Fleet has very harsh penalties, far harsher than I am delivering here, for this category of offense. Please advise me of your response.”

Sir, I accept your decision.”

“Sir, I also accept your decision.”

“This hearing is concluded. My decisions are final. No appeals have been requested. Gentlemen, I bid you depart, now.”

Colonel Croix waited while the two ex-officers departed with the third officer. He turned to Steg. “Lieutenant, I have just broken the careers of two otherwise promising young officers. Undoubtedly they and their friends will lay the blame at your door. I do not, because their actions were totally reprehensible, and completely outside any reasonable behavior, for an officer of my Force. In the interest of concluding this matter, I suggest you depart for your ship—” A knock on the door interrupted the colonel. “Yes?”

An aide entered. “Colonel, a Fleet officer with an armed escort from ss Ziangka, is requesting an interview with the Duty Officer.”

The colonel, surprised, looked sharply at Steg and back to the aide. “Did he state his business?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, Corporal, you had best show the officer in. Ask him to leave his escort in the outer office.” He turned to Steg as the aide departed. “You must have friends, Lieutenant.”

The door opened again before Steg could comment. The officer was a burly, almost gigantic Chief Petty Officer, and he was accompanied by a very young midshipman. Their salutes were almost painfully sharp and precise.

“Sir.”

“Gentlemen. Welcome. Please state your business.”

The midshipman spoke. “Yes, sir. May I present a Fleet writ? We request delivery of the person of Lieutenant Ross of ss Ziangka, alive and well. Fleet holds sworn statements of reliable witnesses that Imperial Security officers Ranald and Gould, and possibly one other, illegally and without cause abducted and are holding prisoner said Lieutenant Ross without just and due process. Under Fleet regulation 22365, Imperial Fleet charges that said Lieutenant Ross has been illegally detained and unlawfully prevented from attending to his appointed office and duties.” The midshipman completed his almost breathless and rapid delivery and handed a document to the colonel.

“Midshipman. Chief. The two gentlemen you named no longer are officers of Imperial Security. Lieutenant Ross stands before you, unharmed and ready to depart with you. Please convey to your commanding officer my sincere apologies and advise him he will receive attested copies of the court-martial records within the hour. Lieutenant Ross, may I again offer my apology and hope that if we meet again, it will be under far more agreeable circumstances?”

“Thank you, Colonel. Your apology is appreciated.” Steg turned to depart and halted as he remembered he still held the stunner. “Sir, the weapon that Ranald held. May I point out it is inoperative? It’s been booby-trapped. Any attempt to fire it would cause it to explode. The result would be powerful enough to cause the death of the person firing it. I suspect your recent officers were not as innocent as you surmised. However, I thank you for your courtesy.” He turned to the waiting midshipman and Chief Petty Officer. “Gentlemen, we’ve completed our business with Imperial Security.”

The Fleet gig was ready for immediate liftoff, the escort and crew impatient to leave. The midshipman hopped aboard followed by Steg and the CPO. The armed escort deployed themselves in the open-decked craft ready to provide covering fire as they departed. The escort required no conversation, engaged in no idle chat. Every move was carried out with a disciplined efficiency, which spoke of long hours of training. The gig took off with a roar, and also Steg was certain, with a flamboyance that was intended to demonstrate the power and authority of the Fleet. He hung on grimly as the pilot ignored all flight rules and blasted straight for the ship. The flight was less than five minutes and the pilot dropped the gig precisely in the landing bay.

“That will show the pockers,” commented the CPO. “Mr. Ross. Captain’s compliments and would you report to him at seven hundred hours tomorrow.” The CPO was formal as he delivered the instruction. Then he relaxed as they disembarked from the gig. “Glad you’re OK, sir. We had some heavy pressure applied to rescue you. The pockers should know not to pock with the Fleet.”

“Thank you and your men. And of course, the middie. He did an excellent job. Your arrival was very well timed.”

“Will do. We had probes monitoring your situation, Lieutenant. And while you appeared to be out of immediate danger, we wanted to ensure they didn’t have other pockers waiting for you.”

“Thank you again.”

“Sir, your quarters are on level twelve, quadrant three. One of the assistant pursers will direct you. We lift off in four hours.”

Steg managed to find his assigned quarters after obtaining guidance from an assistant purser. Ziangka was large and Steg, without experience of its layout, thought he could wander for hours without finding his cabin. At last he reached it and was almost overwhelmed by the effusive welcome.

“Tziksis, you made it. Good.”

“Oh master youth officer sir, Tziksis saw you being carried off and with discretion followed. Afterwards found nice beautiful lady friend and then kind Fleet officer helped for your return.”

“So you arranged the rescue party?”

“Only with help of nice young lady, very pretty is.”

“Who? Oh, you enlisted Lorraine’s assistance? She helped, did she?”

“Oh master youth, Tziksis excited is, message forgot.” He handed Steg a small envelope and continued. “Also weapons pack and magic sword with all belongings unpacked and ready are.”

Steg read the brief message. “Enjoy your Fleet experience. Perhaps our paths will cross again.” He folded the almost impersonal note carefully and placed it in his pocket. “Come on, Tziksis, we have to do our pre-lift off check, and then strap in. When this ship lifts off it will rattle a few teeth, I expect.”

The little alien clicked his agreement.

******

Chapter 12

“Mr. Ross, normally I do not personally interview each and every junior officer.” Captain Gallos sat at the far side of a large polished desk while Steg stood stiffly to attention. “And normally I don’t have to authorize a writ of delivery and a rescue gig for them, either. Thank the powers for that small mercy. Costs have been entered against your future prize money allocation. Don’t do this too often, or you’ll never be able to retire.” He smiled at his own wit and Steg took the opportunity to speak.

“Sir—”

“Mr. Ross, you need my permission to speak. This is a warship, not a pleasure cruiser. Perhaps if you realize that and apply yourself, you may in due course become a proficient officer. Be that as it may, you appear to have some very powerful enemies. And some interesting friends, I must admit. What intrigues me is how a new, wet behind the ears lieutenant has managed to place himself in such a situation. Yes, Mr. Ross?”

“Sir, permission to speak.”

“Granted.”

“Sir, I appear to have been mistaken for someone wanted by the House of Aluta. A de Coeur. I hope now this confusion has been settled by yesterday’s events.”

Captain Gallos apparently was not convinced. “Mr. Ross, yesterday’s small storm undoubtedly earned you at least two more enemies and settled nothing. Those young thugs will be smarting for a long time and will want their revenge. If ever they catch you, especially on a dark night, I wouldn’t give peanuts for your survival. Jiggered the stunners, did they? Cunning, that. Probably outside influence, possibly Mr. Terin. The House of Aluta is a proud and influential family with a long reach and an even longer memory. But they cannot reach into my ship. No members of the family are on board. As for you, Mister, I want no House feuds or disputes on my ship, understood? Now I believe you are rostered for duty in twenty minutes. Dismissed.”

Steg saluted and turned to leave the captain’s office. He froze as Captain Gallos spoke again.

“Mister,” the captain’s voice was soft. “I have heard of the de Coeur family and of their planet. Space is full of rumors and sometimes facts are mixed in with them. My ship’s computer systems have not been interfered with. Keep it that way, there’s a good chap.”

The navigation bridge stretched in a long overlapping crescent, reflecting the exterior curve of the destroyer. Repeater screens presented external images; some showed portions of the hull of the star ship, others showed course projections, jump point maps, views of the planet and star maps. The navigation bridge also contained failsafe replication of command, battle and engineering bridges. This was a live, working environment, and viewscreens, workstations and other equipment stretched further than Steg could see, reminding him of the vast size of the star ship.

Although this was his first experience on a warship of this size, Steg’s training and experience with Homeworld’s smaller star ships provided solid grounding for his duties. He applied himself with a dedication matching that of the crew and his fellow officers. He completed each watch in a state of near exhaustion after conducting drill after drill, only to be faced with hours of study. He enjoyed the discipline and the camaraderie, both on and off watch, and quickly established his reputation as an intelligent and conscientious junior officer.

He was also learning about the star ship; Ziangka was currently conducting a shakedown cruise as newcomers melded with more experienced crew. Steg enjoyed his introduction to life on board and struggled daily with the temptation to explore computer and communication facilities that could provide him with news from Homeworld. The barrier preventing him making an exploratory step was the knowledge that such activity would constitute a breach of the captain’s specific direction. He curbed the temptation ruthlessly and continued with his duties.

Striker star ships were ancient technology—their origin was at least pre-Diatonic, possibly prior to the Terzon Mechanical Age. That timeline meant existing strikers were well over two thousand years old. Over the centuries the Empire had lost the wealth, the inclination, the knowledge and the industrial structure necessary to build striker warships. Instead, its focus now was their operation and maintenance. Older ships had fallen out of service; their state of disrepair well beyond the curative effects of routine maintenance and the Fleet was experiencing a gradual decline in the number of functional striker-class warships.

Ziangka was a destroyer displacing just over one hundred thousand tons, a well-maintained example of a smaller striker-class star ship. Its striker design and power meant it could pierce space-time folds, enabling rapid star travel without use of nexus transit points. The power requirement for fold penetration and navigation was well beyond smaller star ships, and had been described to Steg as the equivalent of the power generated by a T-type planet’s thunderstorms accumulated over a standard year, and packaged into one piercing lance of focused antimatter.

The destroyer was a bristling ball of firepower armed with missiles and grasers, an effective and deadly instrument of war. She carried numerous small craft within her huge boat bay; these included cutters, gigs, shuttles, fighters, landing craft, skimmers, and open surface gigs.

The star ship mustered only twelve hundred officers and ratings, with a complement of Marines. Steg had heard that representatives of the elite Special Forces also were on board; their existence, training, and duties were well embellished by rumor and myth.

His routine was disturbed early one morning when Tziksis burst into the small wardroom Steg shared with two other lieutenants. The alien’s rush of excitement was betrayed by the frenzied bobbing of his eyestalks. Tziksis ignored the other two occupants of the room and addressed Steg. “Master youth officer sir.” The little alien attempted a formal salute.

“Oh Tziksis, I have told you before saluting is not necessary.”

“News, oh youth, news is. Warship has special orders, just received.” Somehow Tziksis had organized a most effective unofficial grapevine, stated by some of the officers to be the most efficient communication system ever established on Ziangka. “Most important action is.”

“Action?” Three voices spoke almost as one as the occupants of the wardroom sat up, alert and interested to hear the details. Tziksis enjoyed the increase in his audience.

“Most assuredly, young sirs. Action against pirates is. Looting wrecked freighter indications are. In sector blue twelve, between jump points Zennum 35 and Soenda 3, near Rim,” Tziksis quoted into the silence. “Ziangka is to make all haste to aid freighter and deal with pirates.”

The wardroom echoed to excited cheers. “Action at last. I was getting stale with all this routine,” admitted one of Steg’s companions. All thoughts of relaxation were discarded as an intense discussion began, covering everything from possible tactics to the more interesting topic of prize money.

The rumor was soon confirmed with an announcement. “All hands. Amber alert. All off-duty leisure activities are suspended until further notice. Duty officers and crew for boarding cutters report at thirteen hundred hours, briefing room Damocles.”

The excitement was almost tangible as the three lieutenants, assigned to the boarding cutters, prepared for their briefing. Tziksis busied himself with a multitude of preparations; the majority, if not all of which were unnecessary. Steg’s weapons pack was taken out and the contents carefully examined, cleaned and polished. Imaginary specks of dust were painstakingly brushed off his combat uniforms and Ebony received the most meticulous attention as Tziksis polished and polished it again. At last he was satisfied.

“Oh youth, everything ready is.”

“Tziksis, the sword is not suitable. Remember, I am attached to one of the boarding cutters as navigator and second officer, acting relief pilot. I am unlikely to see any action, let alone engage with any pirates.”

The briefing room held a group of officers and marines, most of whom Steg had not met before. The briefing officer indicated he had only a minimum of detail.

“We are about to penetrate the s-t fold that will align us with Zennum 35. We have intelligence that pirates are attacking a class twenty freighter which has some minor defensive ability. The pirates have two relatively small ships, estimated as five thousand tonners, supported by a larger ship, estimated to mass twenty thousand tons. We will enter the system near the jump point; we’ll be fully cloaked. Intelligence has not identified the pirates—we do not know who they are or where their base is located. However, a number of attacks have occurred in this region, probably by the same group, suspected to be Xesset. Updates will be available on screens as they become available. Crew allocations have been posted.”

The meeting broke into partially controlled chaos as the audience gathered around viewscreens in an attempt to gain and absorb details that were more than sketchy. Officers and crew eagerly availed of the opportunity to relieve the boredom of training with the promise of real action. Steg checked his team allocation and went to find his cutter pilot.

“Ross reporting, sir.”

“Hello, Ross—oh, you are new. Aah, you’re the fellow we had to rescue from the Imps. That must have been an interesting experience?” He did not wait for an answer. “It appears they are mixing us old veterans with young blood.” Steg doubted the age gap was more than two years. “Any experience at all?”

“In-system solar wave racing, shuttle pilot—lots of that—and some cutter command time—about a hundred hours. Lots of in-system nav. No combat experience though, sir.” He did not mention that with his crew, he had set a record for speed and endurance in Homeworld solar wave racing competitions, nor that his technique for solar wave surfing was now taught to all Homeworld racing teams.

“Cut the ’sir’. I am only a pilot officer—one rung above you. Cat to my friends because they think I have nine lives. Mistaken. Used ten or more, already. Have you studied the sparse details?”

“Yes, sir—Cat.” Steg considered the pilot to be the most uncatlike person he was ever likely to encounter. He was tall and gangly, his uniform fitting his long frame with utmost difficulty. Twinkling grey eyes belied his somber aspect and complemented his assured mien. The row of combat ribbons on his shirt indicated the depth of his experience.

“Let’s study it again. Intelligence will continue to make updates as they receive new data.” He sat at a vacant workstation and Steg took the adjacent seat. Cat operated the keyboard with practiced ease. “Team first. Me, approaching 200 cutter missions. You, zero missions. Pilot ratings. Highly rated astro, that’s good to see. And very good training reports. Well done. Now the Greens.” At Steg’s blank expression he clarified. “Marines. The captain is very good; Captain John Silver—we call him Long John—we’ve been teamed up before. The two junior lieutenants are new, good training, no battle experience. The team has mixed experience. As I suspected, they are mixing old and new. Hello, that’s odd. One of the Specials, see? I know him. Interesting, he’s the first one I’ve seen in a long time. Very interesting.” He drawled out the last phrase.

“I thought we had some on board.”

“Every ship has, at some time or other. They are a law unto themselves. They account to no one, not even to the skipper. Probably not even to a Fleet admiral. Never, but never, tackle a Special; they are mean, deadly people. Never trust them, they usually have double or triple layers of objectives and motives. OK, let’s see if we have any updates. Later we can work through some simulation runs, once we have some more reliable and detailed data.”

Steg was pleased to have a mentor take him through the details and sat with an unbegrudging patience and total concentration as the cutter pilot walked him through their assignment. He studied every step as Cat called up the data on the screen.

“Watch—we can review the different probability paths? Over there,” Cat tapped the screen. “Those events are too time distant to have a high probability factor attached, it’s just a mess. As we get closer to the target and obtain more specific, accurate data, the different probability paths will strengthen or weaken, some disappearing altogether as assumptions are eliminated or refined. The system is using analytical data from prior raids and sorties as a basis for these probability extraps. All very simple, and possibly totally misleading. At the moment the calculated prognosis is extremely favorable. But if we assume the three ships are Xesset, and they move to a defense/attack gambit instead of retreating, everything changes. Watch, I’ll show you.”

Steg followed the pilot’s step-by-step instructions intently as the colored simulation blanked and re-displayed, building and changing, layer by layer.

“See? Totally different result. Seventy percent losses on our part, instead of less than five percent. OK, the larger ship is destroyed; however, the two smaller units escape.” Cat wiped the simulation. “We won’t know for a few hours which way things will run. Go and prep the cutter, I’ll be along once I’ve had a chat with the Greens.”

The pilot ambled leisurely away, leaving Steg bemused and not a little impressed. The pilot had no nerves at all, he concluded, or else had been on so many missions they now warranted little or no concern. Steg hoped the pilot’s confidence was real, as he headed to carry out pre-launch checks.

Steg climbed through the cutter’s entry hatch and made his way forward to the flight deck. Here too, all exterior views were communicated by large viewscreens that stretched across and around the cockpit. He sat at the astrogator’s workstation and brought the displays online. He then proceeded to key in routine checks and run validation processes, which completed without error. Then, urged by an inconscient pressure and without reflection, he attempted direct contact with Ziangka’s computer system.

Steg de Coeur to Module Ziangka. Please acknowledge.

Input security clearance.

The heavy resonance of the ship’s system took Steg unawares. He paused for a moment and then responded with a wild guess.

Security clearance provided by Castlehome Glass Complex. Confirm.

Again the heavy resonance battered at his senses. Running.

Instructions follow. Run when authority confirmed. Activate navigator’s workstation on cutter Delta Three and display current risk analysis. Do not log or report instructions entered by this operator.

Instructions held.

Security clearance confirmed. Running instruction.

To Steg’s surprise the Glass Complex had subverted the Imperial star ship’s system. Somehow the Complex was able to communicate with Ziangka’s system in almost real time, across the space-time gap. He studied the display intently as the navigator’s screen lit up and the display built, layer by layer. The results had not changed markedly from the earlier analysis.

Vary input parameters this workstation only. Run with assumptions target ships are Xesset and on sighting Ziangka they move into defense/attack configuration. Display result.

Steg watched with careful interest as the screen blanked and the revised simulation built up, step by step. Again, the results matched those produced by Cat.

Modify program. Do not blank out display on change of input variables; instead, replace with changes only. Now vary assumptions. Assume full retreat instead of defense/attack gambit.

The display changed again, without the characteristic initial blanking of the screen. The response seemed to be faster. Steg examined the results; the losses were very light although the Xesset ships escaped. He continued to work, revising and reviewing input assumptions and scenarios. Completely absorbed in the rapidly changing displays, he did not hear the approach or realize the presence of a suddenly interested observer.

“That is quite an achievement, de Coeur.”

Steg barely controlled his start of surprise as he hit the disconnect key. He turned to face the intruder and offered a correction. “My name is Ross. Stephen Ross.”

“And I’m the Emperor of Old Ziangka,” came the surprising reply. The speaker was a complete stranger. He was dressed in a mottled gray and white uniform; it lacked rank insignia and company colors. He stood in the flight deck entrance, filling the space most effectively. Steg felt his apprehension grow and unobtrusively sought a weapon in case the stranger attacked. “Your name may be recorded as Ross,” the speaker continued. “But you are a de Coeur. To be precise, you are Steg de Coeur. Stephen Ross does not exist; rather some seemingly very genuine records have been inserted into various systems. I know, because I checked in some depth.”

“Who are you?” Steg tried to reach for the red panic button that would bring Cat and the complement of marines in a rush, but his arm was gripped and held. He did not struggle.

“Now, you have no need to create a panic.”

Steg de Coeur to Module Ziangka. Please identify intruder on cutter Delta Three.

Intruder is properly authorized. Unable to provide name, rank or other data.

Steg made a rapid assessment. “You have no rank insignia or company colors. You act with some authority. I guess you are one of the Specials?”

“Very good. I’m also attached to cutter Delta Three,” he confirmed as he released Steg’s arm. “I am very interested in you, de Coeur.” Again Steg was moved to protest but the intruder raised a silencing hand. “Now don’t be bothersome. We both know I’m correct. But let’s revert to my first observation—that is quite an achievement. I know the Castlehome Acolytes are able to communicate directly with their computer complex—what do they call it? Yes, the Glass Complex.” He smiled with satisfaction at the expression on Steg’s face. “Oh, we have a good intelligence system, too. However, the Acolytes need surgical implants. They are, in effect, wired for the job. That requires major surgery, and reflects extreme dedication on the part of the Acolyte, I think. However, in your case, you are remarkably intact, with no surgical wiring.”

Steg attempted a denial. “I really don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Come now. I was watching you at the workstation. Set after set of variables entered and not one key touched. If I’m not mistaken, you applied a small program modification as well. I daresay if I checked the log it will show nothing?” Steg nodded. “I thought so. Well, my friend, we must have this out before this cutter lifts off the deck because I have one hell of an idea. What do you need from me to ensure your cooperation?”

“If you know enough to claim I’m a de Coeur, you should be able to define my needs?”

“That stupid woman? Oh, we will find some way of helping the de Coeurs re-establish their rights.” Steg’s face clearly expressed his doubts and the stranger continued. “OK. I may be only a major but in the Specials that just about outranks an admiral in this Navy. Here, let me at that workstation.”

Steg now was firmly of the opinion the man was unstoppable. He knew he’d erred in permitting someone to witness the series of simulation displays generated without any direct keyboard input. His carelessness could prove to be expensive. He watched as the stranger entered a string of codes, far too rapidly to identify.

“Now, de Coeur, this confirms my identity. Of course you don’t have the equipment to carry out a retina check but at least it covers the basics.”

He moved out of the way to permit Steg to study the details, which were exceptionally brief. “Major Denke,” he acknowledged.

“Just Denke. Specials don’t worry about rank, as you’ll learn. We answer to whoever can get the task done. Now, are we going to cooperate, work together on this idea of mine?”

“I somehow doubt I have any options.”

“A realist. Good. Your cutter pilot’s guess is likely to be correct. The pirates probably are Xesset. Very difficult. If they turn and run, we have no chance of catching them, their ships are fast. Their ability to drill through space-time is impressive. If they stand and fight, they fight like they have no tomorrow and if they are threatened with defeat, they’ll scuttle their ship, blowing it to scrap and killing all on board. As a result, we capture nothing. We’d like to capture a relatively undamaged ship for a change. They seem to have some interesting equipment that we could make use of.”

“My abilities won’t change that?”

“There might be some marginal assistance, I suppose. No, just think about it. If you can communicate with Ziangka’s system, why not with the Xesset’s? And sabotage them?”

Steg was completely taken aback. Then the objections flooded in and he started to voice them aloud. He stopped. Denke was not listening; he was already at the workstation.

“Be positive, de Coeur, be positive,” he threw over his shoulder. “Take advantage of every resource. Now tell me, what is the range of your ability?”

“Unknown.”

“Not good enough. We have to think of some way to test and extend the range if possible. A pity we have only hours before we hit the pirates. Now tell me, can you tap into Ziangka’s archives?”

“Which ones?”

“The archives for the Xesset language—it’s not much, but all we have. Our xenos have put together all the scraps they have been able to lay their hands on. Hah. One of their few worthwhile efforts. Can you tap into it?”

“I can try.”

Module Ziangka, this is Steg de Coeur. Please acknowledge.

Module Ziangka.

Patch me into the Xesset language archive.

Implemented.

Steg looked at the major. “OK, what next?”

“We test.” He pulled a page of carefully folded script from a pocket and held it for Steg to read. “Translate this.”

Steg studied the document for a moment. “It—it’s a page from the Xesset Book of Life—it goes like this.” He read the words aloud as he communicated back and forth with the Ziangka system, faltering at first and then proceeded with increasing proficiency. “Suffer not the stranger to enter upon the hearth of true believers. Render them, destroy them, for they are not worthy of life. Seek them out, find them wherever they are. Their goods will be our bounty, their bodies our virtue.”

He stopped when Denke crumpled the sheet and returned it to his pocket with a curse.

“I’ve been working on that for over a week and you just read it off in seconds. That was High Xesset, dammit.”

“So if I can use Ziangka’s system to communicate with the Xesset?”

“Communicate, hell. Control, my friend, is what we are after. Control. Now how much of that language file can you absorb? Or can you directly access the archive?”

“I haven’t attempted to absorb a file and then use it. And while direct access may be more straightforward, I haven’t tried that either.”

“Let’s try direct access. Bypass the Ziangka system and read the file. I fully authorize all access and costs.”

Completely intrigued, Steg did not stop to reconsider the request.

Module Ziangka, this is Steg de Coeur. Please acknowledge.

Module Ziangka.

Run following instructions. Establish possibility and method for me to directly access live and archive data banks. In particular the Xesset language archive. Objective is to eliminate delay in query routines. If necessary, consult with Glass Complex. Also query range of ability, Steg de Coeur to any module or complex. Fully authorized by Major Denke.

Program running.

Steg was reminded of a hawk about to pounce on its prey as Denke watched him.

“What is the verdict?”

“Ziangka’s system is working on the problem.”

“We need to determine just how close you must be in order to work with this ability of yours. What a time to field test.”

“I am attempting to get an answer to that, as well.” Too late Steg realized his error.

“How?”

Steg stalled. He would need to be very careful in future, this major was capable of deriving accurate conclusions from a minimum of data. He could not let him know the Glass Complex was capable of space-time communication. “I thought the Ziangka’s system might be able to make an approximation.”

“No, not enough data available,” Denke dismissed the suggestion. “We’ll just have to test as we go. Can you read any files at all, without accessing the main system?”

“I have never attempted to. Normally I approach the system and request access. It seems the best way.”

“There must be more to all this than you’ve realized. You’re entering commands and that’s supposed to be impossible from a remote workstation. For example, you can’t use this workstation to re-program the system.” Steg was surprised to see a flash of mischief on Denke’s face. “What would the Captain say if you took control of his command bridge?”

**Module Ziangka to Steg de Coeur. Program received from Glass Complex. Writing now. *

Steg slumped to the floor, unconscious, as blackness surrounded him and filled his mind.

******

Chapter 13

The young Acolyte moved through the photon flows, almost swimming as she sought her mentor and guide, the First Senior. Her excitement was dampened by her increasing concerns, the concerns she and her team members held for their mentor. She signaled her companion, seconded from the Second Senior, to follow her as she again encountered a surge of purple colored symbols, strangely and hauntingly shaped. First Senior was close by; she knew intuitively that he was the source of these strange, vividly colored light patterns.

First! Her call was a blast of electrons.

Who calls? The reply was soft, quavering, almost below detection.

First Senior, it’s me, Helen she said as she homed in on the faint response. I’ve been looking for you, my report is due.

Report? What report? The reply degenerated into vague electronic mumbling.

“Oh, First, you told me to report to you.* She received no reply and her concern grew. Do you need assistance? Shall I contact Second Senior? Without waiting for a reply she signaled to her helpmate, a rapid burst on a frequency far beyond the reach of the obviously ailing First Senior. Alert—bring the Second—I think First Senior will need our—his assistance.

Helen broke out of contact with the Complex with uncharacteristic abruptness and ran with all speed to the First Senior’s office. She burst through the doorway, closely followed by other Acolytes who had caught the urgency of her dash. First Senior had collapsed across his desk and was unconscious. She struggled to raise him. Two Acolytes rushed to assist her and they lifted the frail body away from his desk and laid him gently onto his couch.

“How is he?” Second Senior inquired briskly, bustling into the office past anxious Acolytes. First was a very old friend and colleague.

“We’ve called for the medic, Second,” confirmed one of the Acolytes who was checking the condition of Senior. “I’m afraid it will be a formality, though.”

Second Senior sat beside his friend’s body. The silence grew and filled the room. More Acolytes arrived, quietening as they caught the silent message from those already crowded around the doorway and filling spaces in the small office. The saffron-robed medic arrived and Acolytes silently moved aside, soundlessly clearing a passage for him. His examination was brief and his conclusion certain. He stood and turned to Second Senior.

“Second, his death was not unexpected. He knew—he’d been driving himself far too hard these past few months. I warned him. He knew the price he would pay. Please accept my condolences—all of you. I will make arrangements.” The medic departed, moving slowly through the silent gathering. The sadness of death was not lessened by its inevitability.

His footsteps faded and the gathered Acolytes gave silent expression to their grief, remembering the one who had been their friend and guide, mentor and high priest, the one who had prepared them for their duties and guided them through their responsibilities. The one who had now left them.

“My children,” Second Senior coughed, his voice catching. “We all mourn First. Reduce Complex activities to a minimum, for the next three shifts. Helen, was your report urgent? Has anyone urgent tasks that cannot be deferred?”

Helen waited for a moment in case other Acolytes also had urgent tasks to bring to the attention of Second Senior, who now was responsible for overseeing Glass Complex affairs. No one spoke.

“Second, it concerns the progress of Steg de Coeur,” Helen spoke softly. She indicated her helpmate. “We were going to report progress and yes, I consider the matter to be urgent.” Her helpmate indicated his concurrence.

“Steg de Coeur? One of the decoys?” At Helen’s assent he continued. “Come, we’ll move to my office and you can brief me.”

“Second,” Helen began as soon as they were settled in the new office, “how much background do you need?”

“Cover the basics and then immediate events that have generated your concerns.”

“Yes, Second,” Helen gathered her thoughts. “About thirty years ago First Senior proposed to the Earl that members of his family should be given the ability to communicate with the Complex, emulating us Acolytes but with a private, hidden facility. He proposed development of a bio-nanite based viral agent to be used on a limited number of embryos. The Earl agreed. Oh, I know it represents a high risk and ethically debatable concept. However, the viral agent was used on only three family embryos, with lots of testing prior to its application. Steg de Coeur was one of those subjects. The viral agent was administered with utmost caution; it had a very short life span and subsequent viral generations mutated in a manner that removed their neural specificity.” Her abbreviated summary omitted details of horrendous risks and brilliant engineering that accompanied the invention developed at the urging of the Complex AI. “In effect, the viral infection performed the equivalent of sub-cell level surgery on structures of the embryonic neural tube. Thus, as a result, as the brain and central nervous system formed in the womb, the discrete brain functions were supplemented with a tremendous boost to their ability to communicate. This impacted not just cell to cell communication abilities but added the ability for the cells to function together as a coherent system, a system with external communication abilities.”

The Second Senior nodded his understanding and Helen continued.

“Complex provided regular and close monitoring and guidance of the development of these enhanced cell functions both before and after birth. In later years we applied hypno-blocks to ensure the test subjects did not gain premature conscious awareness of their heightened communication abilities. We were ensuring that development of this ability should be gradual, to ensure a richer and more resilient result.”

“Yes. Generally I had a background awareness of all this and you’ve refreshed my memories. Continue.”

“We’ve been monitoring Steg de Coeur,” continued Helen’s helpmate. “He had been developing to plan. Additional electronic circuitry was incorporated into Ebony, hidden in the other micro-circuitry built into that weapon. We’ve been able to use that to monitor his activities, especially over recent days. Also, we’ve used the sword to initiate triggers to remove some of the hypno-blocks. As a result he’s become more aware of his abilities.” He paused to take a breath.

“Yes, yes, go on.”

“Well, he’s jumped far ahead of our program by a startling factor,” advised Helen. She described recent events on board Ziangka. “He instructed Complex to apply a direct access process and as a result Complex released a program to give Steg de Coeur direct access to system memory. Any system memory. If he survives.”

The Second Senior was silent as he considered the details. “This is surprising and unexpected. I don’t recall any mention of this ability. He has made a substantial intuitive leap, far in excess of expectations.”

“Yes. We thought Complex had made allowances for all possibilities. We hadn’t included this in the released progress assessments or objectives. Complex has advised that de Coeur’s now on a major deviation from its projections.”

“A major deviation?”

“I’ve had time to run only one Prognosis suite. Complex is currently unable to define the future scope of development of Steg de Coeur’s abilities.”

“Hmm. I recall First describing Steg de Coeur as a wild card. Perhaps he didn’t realize how wild. You have a question about de Coeur’s survival?”

“Complex reported that he collapsed when the program was applied. We haven’t had any update after that.”

“Please keep me fully informed. Do you have thoughts on de Coeur’s likely development?”

“We cannot—I ‘m unable to make a prediction. I can’t even guess. We should continue to monitor him, and we’ll provide guidance and assistance as and when possible. We are just trying to keep up, without any idea of how he’ll develop.”

“I agree, monitor and guide. Ensure Complex provides maximum assistance. What about the other subjects of this viral infection?”

“Rakyd de Coeur was infected. However, he’s shown no major or unexpected developments. Unfortunately the other subject was one of those family members executed by the Imperials.”

“Wasn’t an Acolyte similarly treated?”

“Yes, Second. The Imperial soldiers killed him—he volunteered to deliver instructions and papers to Steg de Coeur when Complex determined he should go offworld.”

“Of course, I remember. Very well, continue your project. Report immediately to me when you have updates, including changes in the status of de Coeur.”

The interview concluded. Now they could mourn the death of their friend and mentor.

******

Chapter 14

Steg could see pinpoint light sources embedded in the darkness that enveloped him. Some were close by and some were distant, others he could not assess. Some flickered, some glowed softly, and others glared and shone with hurtful intensity. He shut them off, shielding himself from possible pain. He focused on the largest, closest light. He studied it for a short while, seconds or days, he was unsure.

It spun and gradually resolved into a multi-dimensional array of symbolism that was both live and not live. The light broke into smaller lights and flows of light, waves and streams, each flickering and flowing in an unknown, yet apparently pre-determined manner. The flows attracted him, drawing him closer and closer until he was immersed, moving inside the main currents. He was overviewing and participating in the multitude of flows, merging now with the pulsing network of high speed photon tubing, flowing timelessly here, and slowing there, sometimes in rapid bursts, sometimes stationary.

Awareness slowly grew; he realized he was experiencing data flows of the Ziangka’s system, that he was viewing the vast command structure, participating in the activities of the system and watching the pulses of data across the network of processors and storage points. He halted his apparent movement and selected at random a cell, accidentally triggering a process that immersed him in a flood of green light that was packed with data in orderly row after row, hundred, thousands, countless rows that reached out and beyond the horizon. He was exploring a data cell, a glass storage device. He wandered around its interior, sampling and testing, accepting and rejecting, reviewing row after row of data. He was surprised and alarmed, He was enjoying his unrestrained freedom and effortless movement, afraid that something would stop his progress, inhibit his activities. At last he was satisfied and he withdrew from the cell, from the device, from the tunnels of light, from the network.

He opened his eyes, startled to see Denke and a medic standing over him, both with worried expressions. The major spoke.

“Does that happen to you very often?”

“What do you mean?” queried Steg as shafts of pain replaced the blackness.

“You collapsed, just like that. Wham. I thought you’d been pole-axed.”

“Perhaps I had,” murmured Steg. He raised himself groggily and the medic helped him stand. “Thanks. I think I’m OK, now.”

The medic departed and Steg turned to Denke.

“Do you have that Xesset page?”

Denke handed it over without comment. He watched with interest, aware something had almost overwhelmed the young de Coeur.

Steg straightened out the crumpled page. He studied the text intently for a short moment. He then proceeded to read aloud the entire document; the first time in Xesset and the second time was a careful translation, spoken without hesitation. He handed the page back.

“You can do it,” exulted the Major. “This means we have a chance to carry out my plan.” Steg attempted to back away, as though distancing himself from the Major’s enthusiasm. “No, you’re not leaving. You’re not going anywhere without me. We’ll be inseparable until this adventure is concluded.”

Steg didn’t argue. He was exhausted. He felt as though a speeding tractor unit had hit him at full speed; he could feel bruises all over his body and his head ached. He checked the simulation details. The star ship still had no reliable identification of the pirate ships. He realized with a start of surprise that he had not used the workstation or viewed a physical display. He was in direct contact with the Ziangka’s system. So not only was he able to access the Xesset language archive, he was also able to access functions across the entire star ship’s system.

The major was watching him with familiar alertness. “I’ve been trying to get your attention. Do you think you can do it?”

“Your idea may be workable. I’ll assist you to the best of my ability. In exchange, of course.”

“Of course. We have an agreement.”

“Are we staying here for the duration? I’m feeling cramped.”

“We are still hours away, so yes, let’s go find Cat and the Greens, and work out some tactics. Fortunately they’ve worked with me before. Come on.”

Steg was not surprised to note the major kept very close to him as they made their way back to the briefing room.

The first wave of cutters was launched under full cloaking; the pirates, now confirmed as Xesset, would not detect either ss Ziangka or its fleet of attacking cutters until the first missiles were fired. Tasks of the attacking force were to minimize damage to the freighter, ensuring no loss of life among the crew and any passengers on board, and at the same time, to capture Xesset craft, if possible. A simple challenge, thought Steg. And all before lunch.

He clutched at his flight seat as the maneuvers of the cutter at speed gave him the impression he was being thrown around the cockpit. The gravitational pull was apparent, not real, and he grimaced as the viewscreen displayed a rapidly shifting scene of stars and star ships. Denke turned to check on him. He was, thought Steg, making far too much of his stated intention to keep close. He attempted to relax as the cutter rushed onward, as though drawn inexorably towards the forthcoming battle.

The target for cutter Delta Three was one of the smaller Xesset craft that had been confirmed as a category thirty-five; a relatively small warship, modest although not harmless by any means. A complete wing of four cutters was heading towards the unsuspecting alien craft; Delta Three was to penetrate the Xesset ship while the other cutters were to engage its defenses. Steg was partially relieved they had not been allocated to the largest of the three ships; it had been assessed as a category thirty and two wings were diving towards it. On the same scale of measurement, the Ziangka was a category ten and an Imperial dreadnought weighed in as a category five. Steg had never heard of a category one and doubted it had ever been possible to build a star ship of such dimensions.

Ziangka was following closely behind the cutters and was prepared to attack with all the force available to it. Their primary objective was capture of at least one enemy craft and while the star ship had weapons enough to destroy the Xesset pirates, such a victory would defeat the Imperial objective.

As the cutter moved closer, Steg attempted to reach out, to make contact with the alien systems. He detected no response and concluded they were still too distant. He sat back, relaxed, and watched the viewscreen, studying the small group of ships as they came closer and closer.

“Control to all cutters. Xesset are disengaging. The freighter has reported their attack has broken off.”

Apparently the Xesset at last had detected the advance wave of missiles launched earlier by Ziangka. The anti-missile weapons would absorb initial missile responses from the pirates, protecting the cutters and the larger warship. When these conflicting waves of missiles engaged, the cutters would be close enough to attack.

Steg suddenly realized he had made contact with the larger Xesset ship; the contact was very faint, an initial flicker of awareness. He was intrigued and pushed out, strengthening his probe. A sense of evil persisted and even grew. He ignored it and increased his efforts. He isolated the Xesset ships in his awareness and they separated and became more distinct. He concentrated on forming a stronger contact. The small Xesset fleet formed a recognizable group, separate from the total medley of ships, cutters and missiles, all now impinging on his awareness. At last he was able to penetrate the alien systems and explore their structures.

Steg felt as though he had stepped across space and merged with all the Xesset star ship systems. Pulsing Xesset weapons computers caught his attention and he set up a program bias to alter their targeting routines; ensuring none of the missiles launched by the alien ships would hit the approaching Imperial vessels. He also altered the proximity fuse settings; now missile warheads would explode harmlessly, well before they were in reach of their targets. He hoped Xesset crews would not realize their missile and weapons systems had been compromised. All the time he was aware of that evil atmosphere within the alien systems, and Steg had to push it aside as he sought the smaller star ship system that was the target for cutter Delta Three. He focused and reached out for the Xesset ship’s control system. In moments he had inserted an impromptu program patch. Now commands to the ship to navigate from its current position would create symptoms of drive failure, holding the ship immobile. Next he sought the control functions of the ship’s self-destruct mechanism. This program was far more complex than he had expected, demanding his complete attention. He fought grimly with traps and security devices embedded in the system until he was satisfied it would be impossible for Xesset officers or crew to program a scuttling explosion. They could still scuttle their ship although the explosive device would need to be manually triggered. In all this time he was unaware of the maneuvers of the small cutter as it avoided the flood of Xesset missile fire.

His ambitions growing, Steg reached out for the large Xesset star ship, which was raining a firestorm of missiles into the approaching cutters. While he had altered the firing programs that triggered the missiles, they would continue to be a real danger to Imperial forces until the Xesset firestorm abated. Steg could sense the smaller, tiny systems controlling the missiles as they came into life and streaked across space, culminating in yellow sprays of exploding, positron-driven antimatter lances. He merged into the larger ship’s systems and realized with dismay that was almost alive with an evil pulsating force, an integral component of Xesset system structures which was indicative perhaps of Xesset’s complete incompatibility with mankind and its allies. He hurriedly patched a logic trap into the ship’s command structure, locking the ship permanently in local space, freezing its ability to penetrate space-time.

Now Steg was able to discern the entire fabric of the ongoing space battle. As he watched, his sense of signals and data flows from Imperial systems was deepened and strengthened by his capture of data flows from Xesset systems. He could taste the cold of space and feel the streaks of sharp bitterness generated by speeding and exploding missiles. He sought out cutter Delta Three and watched its slow progress across the black canvas of space. He saw it move closer and closer to its Xesset objective, saw it lock onto the hull of the Xesset ship, saw the painstakingly slow rush of the marines as they penetrated the Xesset hull and knew with certainty they would penetrate the targeted cargo lock and gain access for the small Imperial craft. Soon Cat would maneuver the cutter inside the dark confines of the Xesset cargo hold. Then Steg became involved in the wider ambit of the battle, moving missiles aside, protecting Imperial small craft, monitoring reactions, enhancing data flows to the star ship’s systems and blanketing sensors of Xesset systems. He saw Ziangka move closer and closer to the larger Xesset vessel as the Imperial battle control officer recognized his opportunity to overwhelm the enemy.

Suddenly huge sheets of fire seared across the fabric in which he had immersed himself, and gamma ray streaks in vivid purples and yellows flashed in a continuous stream of penetrating light and deafening sound. Then came blackness, silent and complete.

“Wake up, de Coeur. This is starting to be a habit.”

Steg opened his eyes. The major was standing over him, shaking his shoulder.

“Come on, you’re supposed to be the focal point of this exercise and all you do is sleep.”

“Easy on the shaking Denke,” Steg protested as he pushed the major’s hand away. “My skull feels as though it has been carefully thumped from every direction possible by a very large sledgehammer. What did Cat do, crash?”

“No, he made a perfect entry, even without your assistance,” Denke was restrainedly critical. While he was confident that the cutter’s successful penetration of the Xesset defense system was attributable somehow to Steg, he could not determine the reason for Steg’s collapse.

“What’s happening now?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. My ears are ringing and everything’s spinning.”

Steg tried to settle the dizziness and reached out to the star ship’s system. To his dismay he sensed nothing, nothing at all. He tried to contact a Xesset system. Nothing. He shut his eyes as blackness again loomed. He fought it off and opened his eyes.

Denke spoke. “Ziangka reported the larger Xesset vessel self-destructed. The other two immediately hightailed it. One with us on board. Ziangka’s in pursuit, trying to keep up. These Xesset craft are fast.”

“The larger Xesset ship blew up?”

“Yes. It apparently was one helluva bang.”

Steg cursed his oversight. He had blocked the larger Xesset ship’s s-t drive ability, but had been too absorbed in merging with both Ziangka and Xesset systems, and as a result he’d overlooked its self-destruct routine. He’d been immersed in all systems when the alien ship exploded, tearing itself and its computer systems into tiny shrapnel and spreading the results across a suddenly torrid section of space. He understood now why he was feeling so bruised; the experience had jarred him to the bone.

“You said Ziangka’s trying to keep up with us?”

“Trying is the key. These Xesset ships can move when they press the go button. We’re still receiving signals from Ziangka but unfortunately, as we are locked inside this hold, we cannot signal out. Prisoners of our own making. Currently neither Xesset or Ziangka can penetrate s-t fabric, because too many gravitational bodies are around here.”

“What’s your current plan?”

“For the moment we are sitting tight. The Xesset don’t know we’re here. Just as well; with only twenty marines we may not survive against a ship full of Xesset. We could try to infiltrate the ship. Or we can try to blast out of this hold and head back to Ziangka. Or perhaps we can wait for your head to stop spinning and see if you can control the ship’s system?”

“How much longer will Ziangka follow?”

“I can’t say. She’s falling further and further behind and at some stage the distance will be too great for them to track course changes.”

“Difficult.”

“That must be the understatement of the year,” interjected Cat. He and Captain Silver had been listening to the conversation with undisguised curiosity. “Stuck inside the hold of a Xesset ship that’s moving away from our base ship at a phenomenal speed is a tricky situation. We could break out. But we couldn’t do it, undetected. Xesset would really pounce on the mice, then.”

“So we have to take the ship over,” suggested Steg. The four men looked at him in wonderment.

A junior lieutenant interrupted them, squeezing into the small space remaining on the flight deck.

“Sir,” he addressed his captain. “The communication link with Ziangka has dropped out. The last I heard Control said she’d continue on this heading for another twelve hours. After that, we’re on our own.”

Denke looked at the Green’s captain. “How are you men coping with this?”

“They’re OK. Looking for a fight, if you can find them one.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“What are the odds of breaking into the Xesset ship?”

Denke considered the problem. “Well, we know the general layout. Over the last two—three years we’ve managed to put together approximate layouts from captured wreckage. They tend to have very cramped crew quarters and lots of empty space. Corridors are very narrow.” He sketched in the air. “Look, we’re here, in one of their boat holds. Amidships, if you like. Aft, the engine room and drive system. Forward, first we have crew quarters, then fighters or warrior-officers. Further forward, the bridge, weapons systems, and so on. The design’s not intended to support defense against an on board foe. Still very tricky.”

“If the engine room is aft—” began Steg.

“Aah, now you may have an idea,” interrupted Denke. “If we can get there, take over their engine room and stop the ship—that, Long John, should give your men the fight they’re looking for?” The Marine captain nodded. “The risk is, of course, if we succeed in taking over their engine room, the Xesset may trigger their self-destruct.”

“No, I have blocked their ability to trigger it,” commented Steg, realizing he was providing more details of his abilities than he had intended. “Or at least they can only manually trigger it from their engine room.”

“Hmm. So you weren’t just sleeping,” Denke observed. He did not expand on Steg’s comment. “The Xesset certainly will react. If their ship stops in mid-flight and Ziangka is bearing down on them and they can’t self-destruct, they’ll go berserk.”

“The other craft?” queried Steg.

“Difficult to say,” replied Denke. “If this ship stops with drive failure, the other one may stop to provide protection and support. The closing presence of Ziangka is likely to negate that reaction, however. I think—and I’ll run a probability check—the other ship will continue on and leave this one. They won’t place both ships at risk.”

“What about my cutter?” The pilot already knew his cause was hopeless.

“Cat, my friend, you’ll have to give up this little bird of yours. We need everyone on this; we’ll probably need to hold off a raving horde once they realize their engine room has been captured. Captain, brief your men. Full armor. The hold is airless and once we’re inside the ship, Xesset will blow the atmosphere, rest assured. And if they don’t, we will.”

They joined the armored marines who already were assembled in the cold and airless hold, eager to move into action. The marines speedily dealt with the lock to the interior of the ship; however, before they entered the interconnecting passageways, the marines set and armed a booby trap that would block access to the hold.

They cautiously moved along the passageways, following Steg’s directions. He had absorbed more details about the ship than he first realized, and now he was utilizing those memories to direct the team. Seemingly impregnable doors were quickly and silently opened, and then softly closed after the last marine had passed through. Although the marines were well trained and accustomed to shipboard actions, they were burdened with heavy weapons and all the explosives Denke had been able to remove from the cutter. Their armor exoskeletons complained against their burdens as they struggled to match Denke’s pace. Steg felt like an unskilled intruder as he tried and failed to match Denke’s mix of stealth and speed, traversing passageway after passageway on their long trip aft to the engine room.

“They have a small maintenance crew on continuous duty,” he whispered to Denke. “They have quarters alongside the drive monitors.” More and more information was filtering through to his awareness.

“How many?”

“Eight, ten at the most. Plus two or three armed guards.”

“Can you identify communication lines between the engine room and the command deck?”

Steg provided details and Denke organized a squad to insert explosives that would sever Xesset communication links in multiple places. Explosive traps were set along the corridors, hidden in air vents and shadowed areas where they would be difficult to detect. These were all placed to do maximum damage, and would be triggered remotely; the blasts would block corridors and hinder the alien forces. Denke also instructed the team to mine selected access locks.

“When we stop the drive,” he explained, “we can explode our mines; the loss of pressure’ll add to the confusion. With luck the Xesset may think a star ship has attacked them, or a missile penetrated earlier that did not immediately explode, and they may not realize we’re on board. We need to keep them under pressure and confused for as long as possible.”

Denke mapped out step by step tactics for their attack on the engine room using the now voluminous flow of details provided by Steg. Their final assault would be sudden and sharp, a shock attack with no quarter given. Denke also had stationed small teams of two marines each, along the corridors and passageways leading towards the engine room; their task was to hold off the expected counter attacks when Xesset forces attempted to win back control of their drive system. Each small team would fall back towards the engine room as they battled against Xesset forces.

Steg provided the Greens with details of access doors, of equipment locations and other data required for their push to capture the engine room and its vital drive. When the team was in control of the engine room, his task was to cut the Xesset drive.

Denke gave the signal to attack. The assault team moved forward, bursting into the engine room with a suddenness that took the Xesset engineers and guards totally unawares. The murderous chatter of hand weapons counterpointed the heavy crump of stun grenades as the assault team attacked and Xesset belatedly reacted. Acrid fumes drifted out into the corridor.

“It will soon clear,” commented the marine lieutenant who was standing with Steg.

Steg waited impatiently for the signal that the team had control. When it came he joined Denke in the engine room, ready to identify controls that would stop the headlong flight of the alien vessel. After one rapid glance he ignored the dead and wounded Xesset. He retained an after image of pale, almost paper white, hairless bodies; Xesset were short legged and long armed, and their hands and feet appeared overlarge. He concentrated on his task, studying workstations and controls, matching their features and functions to the memories he retained.

“Here,” he indicated a workstation and Denke moved to assist, clearing away aftermath of the assault. Steg at first struggled with the Xesset codes and controls and fought the clumsy keyboard. Then his confidence grew and he worked quickly and deftly at the workstation, keying in commands to isolate the engine room from the main Xesset system, hacking maintenance shutdown procedures and relying on memories implanted by his earlier experience. He gave an audible sigh of relief when he was able to enter his instruction to change the drive status. So far his unauthorized activities had not attracted attention from the command deck.

“Well, de Coeur, now we shall see how reliable all this is. Let me check with the Greens, first. Then on my mark, shut down the drive.”

Steg readied himself and at Denke’s command he killed the drive. Simultaneously, a ripple of explosions sounded in the distance. The alien ship seemed to stagger and then quieten as an unnoticed roar of sound suddenly was replaced by complete silence. Console lights flickered and died. Then pressure waves from numerous explosions washed through the corridors, warping bulkheads and buckling walls and panels. Finally silence reigned.

Denke checked with his scattered two-man teams. As yet no one had sighted any Xesset. The command deck now would be aware that some kind of catastrophe had occurred on their ship and a troubleshooting team shortly should be heading to the engine room.

Minutes passed. Each man waited alone, isolated by silence and nervous anticipation of pending battle.

“Contact.” Denke was reporting to all team members. “The first team has contact. Apparently the Xesset were unarmed. No survivors. No Fleet casualties. The first team has set its mines and is drawing back to join the second team.”

Time passed. Steg paced back and forth across the small engine room. Denke did not move; he was focused completely on the need to monitor his deployed forces.

“Mines triggered, section one,” Denke relayed. “Teams one and two, prepare for contact. Other teams, alert.”

The minutes ticked by. Xesset officers apparently had realized something was terribly wrong. They would be planning their next move with utmost caution and the marines braced for a major assault.

“Teams one and two, fall back one section. Team three, fall back and join team four. Mines in sections two and three now armed. Confirm.”

Shortly after the teams confirmed their positions, Xesset attacked in a suicidal charge of heavily armed fighters, desperate to regain control of their engine room. Xesset sustained heavy casualties and the few survivors broke off their assault and withdrew.

“All teams fall back one section. Mines in section four armed.”

The marines were starting to fall back to the engine room. They had given a merciless example of disciplined fighting against Xesset forces, in turn suffering only minor casualties. Now the attention and efforts of both groups would move closer and closer to the engine room until it became the focal point of violent conflict. Eager to join the fight, Steg was impatient with restrictions Denke had imposed on him. He listened to the exchange of communications as again Xesset mounted an assault, dispatching wave after wave of fighters into the deadly defensive fire patterns maintained by the marines. They held their positions against mounting pressure and again Xesset casualties mounted. However, now the sheer weight and desperation of Xesset attackers began to take toll of the marines. Each side was fighting a grim battle. Xesset needed to take back control of their ship and the Imperials needed to hold them off until Ziangka came to their rescue.

“Fall back to final positions, all teams. All remaining mines are armed.” Denke had set his final defense positions from which they could not retreat. The engine room was beginning to take on the appearance of a field hospital as wounded marines were carried in to shelter, for triage and treatment. Steg and Cat quickly worked to dress and patch wounded fighters, some of whom were in need of far more expert treatment. Fortunately so far the Imperials had not suffered fatalities.

Denke shouted, startling everyone. “Ziangka is in range. She’s coming up fast. All we have to do is hang on until she arrives!”

Jeering from his audience was spontaneous. Denke ignored it and continued. “She’s launching cutters now. They’ll penetrate one of the stern cargo holds and reinforce us.”

“Why don’t you trigger Delta Three?” suggested Steg. “That should blow a hole for our cutters to penetrate and also provide a major diversion. Loss of atmosphere would be substantial, and the Xesset would be under immediate pressure from our reinforcements. Maybe the cutters could take a two-pronged approach?”

Cat could not hide his shocked expression; the thought of losing his cutter held no appeal for him. Denke considered the suggestion for a moment and then nodded his agreement. “It’s ready to blow anytime we want. I’ll work with the incoming cutters and then detonate Delta Three when they are ready.”

As he waited, Steg gradually became aware that he was starting to discern the activities of the Xesset computer systems. He reached out, again seeking to penetrate the alien systems. He pushed. Harder. The Xesset system pushed back and threatened to engulf him. He pushed again, applying all the mental energy he could summons. Then he relaxed. He ignored the elements of evil emanating from the very core of the Xesset system and merged with it. Gently he pursued tenuous threads linking units of the alien system. He was careful to not give Denke any indication he had re-established contact with the Xesset system. He also was extremely cautious in case the aliens detected his intrusion. His first objective was to identify and penetrate the Xesset battle control subsystem so that he could isolate and cut off any defensive action against the approaching cutters. Then, contact made, he deftly directed the battle control system into a logic loop that would prevent Xesset regaining control.

He turned his attention to other segments of the system and progressively introduced minor program changes to isolate Xesset forces and cut off their system access. While he worked, a battle raged furiously outside the engine room. In the meantime Imperial cutters were closing fast, surprised that they were not encountering hostile fire.

Denke triggered the explosives on Delta Three. The resulting blast rocked the ship and stunned their Xesset attackers. Shock waves rippled up and down the ship, creating thick clouds of dust and debris. Air pressure dropped suddenly, indicating a major rupture to the atmosphere envelope. The armored marines, those fighting as well as the casualties, had air for at least six hours, more than enough for their current needs. The vigor of the corridor conflict eased as partially armored Xesset suffered from loss of atmosphere.

Denke took quick advantage of this lull and turned his defense into a series of attacking forays, dispatching marines against demoralized Xesset forces. He glowed with satisfaction when at last the attacking cutters signaled they were safely docked inside Xesset holds. Apparently Xesset were abandoning ship, fleeing in a final and fruitless scurry of lifeboats.

“Come on,” Denke instructed his team. “We need to take possession of the main bridge—we need those navigation and star charts.” He set guards to protect the wounded marines and headed out of the engine room, closely followed by Steg, Cat and the surviving marines.

******

Chapter 15

Throughout the morning, the corporate board had deliberated items of business for the smooth running of more significant affairs of House of Aluta. Now the Chairman turned and faced the Director for Special Projects, his stare ominous and threatening, his huge bulk almost overwhelming his powered chair. His Fain nurse struggled to maintain his oxygen flow.

“This little stunt of yours, this Homeworld takeover, is a disaster,” he sneered, his challenge barbed with savage intensity. “You have overrun your initial budget. The cost of maintaining two destroyers on Homeworld is eating into the expected profits, especially as we have not seen any favorable results. Yet. What do you have to report?”

“Er—Mr. Chairman, our team on Homeworld has encountered some—er—temporary difficulties—barriers—preventing us from closing the deal.” He wiped his forehead. “However, we do have some good news. Our intelligence contacts have reported they have traced the whereabouts of the de Coeur fugitive.”

“So, some good news.” The Chairman leaned forward, stretching his life support linkages. He trembled with repressed fury. “He has insulted the House and must pay the penalty.”

Marius was a favored protégé. The Chairman had regarded the defeat of Marius by the young de Coeur as both a slur on the House and a personal attack on him. Rumors held that Marius was the result of an almost imaginable liaison between the aging Chairman and one of his concubines. Others, less charitable, suspected that the Chairman had been hoodwinked. He was aware of these varied stories and claims, and ignored them all. However, those who spread the rumors, whether true or false, were on another list.

“Where is he? What plans have you prepared?”

“The fugitive has purchased an officer’s commission in the Imperial Fleet. He used that commission to escape from the trap we had prepared with our supporters in Imperial Security.” He ignored the bark of surprise from the Chairman and the ripple of interest from his fellow board members. He checked his notes.

“Ah—he is on board ss Ziangka, which is currently on patrol. We have a plan. Our next step will be to separate him from the ship—indeed, from Fleet protection. Then we will take final action to eliminate him. A pressure point has been identified. Board approval is sought to proceed.”

“Details man, details!”

“The captain of Ziangka has a mistress.” He consulted his notes again. “She is on Althere and has been attending one of our Happiness Clinics for treatment for an—imaginary—ailment. Unbeknownst to her or the captain, she has been on a course of—ah—special medication for the last three months.” He paused and looked around the table at the board members. “She has reached the irreversible stage in her addiction. And the cost of ongoing—er—treatment is well beyond the economic capacity of a Fleet captain. He is our pressure point. We have assembled a package—videos and other details—that is on its way to him by fast courier. He will soon see the sense in arranging for the fugitive to be relieved of his commission. Once de Coeur is dismissed we will finally deal with him.”

“Dangerous, fiddling with the Imperial Fleet. We can use our contracted destroyers; however, manipulating Fleet officers is high risk,” warned one of the more cautious board members. His opinion was reinforced by a number of the attendees.

“Pah!” snorted the Chairman. “Get him out of the clutches of the Fleet. Make sure it’s done cleanly. Then deal with him. Votes in favor?”

The chorus of assents flowed around the table. No one voiced objections. The Chairman hammered his gavel on the antique timber top of the table.

“Good. Approved. Costs to go against your budget, take note of that. Next item?”

The Chairman noted as a surge of relief relaxed the Director for Special Projects. Soft, he thought. Soft. One of these days we will have to put some steel into his backbone. One way or another. He turned his attention to the next item.

******

Chapter 16

Two shiploads of Imperial specialists rendezvoused with ss Ziangka and the captured Xesset ship. Imperial warships formed a makeshift docking area centered on the captured alien vessel. Fleet wanted to discover all it could about the Xesset as quickly as possible, after suffering major political discomfort and substantial adverse publicity because these pirates had been raiding regions of space where Fleet was supposed to be in control. While Xesset had raided only isolated outposts and undefended freighters, they continued to pose a more serious threat to the Empire with their exceptionally fast warships.

Additionally, Fleet sought its revenge; its reputation was at risk.

Work crews poured over the hull while teams of specialists set about a detailed study of the interior of the captured ship. The drive system was disassembled and studied and re-assembled and studied, until its secrets were thoroughly exposed. A xeno team was working with star maps and documents. ANother team was questioning the surviving Xesset prisoners who were proving to be sullen and uncooperative. Xeno objectives were to locate the Xesset raiders’ base as quickly as possible and their approach was brutal.

Steg was detailed to assist the xeno team in their examination of the main Xesset bridge. Denke was in charge and his objectives were clear: discover everything possible about the Xesset, identify their base and their home system. The Specials officer had scented blood and was seeking more details about the aliens.

As Steg stepped onto the bridge of the captured vessel, the now familiar wave of evil assailed his senses. He faltered, only to be pushed aside by one of the xeno team members, impatient to start work. No one else had reacted or commented on the evil atmosphere and Steg decided not to mention it.

He thought the Xesset interior design was ugly and awkward, obviously equipped for a very different species. Steg wandered around the bridge, vaguely examining equipment and papers, careful to avoid the rush of xeno specialists as he attempted to absorb and assess the alien working environment.

The bridge layout was sparse, drab, and colorless. It seemed to contain only the minimum of instruments and controls. It had the untidy aftermath of emergency abandonment. Papers, star maps, and manuals littered the floor, discarded when the alien crew attempted to abandon the ship. In their haste to flee they had not stopped to destroy papers or to sabotage equipment. Apparently accustomed to victory or flight, with total self-destruction their only response to defeat, they did not know how to cope when that failed. As a result the contents of the bridge, although untidy and disordered, were intact and available to the xeno team.

Steg examined a crumpled manual and straightened the pages, smoothing out the creases. He attempted to translate it, accessing the Ziangka system’s Xesset language archives. The results flowed with ease. The manual was a very basic and detailed set of instructions for operating the Xesset communication system.

He carefully placed the manual to one side and gathered up a set of star maps; however, the language archive lacked the depth of content to support his translation efforts. He placed the star maps on the navigator’s console and wandered around the bridge, almost aimlessly prodding and prying at whatever caught his attention. Denke had disappeared and the xeno team ignored Steg’s presence.

He sat at what appeared to be the main workstation, similar to the workstation he had used in the engine room. The keyboard was of crude construction and difficult to operate, designed for the wider span and blunter fingers of Xesset operators. Steg experimented with the keyboard to the sudden alarm of one of the xeno team.

“Stop that. Interference with alien artifacts before xeno clearance is prohibited by regulations,” came the stern admonition.

Steg smiled. He was disinclined to argue with the man. He spun around on the operator’s chair, ignoring the xeno’s outraged expression. He did not need to key in commands. Almost absently he made direct contact with the Xesset system, defining a basic search function. He wanted to discover more details about the star maps.

His touch was soft and gentle as he developed exploratory mental contact, examining light paths and linkages, dipping occasionally into memory cells and sampling data flows. He could sense members of the xeno teams as they explored the bridge and Xesset quarters and further out he could sense the healing repairs on the outer skin of the ship. He watched the progress of the work crews, following their ant-like activities across the exterior surface with idle interest. He looked out and tried to view the stars. He moved into the communication net and monitored the flow of traffic. With growing alarm he detected the echo of faint commands from an external source. The ship was responding to those distant commands, moving out a stream of data, slowly emptying its memory cells.

His reaction was almost one of panic as he jammed the alien communication channels and closed down the entire Xesset system. Overhead lights blinked and faded to be replaced by emergency lighting. The ventilation system whined its protesting disagreement as it lost power and ceased to operate. Automatic doors jammed, either open or closed, seeming at random but suddenly immobile. A deep silence fell as all system-driven activities ceased. Then in the midst of the ensuing surge of concerned and protesting voices, Denke reappeared.

“Everything has shut down. I sense a familiar hand?”

“Well, yes. Xesset somehow remotely triggered a worm program. A large amount of data was flowing out. Also I think they were tapping into our activities here and possibly on Ziangka. I had to stop them.”

“You certainly succeeded.” Denke ignored the xeno officer who was expressing angry concern at Steg’s interference. “You stopped just about everything, I’d say.”

Another voice intruded into the conversation. The xeno officer had contacted his team leader. “You were warned about interfering with alien artifacts. Totally against regulations. Just see what you have done. We’ve lost—”

Denke made a rude, exasperated noise.

“I will report you, lieutenant.” The xeno leader backed away, still threatening.

Denke continued his discussion with Steg. “Do you think you can start it up again? Without losing data?”

“Re-starting the system is no problem, as long as we first isolate its communication functions. We need to prevent the other ship from taking command.”

“Let’s do it.” Denke was ready to act. “I’ll get my tech team to disconnect the communication equipment. You stand by.” He gave rapid-fire commands over his comunit and his technical team quickly arrived on the bridge. The xeno team, protesting, was pushed out.

Steg watched and assisted Denke’s technicians. Eventually the tech lead stood back and announced completion of the task.

“That’s it. As far as we can determine, the Xesset computer is isolated. Basically, the ship’s system is now blind and deaf, cut off from all its external sensors, unable to receive or transmit data.”

Denke and Steg went through a detailed checklist with the technicians, covering every possible linkage. At last they were in agreement. The Xesset computer was isolated from the outside world.

“I think we should link to Ziangka data storage units and copy across everything we can,” advised Steg. “That way, if anything goes wrong, we’ll have a copy of the Xesset data.”

“What if the Xesset manage to insert their worm program into Ziangka’s system? Will we lose everything to the Xesset?” Denke was suddenly aware of the greater risks arising from their activities.

Steg was confident. “We can manage that by isolating some storage units.”

“Hmm. I think we’d better play this through official channels. We need the Captain’s permission before we write off his computer system. Oh, it’s OK for me to commandeer crew, maybe a cutter and possibly a fully crewed warship. But I think I should be prudent and ask first. I must remember not to step on too many toes.”

They—Steg, Denke and the technical team lead—assembled on the command bridge. For once Steg was unaccountably apprehensive. He looked around as they waited for Captain Gallos to attend, curious to see that the waiting group included the xeno team lead, a ship’s sergeant at arms as well as Cat and a number of senior officers.

“I think we’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest,” commented Denke with private amusement.

Gallos strode onto the bridge and turned to face the assembled group. He focused his attention on Steg, his face livid with anger.

“I gave you an express order. Do not interfere with my ship’s computer system. Correct?”

Steg straightened to attention, surprised and alarmed at the venom in the captain’s voice.

“Yes, sir.”

Steg noted Denke expressed no surprise at the turn of events. With a sudden sinking sensation Steg realized he had indeed disobeyed Gallos’ instruction.

The captain turned to the sergeant at arms. “Sergeant. This officer is to be placed under arrest. The charge is disobeying a direct order during enemy action. I will post court-martial details later.”

The sergeant at arms moved to Steg’s side. “Sir, are you armed?”

“I am unarmed.” He turned back to the captain. “Sir—”

“Silence. Permission to speak denied. You will be allocated a lawyer when I post the court-martial details. You are now under arrest and will be confined accordingly.” He turned his attention to Denke. “Now, Major—what can I do for you?”

Denke explained the situation. “Captain, the Xesset computer has a substantial database which will assist our understanding of the species and provide us with details of their base and origins. We’ve isolated the main system from all external communication and sensor devices—the system is now deaf and blind. Lieutenant Ross suggested, and I concur, that we should move Xesset data into Ziangka memory to protect it against loss or corruption. We need your authority to proceed. This is a critical issue.”

Captain Gallos looked thoughtfully at Denke as he considered the request. He turned to the waiting group of officers, his command group.

“Gentlemen? What do you think?”

There followed a very agitated discussion and exchange of opinions. At its conclusion, one of the officers, the chief systems officer, voiced their shared objections.

“Sir, this could contaminate our system. The linkage may allow the Xesset to penetrate our system and access our data, as well. We do not recommend this action.”

“And you, de Coeur? What’s your opinion?”

Steg was stunned at the use of his name. His surprise was shared by the group and an excited buzz filled the room, to be silenced by a frowned reprimand from the captain.

“Well?”

“Sir, the Xesset system contains data which will be invaluable to us in the search for their base and for understanding their culture and motives. We can isolate a section of Ziangka memory and transfer data to that, without undue risk.”

“Thank you. How would you isolate a portion of our memory units?”

Steg explained his proposal in detail, carefully omitting any reference to his ability to communicate with both systems. Denke made no comment. Gallos sought verification from his officers after Steg completed his explanation. Finally he addressed his officers.

“Gentlemen, this seems to protect my ship,” the captain concluded. “Do you have any comment?”

“Sir, the proposal seems safe enough. But in reality—”

“Reality? What I’ve heard seems real enough to me.”

“The risks sir, if something goes wrong. Our entire system will be open to the Xesset.”

“And how many freighters have Xesset attacked and stripped bare? How many?” Gallos glared at his officers, striking his desk in emphasis. The chief systems officer edged away, his face red.

“Sir, I don’t know.”

“Hah! I’ll tell you. At the last count the total was thirty. Thirty Imperial freighters. Had we not saved the last one, it would have been thirty-one. And how many computer systems have Xesset had access to? Thirty! Thirty!” The shock wave of his fist hitting the desk disturbed papers and they fluttered and scattered. Steg watched with hidden amusement. “So,” continued the captain. “We have an opportunity to strip out a Xesset system. The first one. Tell me, what is the real risk situation?”

The question was met with silence as the officers looked at each other, reluctant to give voice to further objections. Denke was intent on a detailed examination of a wall print. The sergeant at arms was still at attention; his only interest was the effective custody of his prisoner. The silence grew and deepened. Steg realized he had inadvertently made another enemy as he caught the glare of the chief systems officer.

“I take it we have no further objections, gentlemen?” No one responded to the captain’s almost rhetorical question. “Good. We need the contents of this system. See to it.” He dismissed his officers, signaling to Denke and de Coeur to stay behind. The sergeant at arms did not stir. Gallos waited until the room emptied.

“Tell me, Denke, is the risk acceptable?”

“If de Coeur’s in control—”

“How can I permit that?”

Steg was tempted to speak, to be silenced by a frown from his companion. He decided to bide his time.

“Damned Navy. OK, so he’s broken some of your rules. Remember, we captured the Xesset ship as a direct consequence of de Coeur’s assistance.”

“Be that as it may, your point is irrelevant to the question of discipline on board my ship.”

“Captain, I have seen worse and you know it; the penalties have been a slap on the wrist rather than a court-martial. Despite your objections, I want de Coeur involved. He can handle the Xesset end of the data transfers. Let your specialists set up the link and we’ll look after the rest.”

“Denke, if you make your request official, I will release de Coeur into your charge. But I want him back. Sergeant, you can stand down, for now.”

The xeno team expressed their reluctance to withdraw from the Xesset command bridge, with it treasures of artifacts and documents. Denke quickly silenced their protests with threats.

“If you do not leave this bridge in the next sixty seconds I will conscript you all into the Special Force with a downgrade of both rank and privileges. I should not need to point out that you then would be subject to our rules and discipline, which are far more severe than those of your Xeno Service. Leave this bridge now.”

He turned and spoke softly to Steg as the xeno team reluctantly made their way off the bridge. “I’d probably be subject to a court-martial myself if I recruited that lazy bunch. Now, de Coeur, to work. The system’s all yours; no one will interrupt or interfere, so get to work.”

Steg relished the task which would take his mind off his pending court-martial and also allow him to test and expand his abilities. He carefully began to reactivate the Xesset system, checking step by step to ensure the system was under his complete control and isolated from the commands from deep space. At last the technical crew signaled their system was ready to accept the flow of Xesset data. He initiated the transfer process. Denke and the technical team were unaware that he had incorporated a small program to extract data items of interest which later could be forwarded to the Glass Complex. Steg had an overriding desire to protect himself and to ensure the continuing survival and independence of Homeworld.

Hours passed. Denke grew bored and wandered off to speak with the team in the engine room. Block after block of data transferred to Ziangka. Navigation tables. Star tables. Weapon systems. Personnel statistics. Routine orders. Maintenance procedures. His private reservoir of data now held complete details of the Xesset drive, including its design, construction, and operation and maintenance procedures. Eventually the Imperial technical teams would distill the same details from their painstaking efforts. Those results would be held within Fleet, and possibly released to corporations friendly to Fleet officers, perhaps to the House of Aluta.

Steg wanted that information for Homeworld. The Acolytes could use the data to influence the design of new drives for Homeworld’s fleet, for both military and trading vessels. That would be a major benefit for Homeworld. He instructed Ziangka’s system to dispatch his copy of the data to Homeworld without alerting the technical team. He relaxed and continued to monitor the transfers.

Eventually Denke returned. Steg tapped at the Xesset keyboard and drew his attention to the display.

“This is a complete translation, Denke. A full description of the Xesset base, including coordinates. And some indications of their home system.”

Denke almost bared his teeth. “Good work. Their base is not that far away. We need to pay them a visit. I’ll talk with Gallos. He’ll want to see these details. I know he wants to follow through on this. We can leave the Xesset ship here with the Fleet experts because we now have the most important details. We need to go get some pirates.”

He strode off, leaving Steg to conclude the data transfer. The Xesset system had been exhausted of content, a copy of its data now was safely stored in Ziangka data storage units, and the process had completed without damage or loss.

******

Chapter 17

Ziangka was on course to the Xesset base; however the promise of pending battle had not diverted the captain’s intention to bring Steg before a court-martial board. The appointed defense counsel had proven almost negligently inept and Steg had ignored the man. Steg fully realized he was being railroaded out of the Fleet and the process was in its final stages.

The presiding officer addressed Steg with practiced and almost glib formality. “Lieutenant Ross—you’ve heard the case presented by the prosecuting officer, with supporting evidence from prosecution witnesses. Do you wish to call witnesses for your defense?”

Steg ignored the unspoken inference that his witnesses—if he had any—would never match those of the prosecution. He replied with matching formality.

“I do not wish to call witnesses.”

“Do you wish to make a statement to the Board?”

“Yes, sir.” Steg realized he must make some attempt to mitigate his offense. While he didn’t hold out much hope, he needed to combat the enmity flowing from Captain Gallos. He had sought shelter under the wings of the Fleet and now that shelter was fast losing substance. He suspected the House of Aluta somehow had discovered his whereabouts and brought pressure to bear on the captain. Gallos wanted his discharge from the Fleet; that was obvious to Steg.

“Very well. Proceed.” The officer hid a yawn.

“Thank you. I admit that in technical terms I did interfere with the Ziangka system. I changed the display program, and made other unauthorized incursions into the system. However, my contacts with the system were not malicious. Instead they were beneficial to the crew and to the star ship. I submit that success of the attack on the Xesset ships was aided by my actions.”

“We have seen no supporting evidence, nothing has been presented to the court in support of this ambitious and doubtful claim.”

“Major Denke—”

“While the major is a renowned Special Forces officer, he is not Fleet. Further, he is not present to assist this court. We do not accept your statement in mitigation. My fellow officers on this board agree unanimously—your interference with Ziangka’s system occurred during a period while the ship and crew were in conflict with an enemy combatant. Further, your actions were in direct contravention of a direct order issued by Captain Gallos. Therefore your actions constitute a deplorable breach of discipline and at least represented conduct prejudicial to the well-being and survival of the ship and crew. Our unanimous verdict is guilty, Mr. Ross.” He paused for effect. “The decision of the Board is that you be discharged from the service of the Imperial Fleet, without honor. Your discharge will be of immediate effect. Then, as a civilian whose presence on board ss Ziangka is unauthorized, you will be confined to quarters under guard. When we next touch down at any Imperial location, you will be expelled from the ship. Of course Fleet will arrange a standard travel warrant, for your return trip to Althere. Do you have any questions?”

“Do I have a right of appeal?” Steg was struggling to remain calm.

“Of course. You may appeal firstly to the captain of ss Ziangka. And then you may appeal to the Fleet Admiralty. Such appeals would result in a full review of this court-martial. However, the maximum penalty for your offense is up to ten years servitude on a Fleet planet or in a Fleet prison. You should be aware Captain Gallos requested the maximum penalty. You have fourteen days to consider whether you intend to appeal.”

“I understand.” Steg’s tone was bitter. The presiding officer had made his point. The House of Aluta had reached deep into the Fleet to find and trap him. And somehow Denke had disappeared. He could not determine whether the two events were linked. He did know the House of Aluta had not finished with him, and he would need to be continually alert to avoid the next step in their plan. He probably was safe while he was on Ziangka but once he disembarked the star ship, his very life would be at risk.

The presiding officer nodded. “You will be escorted to your new quarters. You may take your personal belongings, except for weapons. Private weapons will be returned when you disembark. Your servant may attend you, although you will remain under guard. Any questions?”

Steg realized further protests would be futile. It would be difficult for any agents of House of Aluta to reach him while he was under guard, so perhaps the loss of his weapons pack and Ebony would be only a temporary inconvenience.

The presiding officer signaled the sergeant at arms. “Take this civilian to his new quarters and keep him under guard until he disembarks this ship.”

“Oh master,” the little alien was disconsolate. “Tziksis sad is. Misfortune heavily on young princeling falls.”

“I agree misfortune indeed has fallen. Now tell me, what is the latest news?”

Tziksis still maintained his communication network. “Star ship Ziangka is heading towards pirate planet. Trip three days more will take.”

“Have you managed to find Denke?”

“No, young master. Tziksis sorry is, but of the major, no sign is. Most strange, much effort Tziksis has applied.”

The major had disappeared; either he had somehow disembarked in mid-space, had fallen victim to an attack in some dark corridor, or else was very thoroughly hiding his on board location. Steg discounted the last two alternatives. It would be easy for someone to hide, although motivation to do so was a mystery. Ziangka was a large ship with vast and unused facilities, with empty deck after empty deck, built to carry a substantially larger crew. Tziksis had organized numerous small search parties and despite their efforts, the major was nowhere to be found. Steg was extremely disappointed at the major’s failure to support him.

“Keep searching, Tziksis. Leave messages that I would like to speak with him as soon as possible.”

“Yes, oh master. Tziksis now will go, search continues.” Tziksis bobbed his eyestalks as he turned away.

When the little alien departed, disturbing the taciturn guard on duty outside his quarters, Steg attempted to settle back onto his narrow bunk, the only item of furniture provided for his comfort. His quarters were almost cell-like and obviously intended to be basic accommodation for himself and Tziksis. A work crew had replaced the standard door with a heavier one, as though Captain Gallos was expecting him to escape. Or at least, to make an attempt. The armed guard outside added to the impression that Steg was a prisoner. He was being treated with extreme caution. While Tziksis was allowed to leave the cabin unescorted, Steg was very constrained. He was permitted to exercise although the nominated gym was always vacant when he attended. Generally, he was isolated from the star ship’s routine and from members of the officers and crew with whom he was acquainted. He minimized his contact with the star ship’s system; he did not wish to reveal to the captain the extent of his ability not only to communicate to the system but also to take control of it.

While visitors were discouraged, neither Cat nor Long John Silver, the Green’s captain, took notice and his daily tedium was relieved by their visits. They were unaffected by the presence of the guard or by the disapproval of senior officers. They had recognized Steg’s support against the Xesset and realized his contribution to the success of that engagement. They too had attempted to contact the missing Specials major, with an equal lack of success.

“I doubt he’s on board, now,” commented Cat. He responded to Steg’s expression of disbelief. “Oh, it’s happened often enough. One moment he’s here, the next he’s gone. Then he turns up somewhere else in the Fleet. I know, I’ve compared notes with other pilots. Either he belongs to a set of identical clones, or he has his own star ship and it uses a well-hidden docking bay somewhere on this ship.”

“How serious are you?” inquired Long John, intrigued by the possibility of numerous Denke clones.

“As to the clones—not at all,” corrected Cat. “There has to be a straightforward explanation and a small star ship is the only one I can think of. It leaves more questions unanswered, I admit—that’s the best I can do, though.”

“What if the other pilots are mistaken? Cutter pilots are not renowned for their sobriety,” Steg challenged, hiding his smile.

“Vile rumors. You shouldn’t listen to corrupting stories of that nature. Which reminds me—here.” He passed a bottle to Steg. “I liberated this from the Xesset ship, part of a cargo they had looted. Vintage.” He stayed to drink most of the contents.

Steg later pondered the half-serious contention of the cutter pilot that the Specials had some secret docking bay and small star ship. Perhaps the contention was just ship’s gossip, he mused. It would be interesting to explore the truth with Denke whenever he caught up with him. At last, reluctantly, he decided to use the system in a final attempt to solve the problem.

Steg de Coeur to Module Ziangka.

Module Ziangka.

Shipsearch program. Subject is Major Denke. Implement now.

Shipsearch running.

Steg waited patiently as the system used its files of tapes from video monitors and lock access records to search for the missing major. Eventually the system reported.

Module Ziangka to Steg de Coeur.

Steg de Coeur.

*Shipsearch Major Denke. Results follow. Last recorded presence was minus five days three hours. Currently Major Denke is not on board ss Ziangka.”

Steg calculated; the major had disappeared a day before the court-martial. He shook his head in silent disbelief. It seemed as though Denke had achieved the impossible. Somehow he had departed—disembarked—while the star ship was in full flight towards the pirate base. Steg checked the timing—it had been between needle jumps. He decided to probe further.

*Module Ziangka, confirm no trace of Shipsearch subject after minus five days, three hours.*

Shipsearch result confirmed.

Were any star ships located within one light year of Ziangka at time of last trace?

Negative.

Report significant events ten minutes before and ten minutes after minus five days, three hours.

Logs contain no significant events. Only routine events recorded.

Could events be off-log—not recorded?

Negative.

Is data on file or data missing from file that does not match log records?

The wait was long.

Data analysis indicates a substantial use of power at minus five days two hours fifty-three minutes. Power records are inconsistent with logs. No log record exists for this event.

Report power used.

The result was staggering. Almost all power units on the star ship had been diverted to whatever purpose Denke had needed. Ziangka had used standby facilities for its routine activities, which is why the power diversion had been unobserved.

Steg withdrew from the system. The mystery had deepened. Major Denke was able to control Ziangka, using it as a source of power that somehow enabled him to leave the star ship. If Steg had time, perhaps weeks, perhaps months, and the freedom to do so, he might solve the problem. Unfortunately he didn’t have the freedom or time. For the moment he couldn’t mount more than a token search. He shrugged to himself, unwilling to admit defeat but unable to determine how he could overcome the present barriers.

The sudden arrival of his excited servant shattered his reverie. Steg waited patiently for the alien to regain his coherence.

“Oh youthful master, sir. Wondrous news is, wonderful news.”

“Well, Tziksis, out with it.”

“Ship vid-system showed details of planet where pirate based are. Tziksis is. Planet is. Home is.”

“What, it’s your home planet?”

“Yes, oh master youngling. Tziksis home is. Invaded by pirates who base use. Tziksis planet from vid details recognized. Home. After many years Tziksis going home is. Oh master, please confirm, please give your permission for Tziksis to be free.”

“Why, Tziksis, of course you can go home, you are always free. My permission is not necessary. I’m certain Fleet will land either Ziangka or some cutters, and it should be a simple matter for you to get passage to the planet. Why, you’d be able to act as an interpreter—the xenos will enlist your assistance very quickly once you let them know. Now, are you certain this is your home planet?”

“Certainty absolute is. Tziksis planet no other is.”

“OK. The first step may be to contact one of the xenos. They’ill closely examine your claim.” Steg wondered why the little alien was suddenly subdued.

“Tziksis for xeno ready is. For three years Tziksis try to gain attention of xeno authorities, without success. Now instant fame will be.”

“I can guess how you feel. Perhaps I can arrange one of the xenos to visit us, here. Although they may be reluctant since I caused them to be thrown off the Xesset ship. However, professional curiosity should overcome injured pride. We need to plan this carefully so you don’t end up in a xeno lab.” He was only partially joking.

Tziksis bristled. “Tziksis for lab not volunteer. Silent will be.”

“So tell me all—why were you on Althere?”

“Xesset pirates planet Djii attacked, home of Tziksis. Djiis no star ships has. Small army, small weapons, Djiis has. Pirate foothold and possession established without difficulty, for my people peaceful are. Pirates easy victory had.”

Tziksis continued his history as Steg struggled to rearrange his tangled syntax.

Xesset forces had quickly overwhelmed primitive Djiis defenses and then used the planet’s inhabitants as slave labor, not only to build the Xesset base but also to produce and supply food and other items required to support the pirate fleet. While Djiis had reached a sophisticated technology level, they had neither means nor experience to combat the invaders. Xesset depredations had cruel and lasting impacts on Djiis. Their most able workers were recruited into labor gangs and gradually food harvests declined in both quality and quantity as they struggled to meet Xesset demands. The pirates ignored the pending deprivation and starvation of their captives and continued to demand their supplies. The food surplus available on the planet declined each year while failure to provide food to the Xesset was met with a ruthless reaction, the pirates killing more and more Djiis in retaliation. The people starved where once they had plenty; oppression burdened them when once they had been free. In reaction, a small rebellious underground flourished, but the rebellious Djiis were impotent in the face of the military and technical strengths of the Xesset invaders.

Eventually Djiis authorities decided to contact the Empire, the unknown strangers who generated an intense and frightening hatred in their Xesset occupiers. But with no star ships and no facilities capable of s-t communication, they devised an extreme and highly dangerous plan. They smuggled small teams each of two or three Djiis, onto Xesset star ships, the pirates’ raiding craft. The stowaways would remain undetected while the Xesset ships were in flight, and then when opportunity was presented, they would escape using Xesset lifeboats. Their plan was borne in desperation.

Tziksis was the leader of one of the stowaway teams. They had successfully hidden until the pirates attacked a star freighter, and then while the Xesset were preoccupied, they made their getaway in a small lifeboat which they launched into the unknown.

Fortunately their departure from the Xesset star ship had gone undetected. However Djiis planners had underestimated the difficulties of supplying and navigating a lifeboat. Their small amount of fuel was quickly exhausted and as they drifted along a shipping lane their supplies ran very low. A curious freighter captain rescued them, taking the lifeboat in exchange for their passage to the nearest planet on his route. The planet was Althere.

Disappointment continued to pursue the small team of Tziksis and his two companions. They had no funds and were unable to interest Imperial officials in their plight. They were treated as refugees and begrudgingly permitted to remain on Althere. Again and again, they tried to contact senior xeno officials but always lacked the funds to bribe the uninterested junior officials. They had been on Althere for three years and had almost given up hope when Steg had offered to take Tziksis back into space. The alien had grasped the opportunity, hardly daring to hope that somehow he eventually would return to his home planet.

“Accredited official envoy for Djii, Tziksis is. All documents held. Authority complete is.” Tziksis ended his story.

Steg sat back in silence. After a few moments he spoke. “Do you still have your documents?”

“All document held,” Tziksis confirmed as he withdrew a small pouch from a hidden recess under his carapace. “Formally signed and sealed by all senior families on Djii.”

“This alters your position, entirely. The xenos will have to take a back seat; an envoy from an alien planet is totally outside their jurisdiction. Do not release those documents under any circumstances to anyone other than the Ziangka captain. A Fleet captain has authority to accept envoys and diplomatic missions. He must recognize your diplomatic status. The first thing you should do is copy your documents for xeno validation. Also I can make sure your details and status are registered in the ship’s system. That way no one can deny your status.”

“To copy no problem for Tziksis is. To register them, Tziksis directions will follow.”

“Good. While you arrange a copy, I’ll see how we can arrange a meeting with the captain. I need to do some research. This will create a ripple or two, I suspect.”

“Ripples Tziksis will enjoy,” confirmed the alien as he knocked on the heavy door to attract the attention of the guard.

Steg needed to protect his small friend. He realized he had multiple problems to solve before the alien would be recognized as his planet’s envoy. The first was to arrange a meeting with the captain which was going to be very difficult. Most of all he needed to ensure Djiis were protected from the more rapacious elements of the Empire. By the time the star ship arrived at Djii, the pirate base needed to be under Djiis control. This was the only way to prove to the Empire that Djiis could manage their own planetary affairs. Otherwise they would become a vassal state, totally under Imperial control.

His mind churning, Steg contacted the system.

Steg de Coeur to Module Ziangka.

Module Ziangka.

Advise arrival schedule for Xesset base.

Orbit Xesset base plus two days seven hours.

Prepare for transmission to Glass Complex.

Steg dictated a long message for the Acolytes requesting their assistance. He included very detailed instructions. In response, he hoped, orders would be transmitted to the captain as though sourced from Fleet Admiralty. One of these orders would instruct the captain to accept Tziksis as a duly authorized envoy, and for ss Ziangka to render full aid and assistance to the planet and its people. A separate order would instruct the xeno team to authenticate Tziksis’ status. Steg hoped that by the time anyone on the star ship thought to verify Admiralty instructions, all formalities would have been concluded, with the planet back in control of its people. Faced with such a fait accompli it would be extremely difficult for the Empire to withdraw the recorded recognition of independent status of Djii.

Tziksis was re-admitted by the bored guard and showed the copied documents to Steg.

“Good, Tziksis. Now listen. We do not have very much time. First the xenos need to validate these documents. They will forward their validation to the captain. He will also receive orders from Fleet Admiralty to accept your diplomatic status.”

“Oh master youth, Tziksis forever in your debt is. All Djiis will be in your debt if success we have.”

“I’ll do what I can. What communication arrangements do you have with your Djiis underground?”

“Coded communication is possible. Djiis technology improved with equipment from Xesset trash stolen. Careless disposal process helped Djiis.”

“We need to contact your underground as soon as possible. Their challenge will be to take back control from Xesset forces before we arrive.” He explained his reasoning.

“Very major task that is. Twenty small star ships and two large star ships Xesset have. Xesset on planet well armed, base heavily defended is.”

“What if I can cancel the advantages held by Xesset forces? If I cut their communications links, and make sure their ships cannot fight? I may even be able to control their entire network, so that they become isolated units. Would your people be prepared to act?”

“Oh master, sir, any reward Tziksis can grant, yours is. Freedom of the planet would be wondrous, a dream of all Djiis.”

“Let us see what happens. And in return, perhaps Djiis can assist me and my people, if ever that is needed?”

Tziksis delivered his reply with care; for once, his syntax was not mangled. “Our debt to you is already high and will be substantial if you succeed in this plan, Steg de Coeur. My duty and pleasure, is to formally commit my people and their resources, to aid you and your people if ever the need arises. I, Tziksis, Ambassador for the people of Djii, make this promise and pledge my house and my life to its redemption.”

Steg bowed his head in formal acceptance of the pledge, recognizing the extent of the burden that his alien friend had imposed on himself and his people. “Thank you, Tziksis. And please, from now on—my name is Steg.”

“Oh master youth. Steg. Overjoyed, Tziksis is.”

The alien had learned to survive in the rough alleyways of Althere yet had maintained his innate dignity. His survival under dangerous and challenging circumstances justified the faith placed in him by his people on Djii.

“Now we have work to do,” Steg reminded Tziksis. “You need to deliver the copy of your credentials to the xenos. Simply leave them with the duty officer, and if questioned, simply state you have been instructed to make the delivery. They’ll also receive a message ordering them to examine the copy and authenticate your status to the captain. Do not surrender the originals. Return here at shift changeover and we’ll await developments.”

“Yes, my friend. Influence the ship system now you plan?”

“Er—yes. Now go, while I organize the next step. Please make sure I am not disturbed. Check with me in the morning.”

Steg waited for the guard to let Tziksis out of the cabin.

Steg de Coeur to Module Ziangka.

Module Ziangka.

Monitor and advise status of communications from Fleet Admiralty on Althere to Captain Gallos. Subjects are planet Djii and envoy Tziksis. Advise when received. Also monitor for communication to xeno team lead, same subjects. Advise when received.

He released his contact with the system, confident that he would be advised when the messages were received. Now he would test his abilities to the utmost. His success or failure would influence the future of Djii. He sat back and relaxed, closing his mind to the cabin, to the ship and to the system. He concentrated, listening, searching, extending his reach. He could detect sprinkles of light scattered across the vast expanse that surrounded him as though he were searching a star-filled sky on an exceptionally dark night. He reached out along the path the star ship was heading, stretching his mind, seeking any and every faint murmur. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Steg was only marginally dismayed. The star ship would take another two days to reach the Djiis system. He realized the timing would be exceptionally tight. He lay on the bunk, and closed his eyes, and relaxed, purposefully moving to a deep relaxed state. Deeper. Deeper. The stars returned. He watched them, felt for their source, listened to their messages. He moved deeper, further into a relaxed state until he slept soundly.

Ziangka Module to Steg de Coeur.

Steg de Coeur.

Communications received from Admiralty both for xeno team lead and for Captain Gallos. Message contents follow.

Steg sat up and reviewed the contents of the two messages. The Glass Complex Acolytes had implemented his instructions. Steg suspected the Complex also had added records to the Admiralty system on Althere that would confuse any validation process. Pleased with completion of the first step in his plans, he lay back and closed his eyes, hoping for at least another hour of sleep.

He was in a nightmare, struggling to survive. Cold tendrils sought him and filled his mind, clawed at his will. He fought back, struggling to breathe in the black airless void of his imagination. He wrestled with the tendrils, trying to grip them, forcing them to turn back, to leave him alone. As soon as he succeeded with one tendril, another moved in and attacked him. He continued his battle, alone, fighting against the dread that filled his mind. He recognized the touch of Xesset systems. He drew on all his strength and lashed out at the threatening collection of evil. It retreated, tendrils lashing futilely. The nightmare ceased and Steg resumed a restful sleep.

He awoke when the guard opened his cell door to allow Tziksis to enter.

“Copy of Djiis documents to xeno team with success delivered,” confirmed Tziksis after the guard left. “Duty officer intrigued was. No protest or questions made.”

“They’ve received instructions to examine the documents and report their validity to the captain. The captain has also received instructions. We should be hearing from him some time in the next hour or so. Then, Tziksis, it will be in your hands. The important objective is to ensure that no matter what happens, sovereignty of Djiis is preserved.”

“Tziksis understands, young princeling. In short acquaintance Tziksis observant was. Imperial ills its strengths almost outweigh.” The alien was cautious.

“Not almost,” Steg had no such caution. “I’ve no doubt about the ills of the Empire. My homeworld has been caught up in its corruption and cruelties, and I must continue to warn you of the dangers.”

“Tziksis and prince agreed are.” His eyestalks bobbed up and down. “Djiis will do all possible to pirates defeat. My people could not survive. The yoke of a second oppressor they do not need. Djiis free must be. We friends with Empire and Homeworld would wish, however major debt to Steg de Coeur we will owe.”

“Very well. Now, how do I contact the underground leaders on Djii? Can you give me names? Codes? Contact frequencies?”

“Yes, code is. Protocol I have. General Theas very surprised will be. At first also suspicious,” Tziksis warned.

“If I use the Xesset language they’ll respond?”

“Yes, we understand Xesset and speak. Xesset refused to learn Djiis, difficult is. Even Imperial xenos, problems will have.” He waved his eyestalks to emphasize his point.

“Very good. Now, let me try for contact. We may still be too far away, I need to check. Block the door for me, just in case the guards decide to pay us a visit,” Steg directed as he settled down to the task.

Steg de Coeur to Module Ziangka.

Module Ziangka.

New program, DjiisContact. Use following codes and frequencies. Steg prepared and input the parameters for the system to use in the attempt to contact Djiis forces. Using Ziangka for that task would free Steg for other activities. The system would continuously beam a message to the planet, targeting the Djiis communication net. The system would listen and advise Steg when it detected a reply, however faint. He monitored the communication process until he was confident the program was running smoothly.

“We’re still too distant,” he advised Tziksis. “However, the communication program is running and will not stop until we have a reply. It shouldn’t be too long, if your people are monitoring the channels—” His comments were interrupted by loud knocking on the cell door. “Perhaps someone wants to speak to us, do you think?” The door swung open to reveal the guard and a senior ship’s officer, Lieutenant Commander Stenten. He had been a member of Steg’s court-martial board. The officer stepped into the small cabin.

“Lieutenant—er—Mr. Ross. The captain’s compliments and he orders—um, that is, he requests the presence of the Djiis alien known as Tziksis.” The officer was nervous because he had heard strange rumors about the Homeworlder in addition to the evidence at the court-martial, and he was uncertain how to present the captain’s order.

“So you have some reason for your order—or request?” Steg queried.

“Er—I believe—yes, Mr. Ross. Apparently some claim has been made that the alien is a diplomatic representative for the planet where Xesset are based.” He wiped his brow. He could sense he was not using the correct approach; however his orders had been curt and to the point. “The captain wishes to question the alien to verify his claims.”

“What is the courtesy normally accorded a diplomatic envoy aboard a Fleet star ship?” Steg continued his softly voiced questioning.

The officer brightened. “Why, it rarely happens,” he responded eagerly. “I believe their accommodation is regarded as their territory—their embassy—for the period of the voyage.”

“All the rights of an embassy would apply?”

“Yes, indeed.”

Steg pounced. “So if a duly authorized diplomatic representative were to occupy these quarters,” he waved his hands at the walls. “They would be deemed foreign territory, barred to even the most senior Fleet officer unless an invitation to enter has been extended? In fact, a person entering this embassy without invitation would be a trespasser?”

“Er—I think you must be correct.”

“It would appear you are trespassing.”

The officer did not respond and Steg continued. “You agree, yes? Ambassador Tziksis is occupying these quarters and you are here, uninvited. You are trespassing. Continuance of this intrusion will be regarded as a breach of diplomatic protocol.” Steg was guessing. “That would be a major blunder. If the captain intends to—I believe you said ’question’—the ambassador, it would give rise to a most serious state of affairs. The captain is aware of protocol. Please point out that no one has put forward a claim. And advise him that the Ambassador for Djii will await the pleasure of the captain. Now may I suggest you withdraw?”

The worried officer looked from Steg to Tziksis and back to Steg. He decided to withdraw. “Your points are noted, Mr. Ross. I will return if the captain still requires the presence of the—er—ambassador.” The door closed with a resounding crash as extra force was applied to its closure.

“By default, Tziksis, I think we may have reversed roles. I think I’m now an employee of the Djiis Embassy, at least as spokesman, don’t you think?”

“Young prince correct is. Your support and approach Tziksis accepts. Next move interesting will be.”

“The captain is a career officer and will be prudent, very cautious, very circumspect. He may, of course, hold some anger. We also need to stall for time, at least until we make contact with the Djiis underground.”

******

Chapter 18

Module Ziangka to Steg de Coeur.

Proceed.

DjiisContact program successful. Djii now in secure tight beam link. Contact is General Theas.

Transfer link.

Link transferred.

“General Theas,” Steg addressed the Djiis general via the Ziangka’s system kink. “I’m speaking for Ambassador Tziksis. He has authorized this communication. His reference follows.” He transmitted the agreed code. “Please confirm.” The silence that followed was attributable not only to the distance and time delays, but also to the surprise on the part of the general.

“You are speaking on behalf of whom?”

“Ambassador Tziksis. Please authenticate.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” After a moment of silence the voice came back. “Code authenticated. My code follows.”

Steg checked the code with Tziksis. The little alien was almost uncontainably excited. Steg returned his attention to the transmission.

“General. We are on board an Imperial warship, headed towards Djii. ETA is plus forty-three hours. The Fleet objective is capture of Xesset forces and elimination of their base. However, Ambassador Tziksis advises that you need to act before Imperial forces arrive, otherwise your planet will become property of the Western Star Empire. In approximately twenty hours, Xesset forces will lose total control of all their star ships and heavy weapons. Their battle control computer will be unusable. When this happens, you will have a small window for your forces to take control of the Xesset base. Are you prepared to act?”

“What—? Who are you?”

“My name is Steg de Coeur. Until we can improve communications I’m acting as liaison for Ambassador Tziksis. If you need to further validate his code, please advise.”

After a moment of silence the general spoke. “I accept you are calling with the authority of Ambassador Tziksis, whoever you are. Please tell Ambassador Tziksis that we have attacked the base three times since he left and each time, we have been beaten back with severe losses. Xesset have far superior weapons. Please explain how we are to succeed.”

“I can assure you that within twenty hours all Xesset computer systems will be inactive and you’ll have an opportunity to launch your attack. It may be possible for control of their fixed weapons emplacements to be transferred to your forces. Xesset self-destruct mechanisms at the base and on their star ships will be disabled. If you are not in control by the time the Imperial star ship reaches Djii, the Imperials will claim the system.”

“If you are correct—if Xesset systems will be out of action, we have a chance, a good chance. I must discuss this proposal with my officers. Give me one, no—two hours.”

“Very well. We will contact you again when Ambassador Tziksis has access to a communication facility. Steg de Coeur out.”

Steg relayed the conversation to Tziksis. “If we can persuade the captain to provide better quarters and facilities, I should be able to connect you via a workstation.”

“Young prince, your assistance most appreciated is. Although General Theas proof will need.”

“We should be able to provide him with details and also demonstrate that we can access the Xesset systems. The closer we get, the sooner I can do that. Now we had better see who’s knocking on our door, don’t you think?”

“Come in,” instructed Steg, above the noise. The door opened slowly. “Yes?” he asked.

There visitor again was Lieutenant Commander Stenten. He did not meet Steg’s eye. “The captain’s compliments, Mr. Ross, Ambassador Tziksis. He’s—um—unaware of the protocol required by Ambassador Tziksis and requests a meeting to be arranged at a time agreeable to his Excellency. As we are fast approaching Ambassador Tziksis’ planet the captain suggests the meeting take place as soon as possible. Could you please advise your acceptance and requirements of the Ambassador?” He waited, motionless, unblinking.

“Of course the ambassador would like to present his letters of appointment to the captain as soon as arrangements can be made. You must appreciate that these quarters are hardly fitting, given the historic importance of this first formal meeting with the Empire. So until suitable quarters are made available, the Ambassador is not willing to embarrass the captain by requiring him to attend here. The only Djiis protocol applicable in these matters requires that equal numbers of representatives attend formal meetings. This is to ensure a balanced meeting.” Steg was very formal in his delivery of this information, while setting a pattern of behavior based on an invented protocol. At the very least it should constrain the number of attendees at any meeting with Tziksis.

“Understood, Mr. Ross. I’ll convey these details to the captain.” He almost saluted and his hand froze halfway as he remembered the court-martial proceedings. He withdrew hurriedly and the heavy door slammed behind him.

“Well, Tziksis—Mr. Ambassador—you are on your way. We’ll have new quarters, shortly. Even if they are temporary, they’ll be an improvement on this cell. I daresay the captain will continue to post a guard, though.”

“Truly, my friend, fortunate the Fleet you dismissed. Your assistance to Djiis invaluable is.”

“As long as this doesn’t all come undone. I want to prepare the Xesset so that your Djiis forces will be successful against the pirate base. I need an hour without interruptions, if the guard will cooperate.”

Steg prepared himself for the task of contacting the Xesset systems, tensing involuntarily as he recalled the deluge of evil that flooded his mind with every contact. The challenge now was even greater; he needed to penetrate not two or three systems, but twenty or more. He forced himself to relax and focused on re-establishing contact with the seeming myriad of Xesset systems. He reached out and cold, alien filaments impinged on and penetrated his awareness, as they flowed along the tenuous strands of his mental probes. He sought for a way to penetrate the larger system controlling the pirates’ operations and defenses. Xesset now were on alert, aware of the approaching Imperial destroyer, apparently warned by the fugitive Xesset star ship.

Steg probed and tested, moving into the center of the Xesset base system. Each passing moment brought him closer and the diminishing distance allowed him to improve his hold and permit deeper probes into the center of the alien system. He analyzed its various elements, identifying their functions and capabilities. At last he was able to detect program structures as he moved deeper and deeper into the system. He lost awareness of ss Ziangka, lost conscious contact with the Imperial system, and was no longer aware of his cell-like quarters, or of Tziksis waiting patiently for a progress report. His contact with the Xesset system was complete.

He moved through the alien system, mentally labeling each unit as he grew more certain of its purpose and functions. The automatic defense units were of minimal intelligence, coarsely structured, easy to read and to subvert. Steg canceled out their effectiveness, unit by unit, adding primitive logic traps and resource consuming loop commands until the pirate base lay exposed, defenseless against any attacking force, Djiis or Imperial. As he eliminated the automated effectiveness of the defense units, he interposed data signals to conceal his invasion, circumventing any pre-emptive reaction from the pirates. His incursions would remain undetected and his efforts to sabotage the defenses would stay in place until reality forced awareness on the Xesset forces.

Steg sought and identified control programs until he reached the self-destruct system for the base. He isolated these programs from the Xesset communications net, eliminating links that provided the path for the flow of that final command. However, Djiis forces would need to ensure quick capture of the self-destruct center, to prevent manual triggering of the explosive devices.

Next he focused on neutralizing Xesset star ships. He formulated and coded recall commands, and transmitted them via the base system to all distant Xesset ships, instructing them to return to their designated orbits in Djiis space. He reached out to the star ships already in Djii orbit, and one by one, penetrated their defenses. He used knowledge gained from the first Xesset pirate ship to isolate ship weapons and simultaneously to close down drive systems. He expanded these commands to seal off the self-destruct systems. He blocked communication links and locked access to engine rooms, so that Xesset crews could not destroy their drifting star ships. At last he was finished.

Steg struggled to return his focus to Ziangka. He felt drained, exhausted by what seemed like hours of intense activity.

“I have subverted the Xesset systems, and now they are unable to utilize their weapons systems or star ships to defend their base,” Steg advised Tziksis. “As well, all of their attention is on the ss Ziangka which will help General Theas and his forces. As we approach closer and closer, Xesset will become more and more de-stabilized.”

“Excellent news, oh young lordling. With General Theas now will you communicate?”

“Once we move to new quarters, which should be soon, I’ll set up a link for you to speak directly with him.”

The new quarters, although temporary, were a substantial improvement. They had a small suite, with separate bedrooms, and a reception area. Steg assumed a guard was still stationed outside the door.

Captain Gallos, when he made his appearance, was painfully polite. “Ambassador Tziksis, my welcome is belated but nonetheless genuine. You must be disappointed your papers were not processed on Althere where a more appropriate welcome could have been arranged. In turn, that oversight has allowed me to be the one to welcome your mission to the Empire.” He was standing in the center of the large reception room, trying to avoid acknowledging Steg’s presence. His aide was unknown to Steg and also was avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you, Captain Gallos,” Tziksis welcomed. “Your hospitality most reassuring is. Almost certain Empire and Djiis would never meet, and my task to fulfill impossible was.”

“Ambassador, I realize how difficulties can arise. Now, may I dispense with the usual lengthy exchanges and pleasantries of diplomacy?”

“Captain, why yes. Time on our side is not.” He bobbed his eyestalks.

“Precisely. Your planet unfortunately is being used as a base for these Xesset pirates.” The captain cut to the key issue.

Tziksis had very carefully prepared his speech and presented it with surprising lucidity. “Captain, some time ago a Xesset expeditionary force landed on Djii and took possession of a small region. Their armor and arms were far superior to anything we had experienced. We were overwhelmed. Since that first defeat my people have struggled continuously to overcome and repel this invader. They made slaves of our freemen, starved our populace and used the planet as their base for incursions into Imperial space.”

“Harrumph—yes. They still are on your planet, using this base—in control, I think?” The captain was not a diplomat.

Tziksis turned away from the direct approach contained in the captain’s question. “It shall be my pleasure, Captain, when we arrive at Djii, to welcome you and your crew to the freedom of my planet.”

“Freedom?” barked the captain.

“This courtesy visit we will welcome. A preliminary treaty of friendship we may even be able to negotiate. The honor, captain yours will be.”

“Friendship treaty?”

“When ship arrives at Djii, a free sovereign planet it will be. Djiis will welcome the opportunity of declaring their friendship with the Empire.” Tziksis paused to emphasize his next point. “Will not the Empire the offer of friendship from Djiis welcome?”

“Friendship!” Captain Gallos exploded. His glare encompassed both Steg and Tziksis. “Your planet has been used as a base for pirate incursions against Imperial shipping. The cost to the Empire has been extremely high in lost shipping and lives. And you offer a treaty of friendship? Mr. Ambassador, if Xesset control your planet when my ship arrives, we shall destroy their base. And Djii will be indeed fortunate to survive that assault. If you harbor enemies of the Empire, you are damned.”

“Captain, in control of our planet when you arrive Djiis will be.”

“We shall see,” the captain challenged and spun on his heels and departed abruptly. The hapless aide followed, running to keep up with his senior officer.

Steg frowned. The captain certainly was in no mood to engage in diplomatic niceties. The options for Tziksis and his people were clear. If Xesset still were in control when the Imperial star ship arrived, Steg could visualize the intensive operation that would follow. She would pound the base with heavy space debris, using its tractors to move large lumps of rock and other matter that would be directed down onto the planet, targeting the base. The pirate base would be vaporized. The shock waves would cause untold destruction across Djii. And when Ziangka landed, it would sequester the planet for the Empire unless he could arrange an alternative resolution.

“Djiis forces have a major task ahead of them,” he cautioned Tziksis.

“Spirit to win we have. Theas will task the Darga for battle. We must win. We will not be a subject state, ever again.”

“Darga?”

Again Tziksis carefully selected his words. “Darga have not been used in battle for over five hundred years. They are frenzy warriors, berserkers. Their numbers small are, their abilities major. Unanimous decision of all Djiis generals before the Darga we can commit. If Darga are defeated in battle, end of Djiis, end of our civilization, it written is. Confidence to commit Darga against Xesset forces, unsupported, not have. Now different will be. Onslaught will be ferocious; this is a battle where much honor can be gained for Djiis families in the Darga represented. Oh that I could be there, alongside my people to fight.” His grip on Steg’s arm was almost unbearable.

“Steady, Tziksis. You’ve made your sacrifice,” Steg consoled the little alien. “You’ll be able to join your people in their victory celebrations. Djiis forces outnumber the pirates and their systems are all compromised. They don’t have control of their defenses and won’t be able to rely on their computer systems. We’ll arrive to celebrate Djiis victory.”

“I trust so, my young prince.”

“We should speak with your General Theas again. Let me see what I can do.”

Steg busied himself at the workstation in the corner of the reception room. He switched on the power and the unit hummed to life. He contacted the Ziangka system and provided the unit reference.

Activate workstation functions including voice and video.

Activated.

Isolate from other units.

Isolated.

Link with Djiis unit.

Linked.

Steg pressed the transmit key. “Steg de Coeur for General Theas.”

“This is Major Storn. The Commander is in conference with all the generals,” came the prompt reply. The communication was voice only, although Steg could visualize the speaker and his bobbing eyestalks.

“I am able to connect Ambassador Tziksis for General Theas.”

“I’ll contact General Theas immediately.”

“Tziksis, can we continue to speak in Xesset, so I can keep informed?”

“Of course.”

“This is Theas.”

Tziksis launched into a rapid exchange with the general. Steg was certain a percentage of the communication content was lost as the speakers were using voice only, without the bobbing eyestalks.

“And we should now use Xesset, for my friend here to understand,” Tziksis concluded.

“Certainly,” replied Theas.

“General,” briefed Steg. “This unit can receive both images and audio. If you can activate video at your unit I am sure Tziksis will appreciate it. Now let me update you. Xesset no longer have control of any of their systems. Their weapons systems can be transferred to your people whenever you require. Also, while their self-destruct systems have been compromised, they still may be able to trigger some manually.”

“Steg de Coeur, I look forward to meeting with you. This is the opportunity we have long sought. Tziksis has briefed me with some very high level details. I’ll enjoy the finer details when we have an opportunity.”

“General, are your forces ready to attack the base?”

“We have been in conference to arrange the attack. Now we have confirmation from you and Tziksis, we can make the decision to proceed.”

“Is there anything more you need from me?”

“Not at this stage. I would like to speak with Tziksis for a few more minutes. Then we’ll go back into conference here. My objective is to launch an attack within hours.”

“When you do launch, please arrange for someone to stay in full communication with us. We may be able to assist if you encounter problems.”

Tziksis concluded his conversation and turned to Steg. “Theas will continue to monitor this link and have someone communicate regularly. Perhaps not always in Xesset. Some of the more junior officers are not that fluent. They are going to use the Darga, that certain is.”

Time seemed to slow. Steg maintained a watch on the Xesset systems. The star ship rushed onward, its speed compressing the time available to Djiis forces. At last he discerned a change in Xesset communications. At the same time he was alerted by Tziksis.

“Theas attack launched,” Tziksis confirmed. He continued with updates. “Our forces the base perimeter penetrated. Already the spaceport under our control is. A major battle is underway for the base itself, with its weapons and systems. To capture complete intention is. All Djiis in battle have joined.”

“I may be able to assist. Ask whether Djiis forces can take advantage if I cut off the power to the base?”

A quick exchange followed, between Tziksis and the officer acting as liaison. After a minute or two of silence, the answer came in a rush of Djiis.

“Young prince,” affirmed Tziksis. “Do it, tremendously it will assist.”

Steg immersed himself in the Xesset systems. He soon identified the key utility programs that controlled and distributed energy supplies that kept the base facilities functioning. He stopped the programs. Xesset walkways froze. Elevators ceased to function. Automatic doors jammed, open or shut. A blanket of blackness wrapped around the base which stilled as all Xesset machinery ceased to function. He could detect the chaos as the defenders were thrown into complete disarray and wave after wave of Djiis attackers flooded into the base.

“The Xesset are finished, I think,” Steg commented. “They have lost their fighting cohesion and are now functioning as independent and unguided units. Their defenses will collapse.”

“Confirmation is,” advised Tziksis, his attention on the flow of updates from Djii. “Reports mopping up actions indicate. Xesset in chaos, leaderless, without communications or functioning systems are. Formal surrender not yet, but fighting stopped. Xesset weapons are dropping. My people overrunning the base are.”

Steg opened the cabin door in response to a vigorous knock. The aide who had accompanied the captain earlier was standing at attention just outside the door.

“Sir, please advise the Ambassador we’ll be in orbit in two hours.”

Steg closed the door without commenting. The tension had been immense.

Tziksis turned towards him, his eye stalks bobbing furiously. “Oh prince, now to celebrate. Control is. Djiis free is. My people are free. In your debt forever we are.”

******

Chapter 19

Ziangka had orbited Djii only long enough to set down Tziksis and verify defeat of the Xesset, after which the warship had departed. Djiis requests to disembark Steg were ignored, as were invitations for the ship to land. The captain was adamant that he could only set Steg down on an Imperial planet. Steg had seriously considered corrupting the destroyer’s system to force a landing and desisted when he realized that would undoubtedly result in his death. Then, to his dismay, he discovered the captain had selected for his destination an almost uninhabited planet on the edge of Imperial space, a planet which was nothing more than a mining dust bowl, distant from Djii or any other populated system.

When advised of his disembarkation point, Steg had researched the planet with increasing concern. Scant details provided a broad indication of his near future. Hellfire was well named. Under control of the House of Aluta, the planet’s massive mineral reserves were mined by huge automated facilities and apart from company personnel, plus a handful of barely tolerated freelance prospectors and various camp followers, the planet was uninhabited. Captain Gallos had delivered him into his enemy’s hands.

The company had constructed a small town with a mining control facility close to the mine face. A launching pad for ore shuttles was near the mining activities. The third company feature on the planet was the spaceport where Steg had been deposited, situated well away from the flight path of the automated ore shuttles that, fully loaded, lifted to dock with waiting ore carriers.

Over time, the official company town had been expanded unofficially, and Steg hoped to find temporary accommodation with those “unofficial” inhabitants. His only plan was to wait for a possibly friendly star ship, and to persuade the captain to give him passage, away from Hellfire. The most significant flaw in his plan was the infrequent and erratic pattern of visiting star ships. Worse, any ship likely to land on Hellfire more than likely would belong to the House of Aluta. His wait would be lengthy and as well, the company assuredly intended it would be fatal. Before departing ss Ziangka, Steg had sent a message to the Acolytes and he had confidence in their ability to eventually route a trade ship through this sector of space where it would find an excuse to land on Hellfire. He did not know how long that would take.

Steg had persuaded an unwilling Captain Gallos to provide a desert bike for the hazardous crossing to the mining town. He had been provided with water and supplies for a day, and just two weapons—a stunner and Ebony.

He had spent a few minutes checking the spaceport where the shuttle had dropped him. It was deserted and in disrepair. Its only function was to provide a landing pad for those rare visiting star ships. A handful of patched and empty buildings stood watch over the landing apron. Over the years the buildings had been stripped of everything of possible use and now offered little shelter and nothing in the way of life support. His inspection completed, he had fled the loneliness of the empty spaceport and headed towards the company town.

And they call this planet Hellfire, mused Steg, as he plodded across a seemingly never-ending basin of hot, parched red sand. The heat-blurred horizon always seemed to be above him, even when he stopped and looked back. Miniature dust clouds clung to his heels at each step and then slowly settled behind him. Dry heat penetrated the inadequate insulation of his desert suit and perspiration streamed down his face. He drew back the heavy veil of the face mask and wiped his eyes free of salty moisture. The suit’s cooling unit was not coping with the oven-like conditions and every so often the electronic heat pump whined its inability to cope, indicating the mechanism was perilously close to collapse. Heat blasted at him from every direction. This almost lifeless planet had a slow, long-burning day and the temperature would not drop until nightfall, still twenty hours away. The low outcrops of scattered rocks radiated heat almost as intense as from the sun overhead and were too low to provide shade.

He paused and looked back. Heat shimmer already hid the abandoned desert bike. The cause of its breakdown was obvious and he realized the sabotage had been purposefully arranged. Someone on Ziangka had carefully weakened the protective casing of the power cell, which then had rapidly degraded under the strain of the desert crossing. While he knew the basic rule of survival in desert conditions was to remain with his transport even when it no longer functioned, he realized no one would send out a search party when he failed to arrive at his intended destination. He adjusted his small supply pack to a more comfortable position, confirmed Ebony was secure, and checked his bearings.

Steg could not identify a trail and he had moved off course to circle around an exceptionally large jumble of decaying rocks, carefully avoiding nests of desert adders and predatory fire lizards. He could sense distant electronic activity that marked his destination and he altered his course by an almost imperceptible measure.

He plodded on. He placed each step carefully, not only to avoid the dangerous desert life but also to ensure he did not brush against a sharp edge of rock. His survival depended on the integrity of his suit and sharp rock outcrops could easily cut and penetrate the fabric. Then, exposed to the full brunt of the desert conditions, he would not survive for long. He peered ahead in a futile attempt to pierce the heat haze. Nothing. Not even a breeze.

Steg, realistically, doubted his ability to achieve the desert crossing. The bike had carried him for only forty or so of the two hundred kays separating the spaceport from his destination before its ignominious failure. Now he lacked supplies and water for a prolonged hike across the red sand. He lifted his head, ignoring the sting of perspiration in his eyes and searched the horizon. He had a feeling that he was under observation although a diligent search had disclosed no one nearby. The heat was intense.

Again he checked his bearings and made another small correction to his course. The overwhelming heat bore down on him from above, radiated from the nearby rocks and rose up from the ground. Unprotected, he would die in hours. Protected by his desert suit, he barely had a chance of surviving the day. He continued steadily along his unmarked trail.

A flicker of motion caught his eye as he moved around another outcrop of savagely spiked rocks. Suddenly, he was standing in the center of a cool and green oasis with water flowing gently over smooth rocks and across golden sand, whispering and murmuring as it sank out of sight. Green palm fronds arched over him, providing a brief and welcome respite from the harsh sun. He turned slowly, attempting to absorb the reality of the impossible. He knelt and touched the cool flowing water. He cupped his hand and let the water tumble over it. Then he tried to lift a handful of the cool liquid to ease the dryness of his parched throat. Nothing reached his mouth. A mirage, Steg thought with disgust, a very real conjuring of what he needed most. He smiled wryly and stepped on through the flowing water. The mirage shifted and re-established itself with Steg at the center. He moved again, and again the mirage shifted. He reached slowly for his stunner, to be stopped by the sound of dry, cackling laughter.

“Now, now young fellow,” the voice followed the laughter. “Pete has had his little joke and y’ have no need to get all anxious.”

Steg experienced a strange and illogical sense of loss when the mirage disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. He was almost reassured to see that he was still standing in the dry and merciless desert. In front of him stood a stranger, desert-suited, leaning lightly on a long barreled firearm.

“Did y’ like that?” the man cackled. “Come on, don’t tarry in this heat. We have to get aboard my wagon before the heat worsens. Come on.” He gestured impatiently.

Bemused, Steg followed as the stranger led him through the jumble of rock outcroppings. As he left the rocks, the man stopped at what appeared to be a long rusty shed, its sides and roof roughly patched with sheets of acrylsteel and other materials in a completely haphazard design.

The old man beckoned. “Come on, it’s far too hot to stay out here.” He climbed up a short rickety ladder and disappeared inside the strange building. Steg was close behind him. The sudden coolness was overwhelmingly welcome. He stood inside the door, almost shivering as the lower temperature replaced scorching heat. The old man hung up his firearm and removed his nondescript desert suit. He was thin and slightly stooped, his skin heavily tanned, his eyes twinkling a brilliant blue with the humor of a private joke.

“Now don’t just stand there. Here, give me y’ pack and sword, they’ll be safe in here. Now get out of that suit and enjoy the cooling system in my wagon. Would y’ like a drink, some cold water, perhaps? Now do y’ have any sun blisters? They need treating straight away otherwise they’ll get infected. I have some lotion somewhere.” The old man disappeared further into the dimly lit interior.

Steg struggled out of his desert suit, thankful for the cool shelter. He hung up the protective clothing and followed the direction taken by his rescuer.

“So y’ are the one they marooned on Hellfire?” cackled the stranger. “Must’ve upset someone, eh?”

Steg nodded. He looked around the long narrow room, set up as living quarters. The remnants of a meal were strewn across a small table. Everything was makeshift and in various stages of disrepair. Lumps of rock and unfamiliar items of machinery cluttered temporary shelving and overflowed onto the floor. The old man indicated a small stool.

“Come on, set down there while I get us a drink of water.”

Steg obeyed the instruction, first moving a heavy lump of ore onto an already overloaded shelf.

“Who are you?”

“Old Pete they call me, but Pete is best,” came the reply followed by another cackle of laughter. “Almost forget the rest and no one else remembers. Here y’ are, drink this, slow like, otherwise it won’t do y’ any good at all.”

The mug contained cool and apparently clean water and small beads of condensation had formed on the outside. Steg’s fingers smeared the small droplets as they aggregated and dropped off the bottom of the battered metal container. He drank slowly, restraining the urge to gulp the water quickly.

“What do they call y’ ?”

Steg paused and looked over the rim of the mug at Pete. “Steg de Coeur. Thank you for your water. I was hot out there and walking’s a dry sport.”

“Walking y’ call it? Not very fast. I was watching. Now, Steg de Coeur, who wants y’ and why?”

Steg was brief in his explanation. “I’m from Homeworld, Rimwards. House of Aluta is trying to take over my home planet. I escaped their invasion and that’s attracted company attention. I obtained a commission in the Imperial Fleet and the company retaliated by setting up a court-martial. The Fleet star ship I was on dropped me here, on Hellfire.”

“So they abandoned y’ here, did they? On an Alutan mining planet. Well, y’ have Pete’s help. Mind, I’m so old that may be more of a hindrance.” A cackle followed. Steg no longer winced at the aural onslaught. “Now two of ‘em was tracking y’. I thought to stick my nose in, to see what was getting them all riled. Y’ will be safe with Pete, at least for a while.”

“Two of them?”

“Yes, two of the mining muscle. The ones they use when they want to put the clamps on a troublemaker. More muscle than wit. Mind, anyone with wit makes sure he don’t end up on Hellfire.” Cackling laughter signaled the joke. “Y’ can stay on board, out of the heat. We’ll stay here until nightfall and then I’ll take you to Shantytown.”

“Shantytown?”

“The company only accommodates miners and their women. The throwouts, men and women, end up in Shantytown. Not safe, that place. Although a young fellow like y’ should be able to survive for a while. Watch y’ back all the time, remember.” Pete fell silent and Steg hesitated to disturb his reverie.

“What did y’ think of that oasis, young fellow?”

The question was unexpected. “Oasis—so you did cause that? At first I thought I was being fooled by a mirage.”

“Nope. I was enjoying a little bit of showing off. Wanted to get y’ attention and it seemed a sure way.”

“Well, the result was effective. The way it moved when I did, made me suspect it might be more than a mirage.”

“See this?” Pete held out a small device. “Picked it up almost a thousand kays from here, back where the surface is still original, not like the magna exposed here.” He caught the unspoken question in Steg’s expression. “Yes, the miners call me a crackpot. But I’ve spent more years on Hellfire than all of ‘em put together.” He cackled. “Many more years. I know the secret, y’ see.” He fell silent for a while. “Must have been one helluva impact. Ripped a slice right off.” He made a cutting motion with the edge of his hand. “The slice broke up and that’s why we see so many small moons caught in the planet’s gravitational field. And here, we’re right in the middle of the dish left by the slice, see.” He again demonstrated with his hand. “That’s partly why the horizon appears to be always above where y’ expect it to be. The gravity helps the illusion, too. Now see this—” Again he fell silent. Steg did not move or speak, as Pete seemed to assemble the words he needed. “See.” Pete picked up another small object and turned it over and over, fingers fumbling and pushing at depressions in its surface. “This is a piece of equipment. Machinery. Functions unknown. I found it—lemme think—way over there,” he indicated vaguely with a wave of his hand. “That’s not all. No, there’s more, lots more. Artifacts of an ancient race. They made that image generator. Took me a year to figure it out. I can find only two scenes. One is the oasis, the second’s a sandy beach. They must’ve had others but they’re lost.” He paused again. “Perhaps they had different brains, and we can only see those two scenes. I’ll never know. They left the planet hundreds—maybe thousands—of years ago. Or maybe they died out.” The last was said without conviction.

“Have you collected many of these artifacts?”

“Why, sure. Some I can work out, like the hunting laser. That’s one of theirs. Wonderful weapon, wonderful.” He shook his head, unable to express the admiration he felt. “It’ll knock out an armored transporter at two kays. Or a tank. The miners leave me alone, now. Learned ’em good, last time.” The cackling exploded. “Of course, they realize they aren’t mining, just raiding old storage silos. Built’em underground, didn’t they? But when the slice went, all those storage silos were exposed. One of these days they’ll come back, looking for their ores. Then, all hell’ll be let loose. Hellfire.” The burst of cackling merged into a paroxysm of coughing and spluttering.

Steg waited until he recovered. “So the company’s mining here, illegally?” He did not wait for an answer. “If these are artifacts, it means that all commercial development is forbidden by Imperial law, at least until the xenos give their clearance.”

“Illegal?” exploded Pete. “Y’ expect the company to worry about a little thing like that? Of course, their mining’s illegal. But they won’t let me talk to anyone, will they? They know y’ won’t be leaving this planet—their muscle will take y’. Or try to. Double jeopardy, now y’ have associated with me. Double jeopardy.”

“What about you, Pete? How will you survive? How will you escape from those two out there?”

“Pete’s a survivor, don’t y’ worry. Found a cache of water where no one goes. Too much surface radiation, y’ see. That’s why this little beauty has all the insulation—it’ll take me anywhere on this continent, this will.” He patted the side wall.

“This is mobile? I thought it was a shed of some kind.”

“A shed,” cackled Pete. “Why, this is the best tracked vehicle on Hellfire. Made her from bits and pieces I liberated from here and there. Go anywhere, she will. I know where to find high-density fuel. They were good refiners, whoever they were.”

Pete fell silent again and Steg did not speak. Now he understood the old prospector’s speech pattern, Steg realized Pete needed time to assemble the words he wanted to present to his new audience. The old prospector obviously had very little opportunity to converse with anyone.

“She probably radiates like hell, too. But this little buggy takes me wherever I need to go. Food’s my main problem and for that I trade with the Shantytowners. The company don’t like ‘em doing that of course and try to stop ‘em. But Shantytowners just can’t resist. Come up here, I’ll show you.” He signaled for Steg to follow him into the next narrow room.

A glass-fronted display case was fitted along the wall and Steg stopped short at the unexpected sight. The case was full of gemstones, mostly cut, sparkling and glittering in the soft light. Steg moved closer to the display, only to be halted by a soft warning from Pete.

“Be careful. Look, but don’t touch. See.” Steg followed the pointed finger and he shuddered as he made out the folded shape of a fire lizard inside the display case. Their venom, on contact, would kill a grown man in seconds.

“I’ve three of those little beasts in there. Don’t like strangers, they don’t. Also, I‘ve set a little booby trap, if ever someone else opens the case. Triggers a radiation bath over the stones and over whoever opens the case. Doesn’t harm the stones and takes only a hundred years or so to decay to a relatively harmless level. Makes ‘em deadly, though, to anyone who handles ‘em. No one robs Pete.”

Steg examined the contents more carefully. “You must have a small fortune here. Enough to buy your way off Hellfire, and to keep you in luxury for the rest of your life.”

“Luxury! Luxury! Why the last thing the company would permit is my departure from Hellfire. Besides,” his voice grew confidentially soft. “Besides, I’m waiting here for the—owners—maybe they’re the Ancients—to return. They left in their ships and they’ll come back.” He was suddenly silent, as though he had disclosed far too much. He shuffled away, leaving Steg in the dark as he switched off the display lights. Pete returned to his living quarters, spluttering with his cackling style of laughter. “Now I’d better set my up defenses and then we need to bunk down for a while. We’ll travel when the sun sets, it’s far cooler then.”

Pete led the way through his living quarters, along a narrow corridor, past storage rooms, to the front of the vehicle. This was the control center although the screens were all blank and Steg was unable to see out to the blistering desert. Pete sat in the control chair and busied himself for a few minutes.

“They’ll clear when the sun goes down,” he explained, indicating the heavy, opaque screens. “It’s best to shield the cabin from the full strength of external radiation. There, I’ve set the controls for intruder detection. Anything larger than a fire lizard comes near and it’ll sound an alarm. Covers a radius of about a kay. So the muscle won’t be able to move in on us without detection. That’s a backup unit, same functions. Both are on. And besides,” he tapped the side wall of the vehicle, “this is laser proof anyway, so they’d need to launch a rocket to take us out.” The next pause was shorter. “Better have a meal, feller. Then sleep. It’ll be a few more hours before we can travel safely.”

Steg tried to sleep, aware of the need to rest before the long trip through the night. He was tense, unable to relax enough for sleep. He doubted his ability to survive alone on this hellish planet, pursued by company killers presumably under instructions to ensure he did not survive long enough to be rescued by any friendly trader. His despondency deepened as he assessed his inability to further influence the Acolytes’ campaign to regain control of Homeworld. He was now almost alone in his struggle to survive and the casual support of a wandering prospector was not enough to guarantee success. The unrestrained might of House of Aluta had reached out across space and now pinned him like a frail insect unable to avoid its natural predator. Then his mind drifted into memories of safe castle walls surrounded by loyal and peaceful townspeople, of green pastures and cool forests, of excited hunters with their game, and of fishermen sailing blue and glittering seas. He had a need and he had hope. He drifted into the welcome relief of untroubled sleep.

“Wake up,” the old man’s voice roused Steg. “It’s time to move. Sunset was fifteen minutes ago. Y’ can act as my co-pilot.” Without further comment Pete moved off down the corridor towards the control cabin.

Steg rubbed his eyes. His body ached from confinement in the small bunk. He stood and stretched, narrowly avoiding the low ceiling. He followed his host into the control cabin where he was already commencing a well-honed checklist. His running commentary was intended only for himself as he prepared to move his wagon.

“That generator’s a bit cranky. It could well blow one of these days. I need a spare from somewhere, maybe from one of the auto-miners. On second thoughts I could park outside the company town and just let it go.” He cackled at his own wit. “Sure would be one helluva blast.”

The vehicle shuddered into motion and Steg hid his doubts as it lurched and jolted as its tracks grabbed for purchase on hard rock or shifting sand. Pete guided it along with care, meticulously progressing through final checks. Then he opened the throttle. Steg grabbed at railing for support as the sudden burst of speed threw him off balance. Ragged clumps of rock whipped past, almost close enough to scrape off layers of metal. Harsh and discordant sounds from the track drive units, shrieking bearings and groaning metal mixed into a cacophony of unorchestrated sound and he struggled unsuccessfully to block out the deafening result.

“How far do we need to travel?” he shouted as Pete eased off the speed in order to more carefully navigate a rough rock outcrop.

Pete looked surprised, as though he had forgotten his passenger, absorbed as he was in guiding his wagon. “About a hundred and fifty kays. We’ll reach a track in about twenty kays that’ll give us a smoother ride. Then we’ll move along much faster. Now strap in, for there’s some rough country ahead.”

Steg obeyed the casual suggestion in cautious deference to the old prospector’s familiarity with the desert and the trails. He thought the vehicle already was traveling fast over rough terrain and had difficulty in imagining worse.

The crescendo of sound caused the initial uproar to fade into a pleasant memory. Steg felt the harsh vibrations reach in and find a dread harmonic in his bones as the cabin rattled and shook, and the auditory assault made him wonder of his hearing would ever recover. Suddenly the tracks jumped free of the rock shelf and the sound quietened to a heavy and almost bearable drumming. The jolting motion smoothed to an occasional shifting of attitude as the tracks bit into the undulating sand which stretched ahead as far as Steg could see.

“There. The autopilot can handle it now,” Pete indicated the patched mechanism. “We sure got y’ out of there in a hurry. Didn’t want to faze y’ any, but the muscle was trying to move in. It’s all right. They’re on desert bikes and we can go a heck of a lot faster for a heck of a lot longer.” The excitement of the chase had added a glitter to Pete’s already vivid blue eyes.

“They know we have only one possible destination?”

“Of course. But it’s better if I get y’ there first. Cause ‘em to lose face. Puts ‘em at a disadvantage,” cackled Pete. “Mind, they’ll be all the more eager to settle with y’. Get ’em wild first and they’ll make mistakes. That’s y’ only hope, keep ’em off balance and making mistakes.” His was the certainty of an aged and wily campaigner.

“I hope you’re correct.”

“Of course I am,” Pete accepted no argument. “Once I drop y’ at the edge of Shantytown, though, y’re on y’ own. Persona non grata, I am. Oh, if I want to trade, that’s one thing. But openly challenging the company? Not in public, not in Shantytown. See?” He looked at Steg sideways, verifying that his message was clear and understood. “Mind, if y’ want to leave Shantytown and go prospecting, Pete will help y’. This hellish desert is my destiny.” The harsh cackle followed.

“Tell me about Shantytown.”

“Heh. Well, it has about two hundred folks there. Lot of wimmen. Discards. Thrown out of the company town, as I said. No chance of getting passage off Hellfire once they fall foul of the company. And bootleg.” He smacked his lips. “Real rot gut. I trade for that sometimes, if I’ve a serious thirst. They’ve some natural leaders in Shantytown. Big Tim, if he’s still alive. He’s got only one eye, the other was gouged out in a brawl. One or two wimmen have a lot to say. Millie, now, she might help y’. Tell her Pete said. Watch the others. They’ll be after the bounty,” he concluded.

“A bounty? On me?”

“Heh heh. Of course. Latest offer is a free trip home plus one year’s pay. Nowhere near enough, mind. If y’ stand up to them, they’ll run. Otherwise they’ll try and get y’ in the back. On the far side of Shantytown’s the company’s proper mining town. They have a barricade—like a palisade—that keeps out unwanted visitors. No one from Shantytown’s allowed in, not since Mad Harry took in a bomb. Filled his artificial leg with HEx. Nearly blew the controller’s office off the planet. They couldn’t find either the controller or Mad Harry neither, after the smoke cleared.”

Steg shook his head in near disbelief. “How far away from the company town is the mine face?”

“Storage silos, y’ mean. About twenty kays. The company has forty auto-miners. Drill and blast, drill and blast, that’s their approach. Then they cart the ore to the launch pad, that’s another ten kays out. It’s so pure they don’t need to do any local refining, they just load the ore into container shuttles and launch ’em. The shuttles are unshielded and that’s why the pad’s so far away from the mine and the town. They send up maybe one a day and assemble the loads in orbit, ready for the next carrier. The company has close on five hundred men, countin’ guards, maintenance, techs, miners, and so forth. About the same number of wimmen. They all come here on five year contracts, hoping to strike it rich.” His voice expressed his disdain. “By the time the company deducts fares, food, and the like, they need those five years to just break even. Can’t beat the system, see?” He cackled his amusement at the stupidity of man.

Steg listened intently as the old prospector rambled his way through a detailed description of Hellfire. His survival would depend on his ability to cope with the Shantytowners and avoid unplanned contact with the company. Every detail he could learn now was vital to his survival. At least he would enter Shantytown with enough background to avoid instant capture or death at the hands of a hopeful bounty hunter.

Pete halted the wagon a kay out from Shantytown and after a brief farewell Steg donned his desert suit and climbed out into the now cold desert. The night was calm and quiet. The temperature had dropped sharply, was still heading down, and would hit a number well below freezing before sunrise. Overhead, the tumbling moons of Hellfire outpaced the spinning planet. Scattered orbiting rocks reflected the light of Hellfire’s sun, splaying cold diffused light across the barren landscape. Steg sealed his desert suit and lifted Ebony and his pack, now well stocked with supplies including some liberated grenades and spare HEx from Pete, onto his back. Steg thought the explosives would be useful if he needed to create some mayhem. As he moved away, in the direction of the lights of Shantytown, he waved a silent farewell salute to the old prospector, certain they would not meet again. Pete turned the wagon in a flurry of spinning tracks and fled back into the sanctuary of the desert.

Steg took his bearings from the glitter of lights and paced towards Shantytown. He welcomed the opportunity to walk after the cramp of Pete’s wagon. His debt to Pete was huge because the old man had saved his life, had saved him from an unpleasant death in the furnace heat of the desert. Additionally, he had provided invaluable background details on the residents of Hellfire, both in Shantytown and in the company town. Steg would find few friends in Shantytown and none in company town. Somehow, he needed to find safe shelter, where he could plan his next steps. He had to present the company with a situation to compel them to ship him off Hellfire alive. He strode forward, enjoying the bracing effect of the cold night air.

******

Chapter 20

A sudden surge of sound startled Steg and he froze as he attempted to identify its source. He realized with surprise he had reached the edge of Shantytown and it was the source of the noise. He walked towards the center of the sound and shortly reached the one and only saloon on Hellfire, wistfully named The Golden Nugget. The common dream of exiles in Shantytown was that one day they would discover the most rare and richest ore lode on Hellfire, while the common occupation was to dream.

Steg kept to the shadows as he approached the saloon. Waves of sound cloaked any small noise he made. He pushed open the swing doors and stepped confidently inside. His momentum carried him through the center of the room to the bar, unhindered by the startled crowd. The noise died into silence. People edged away from him, shuffling, not looking, not speaking. They knew his identity and they knew his supposed doom. Steg shrugged. He dropped his pack and ordered a drink from the pensive barman. As he waited, he used the long wall mirror to study his fellow drinkers.

Raw alcohol burned his throat and took away his breath. For a moment he was unable to speak. He placed the glass down carefully, almost expecting to see the contents froth and bubble. A laugh burst from the crowd and was suddenly hushed, buried in apprehensive silence. The room was crowded with human occupants, a mixture of rough miners exiled from the company and their female companions. A card game had been underway in the far corner; the players now were still, watching another gamble. Steg realized he was the center of an intense scrutiny well hidden behind a facade of assumed and nervous disinterest. He studied the reflected faces, seeking the distinctive features described by Pete, trying to identify the one-eyed leader, who posed the most danger, as well as the woman Millie, who might provide shelter.

A movement caught his eye and he turned to watch. A hefty miner edged through the crowd which parted without signal or sound to provide a path directly to Steg. He was tall and well-muscled, and carried a small stunner, still holstered. He hefted a short broadsword, almost nervously throwing it from hand to hand. A dagger handle protruded from the top of one of his boots. His unfriendly face was scarred and beaten. Steg unsheathed Ebony and lifted the black sword into the light.

He felt encumbered by the desert suit although it was the standard dress of most of the crowd. He stepped back from the bar. It had been some weeks since he had traced the formal and ceremonial sword challenge. He grasped Ebony firmly and the sword spun and twisted, its black blade glittering in the bright barroom lights. The blade hummed its thirst and then roared its battle challenge. He completed the formal challenge and moved directly into the Za deathsong, its message unmistakable. He finally ceased all movement with the sword blade leveled at eye height, pointing directly at the approaching miner. Steg’s stance was a full challenge to a fight to the death. The waiting crowd held its collective breath. The miner stumbled and hesitated as full realization of his probable immediate future dawned on him. He turned away and sheathed his small broadsword. The waiting onlookers breathed a collective sigh. Steg knew that for the moment he was safe. He returned Ebony to its sheath. The next approach would be out in the darkness of Shantytown’s narrow streets and passageways. Steg turned back to the bar needing another drink.

“He’ll be sorry he missed his chance at the bounty.”

The soft voice was unexpected and Steg looked down at the speaker with unconcealed surprise. She was tiny, almost elfin and her lithe figure silently spoke of soft sensuousness. Her eyes twinkled with humor and their bright promise of life counterpointed the lines of time and worry that marked her face and in some inexplicable manner added to her beauty. He could not guess her age.

“May I ask your name?”

Her eyes widened and Steg braced himself against their challenge. She answered in the same soft voice. “Millie to my friends. Not many here fall into that category.”

“Pete thinks he fits into that category.” Steg spoke guardedly, not wishing to draw wide attention to the old prospector. For the moment the crowd pretended he was invisible and in order to ensure the delusion worked, refrained from looking at him.

“So the old fraud gave you a helping hand, did he?”

“Without his help,” confessed Steg. “I’d still be in the desert, dead. Either from heat exhaustion or at the hands of company thugs.”

“So I suppose he said to ask me for help, as well?” Her expression was resigned but not unfriendly.

“If you are able?”

“Hummph.” She almost snorted her disdain. “Of course I’m able. Now buy me a drink and tell me why I should. Talking makes me thirsty.”

Steg complied with her instruction, paying the barman with some of the barter coins pressed on him by Pete. He waited until the barman delivered the drink before speaking again.

“As you’ve surely heard, my name is de Coeur, Steg de Coeur. House of Aluta has taken an extreme dislike to me for some reason. They arranged for me to be left on Hellfire, presumably hoping I wouldn’t survive either the desert or the inhabitants.” He gestured at the crowd, most of which had returned to former activities and entertainments. “Perhaps the company even intends they’ll help conclude the matter.”

“The bounty’s high, very high. Free passage offplanet, to any Imperial destination—many here will kill just for that. Plus a substantial bonus. Blood money.”

“Would any not try to claim the bounty?”

“In Shantytown?” She almost sneered. “Most—possibly all—are plotting how they can claim the reward.”

Her words were not reassuring. “What about you? Will you help me or will you try for the bounty?”

Her eyes filled with the pain of hopelessness. She turned her face away and after a brief pause looked back at Steg. Her humor now was forced. “They won’t let me go. What can you offer?”

“Enough for you to buy your way off Hellfire? I could take you with me when I leave? Or perhaps the satisfaction of knowing the company didn’t win?”

“Perhaps. You may find other ways to compensate me. We can discuss them after we leave here.”

“Will you help?”

“Of course. You need assistance. And I think it might be interesting to watch. You give me the impression the company has cornered a fighter.” She smiled at him, mischief lightening her expression. “I’ll take your pack. You may need the sword. Follow me and don’t lag behind.”

Millie hoisted the heavy pack without obvious effort and headed for the door. Steg moved quickly to follow her. The noise from the crowd stilled and then surged as they left the bar. A wave of sound pursued them out into the night. His guide kept to the shadows, moving rapidly with a surprising deftness. Steg concentrated on following her through the narrow and twisting alleyways. Their direction intrigued him as they were moving closer and closer to the high palisade surrounding the mining town.

“Carefully, now,” the soft voice warned. “This is where we go underground.”

Millie disappeared further into the shadows and Steg almost stumbled over the solid ledge of a hidden doorway. She tugged his arm. He barely caught her whispered warning. He avoided a misstep as he commenced the descent. He tried to keep count. Smooth walls were on either side with very small light cells set high into the rock, their light barely adequate. The stairs seemed to be following a man-made fissure carved out of solid rock.

“Five hundred and twenty,” he murmured as they eventually reached the last step.

“What?”

“Counting the steps.”

“You missed some. It’s five hundred and twenty-nine and more to come.”

“Where are we going?”

“Didn’t Pete tell you we lived underground?”

“No.”

She laughed. “He may not know since he’s never lived in Shantytown, as far as I know. These old workings provide relief from the temperature. Shantytown is like an iceberg, eighty percent is hidden under the surface. Besides, we are miners or miners’ women, so what else is there apart from the underground?” Bitterness was back in her voice.

“Extra care here,” she instructed. The light cells were dimmer now and Steg struggled to pierce the darkness. “This section’s rarely used. I don’t think anyone comes here. Apart from me.”

They continued along narrow passageways and down section after section of rough-hewn steps. Steg occasionally felt ventilation drafts as they moved further into the depths. He wondered if he would ever find his way back to the surface, wondered if he would ever again see daylight.

Millie must have discerned his worry. “Don’t let this affect you. These depths hide and protect us. If anything happens, just remember to head up, not down. You’ll either reach the surface or encounter a Shantytowner. Force him to lead you out.”

“Where are we now?”

“Under the prison stockade below the company town. We’ve been underneath the company town for quite a distance. We are about half a kay down, I think.”

“So we can access the town from below?”

“Yes. We can look for that later, if you want. Now here you need to be extremely careful, since your life depends on it. We have to cross a deep fissure. There’s a narrow bridge, really a plank, and a rope for stability. Use the rope and my shoulder for balance. Remember, if you slip, don’t take me with you. Stop here. Feel ahead for the beginning of the bridge.”

Steg hid his alarm. He moved his foot in a searching pattern until he bumped the plank. “Got it.”

“It’s about ten feet across.” Millie moved forward and Steg shuffled hesitatingly after her.

“How deep—?”

“Don’t ask. Just keep your mind and both feet on the plank.”

Steg gripped Millie’s shoulder and used the rope for balance. He shuffled carefully, making sure he kept to the center. He felt unbalanced and ignored the threat of vertigo. At last they reached the end. He tapped around with his foot, checking, feeling for solid rock. He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped off the bridge.

“You can let go, now.”

“What? Oh, sorry.” His fingers ached and he realized Millie probably now had bruise marks from his grip.

“Now let’s raise the bridge. Here’s the rope you use to pull the plank back into position. Whatever you do, don’t let go. If you do, I’ll push you in after it.”

Steg had little doubt that she would carry out her threat. He struggled with the rope, dragging the plank across to their side of the gap. Anyone following wouldn’t be able to cross the fissure, even if they were able to track them, at least unless they carried their own plank.

“Come on,” instructed Millie. “Not far now. And we’ll have some light.”

He was blinded by the sudden glare of the light cell. When his eyes adjusted, he looked around. They were standing in a small cavern. The far end was shadowed and dark with stacks of stores and equipment, and small items of furniture scattered around in a marked absence of pattern. Apparently Millie had bartered, begged or simply stolen her requirements for survival and struggled down with them as she gradually ensured her survival.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “This is my hideaway. Everyone thinks I live elsewhere. I only come here when I need security. It’s taken me two years to assemble these bits and pieces. There’s even a small water unit which extracts moisture from the air—enough for my needs. I can be—almost—self-sufficient here. For a while.”

“Does anyone know this location?”

“No. I’ve been followed. Twice. Their bodies are kays away and further down. I can see in the dark. They could not. So they now leave me alone. Mostly. You’ll be safe here, until we go back into Shantytown. They might try to search, but because the trails are dust free, they won’t find us.”

“I’ll have to go back to the surface, sometime, if I’m going to escape. If I have your help, we can make it a costly experience for the company. They’ll know I’ve come out of my burrow.”

“That’s for later. Now sit, make yourself comfortable.”

Steg removed his desert suit and found cushions and rugs to sit on. As his eyes adjusted to the light he was able to make out more details of his surroundings. The cavern had been carved out of the rock and had a narrow rising chimney or ventilation shaft overhead. The entrance was heavily shrouded, ensuring their light did not escape to provide a beacon for any searchers. The cavern offered protection, although he could not remain so far underground for long.

“Now, I must tell you of me.” A long silence followed. Steg remained silent, waiting. At last Millie spoke, her voice subdued.

“I am of Fain.”

Steg hid his surprise at her words. Fain was a planet known for its near-people, supposedly artificial beings produced for sale offplanet. Fain origins were lost in myths, their story camouflaged in a protective shroud of hearsay and gossip. Very few visitors were allowed on Fain and then only to make their purchase, for they sold their young females to those who could afford the price, to those who desired the pleasure of a Fain.

Millie continued. “My owner surrendered most of his fortune to buy me. He thought he could win it back and failed. He lost the rest of his riches. He did not want to lose me as well, and in a last and desperate measure, he contracted with the company, believing like the others here that he could earn his fortune on Hellfire. We arrived here five years ago. For two years we were—happy—although the conditions were tough, far worse than the company had said.”

“He was honoring his Fain oath in his way and we could have survived, although it would have been very difficult. However an accident happened and the security chief was killed. His replacement, Taul, is an arrogant and cruel sadist. He saw me and wanted me. The price he offered would have allowed my Fain-master to leave, to start his life afresh. He refused. The price was increased, higher and higher. Still he refused. You see—we—cared for each other. Then this evil man—grew tired of waiting, tired of bargaining, tired of being refused.”

“My Fain-master was killed in what appeared to be an accident, but I knew. And Taul made certain I knew. When I refused Taul, he exiled me to Shantytown. He knew our customs and wanted me to go to him willingly. He knew a Fain had to be willing, otherwise it would be the end for him. We are trained, you see. He thought that by exiling me here, by dumping me in these dreadful conditions, I would weaken.”

“He even set his men to watch, to make sure no man, miner or Shantytowner, befriended me. They killed one who tried and the others left me alone. Alone. When loneliness for a Fain is death. They—the men in Shantytown—don’t even speak to me, for a word earns a broken limb from Taul’s men. He still waits.”

“Every two or three months he comes to Shantytown with his guards to taunt—to tempt me. So far I have used my hate to fight back. I am free.” A grim bitterness tinged her voice and a tired sadness filled her eyes.

Steg had heard details of Fain. It was a pleasure planet and female Fain were hostage to centuries of conditioning. They needed to give pleasure, to care for their Fain-master. A Fain alone, without her master, would die, her very will to live would fade, to be replaced by death. The most terrible of tortures for a Fain was to be alone and exiled in the way Taul had treated his victim.

“You must indeed have cared for your master.”

“I—I—can hardly remember his face now, after nearly three years of darkness, although I remember well his soul, his spirit.”

“You wish me to stand between you and this Taul, your tormentor?”

“At the very least.” She knelt at his feet. “Otherwise I will die, for I will not go to that evil—murderer.” The intensity in her voice was almost visible. She waited, desperation discernible in the tenseness in her body.

Steg considered her implied request. He was certain Millie was holding her breath in anticipation of his reply. The unique Fain relationship imposed strong honor obligations on both parties. The Fain-master was expected to protect his Fain while she committed herself to him. Instances of dishonor and mistreatment were rare, and either party, if necessary, could call on the authorities of Fain to protect and enforce Fain laws and customs. He needed her assistance to free himself from Hellfire and that would create a debt to her, a debt that could be repaid by helping her as she requested.

“You wish me to be your Fain-master?”

She nodded her reply. Tension had robbed her of speech.

“I, Steg de Coeur, offer to be your Fain master,” he uttered words that carried weight and bindings.

“And I, Milnaret of Fain, will be bound by the ancient bonds of Fain to your service, oh master.” Steg barely caught the softly spoken words.

“Millie, I realize your Fain vow is binding. However, if you ever decide otherwise, when we are off Hellfire—” Fingers were pressed softly against his lips, silencing him. Somehow the light had dimmed and two bodies touched and came together in the dark.

Steg awoke refreshed and ready to press on with action to get them both off Hellfire. The space beside him on the rugs was empty and cold. Millie had returned to the Golden Nugget, certain she would be able to gather intelligence. Steg had argued to dissuade her, and thought he had convinced her. Obviously not. The cavern was empty and dark.

He froze, alert to strange sounds from outside the cavern. The sounds came again. He pushed through the heavy drapes and moved forward carefully until he felt the narrow bridge in position over the fissure.

“Millie?” he whispered harshly into the darkness. An answering groan came from the other side of the fissure. Steg was across the narrow and makeshift bridge before he realized he had moved. It did not take him long to find Millie. She was lying crumpled on the rock floor, barely conscious. He picked her up and instinctively found his way back across the plank and into the cavern where he set her down gently on the rugs and cushions.

Millie groaned again. Steg flinched when he examined her and saw the mass of bruises on her body. She had been cruelly beaten. He used water sparingly and gently washed away the blood and rock grime, carefully applying painkilling lotion and a healing accelerant which he found in her supplies. Obviously her torturers had been after information and Steg silently promised retribution. Millie stirred.

“Quiet, Millie. You are safe now.”

She ignored his admonition. Speech was therapeutic. “Taul’s men were waiting. They were very angry and wanted to know where I had taken you. I told them nothing. When one went to get instructions, I—I escaped.”

“Quiet, I said. I’ve applied healing accelerators and you need to rest for them to be effective.”

“I will rest. They apparently tried to kill Ol’ Pete—he killed his attackers and destroyed two of their desert vehicles. They are very angry. They said you were doomed, that you would die on Hellfire. One went to check with Taul. Then I had to contend with only one—he was too slow—he is now dead.” Her head fell back as she finished speaking. Steg checked her life signs. She was sound asleep, apparently using her Fain discipline to aid her body’s healing process.

He was packed and ready to move when eventually Millie awoke hours later. At first an expression of alarm crossed her face when she saw he was prepared to leave and it only disappeared as she absorbed his words.

“We’ll to move out of here as soon as you can walk. Otherwise we’ll trapped if they somehow find your trail. I want you to show me how to enter the company town.” He ignored her frown. “I can get us offplanet, I’m certain. I’ll need access to the town, though.”

“Very well,” Millie agreed with reluctance. “I can take you there. We may encounter difficulties, depending on whether they have guards posted. We can reach either the stockade or the basement of the control and communications building, whichever you want.”

“Control and communications—that’s where we’ll go. Once I see what’s there I’ll be able to plan further. Pack whatever you need. I don’t think we’ll be back.”

“It’ll take me only a moment. I can travel light.”

Steg checked her condition before he would let Millie move. Assured that both her rest and the healing accelerant had done their work, he helped her pack. As they left, Millie pushed away the plank bridge. It thumped and banged its way down the narrow fissure until eventually distance muffled its echoing progress. Millie led the way up the stone passageways and roughly hewn stairs. Steg carried a light cell but did not use it; he was almost accustomed now to the lack of light.

The final chimney of rock was the most difficult part of their ascent. Steg was tempted to discard his pack but eventually succeeded in reaching the upper section of the shaft where he discovered metal rungs to ease their climb. At last they reached the top. Millie used the light cell to show Steg the heavy barrier that blocked their path.

“We have to get through this temporary section. If we loosen and remove some of the blocks of stone, we can climb through. Then we’ll be in the lower basement. No one uses it, so we should be able to get in without detection.”

“Keep the light focused here.”

Steg chipped softly and steadily at the barrier with a metal bar until he managed to free a square block of stone. He pried it out and set it to one side. The second block was easier to move. After that he quickly opened up a gap wide enough to push the packs through. He then went first and Millie followed into the basement.

******

Chapter 21

They moved quietly and carefully through the basement, looking for access to upper levels. Millie had retrieved a stunner from her attacker in Shantytown and she now carried it with a purpose. Steg also held his stunner ready. This company building was poorly designed and had only one stairwell; Hellfire had no fire or emergency rules. They found and climbed the stairs. Fortunately, security was scant and the building was unguarded. Company security did not expect intruders to threaten them from Shantytown, nor did they expect invaders to arrive from underground.

“We have to reach the top floor,” he advised Millie as they climbed, “if that’s where they have their communications equipment. And if we encounter anyone, we must take them out before they can raise the alarm.”

Millie just nodded. They encountered no one on the stairs and they reached the fifth floor without incident. Steg pushed through the heavy doors and Millie followed, guarding his back.

Technicians froze at the sudden intrusion of warlike apparitions into their domain. Their startled and pale faces reflected a remote likelihood of aggressive reactions on their part. Steg looked around, trying to assess in a quick survey the layout of the floor. The whole floor was devoted to items of equipment and communications facilities with only eight technicians on duty. Steg was relieved at the absence of security guards which made his task easier. He returned his attention to the deskbound technicians.

He motioned with his stunner and the technicians assembled reluctantly along a wall bare of either decoration or equipment. So great was their surprise that no one protested or objected. He was not entirely confident of their continued docility.

He spoke softly to Millie. “Take care. Keep your eyes on the doors, someone may have signaled for help.”

He turned back to the technicians. “There are too many of you for me to cover all the time. So I might let you go. First, tell me what equipment you have here. Tell me anything you think I might need to know. If you do, you can go. If you don’t, the chances of you leaving this floor alive will reduce, sharply. Now—you—brief me on the equipment here.”

The technicians were not driven to bravado by a cause; they were not united behind a belief that would support them against the single-mindedness that was driving Steg and his companion. Information flowed forth in ample detail. Steg was relieved and silently exultant as he heard computers mentioned.

“Computers? What computers do you have here?”

“Auto-miners and the ore shuttles, they both have computer systems.”

“Tell me about the auto-miners.”

The technician appeared nonplused. Everyone knew about auto-miners. He noticed Steg’s frown of impatience and hurried to explain the basics of their auto-miners. “We have forty auto-miners, operating at the ore face. They’re tracked vehicles, unmanned, completely automated. They’re equipped with laser drills. They have a top speed of twenty kays per hour and can carry five hundred ton of ore. Each auto-miner’s controlled by a sophisticated computer and they each have back-up units.”

“Are the auto-miners armored?”

“Of course, sir. Otherwise rockfalls would damage them.”

“Good. Which one of you is the senior?” No one answered. The silence intensified. “Come on, I don’t have very much time and even less patience.”

“Me—Jackson—I’m the senior,” volunteered a technician reluctantly. With a collective sigh his companions drew back as if to separate themselves from their manager’s fate.

“Very well. You’ll stay. Stand there. The rest of you—go, get out of here before I change my mind and decide I want hostages. Go!”

His urgings were unnecessary. The technicians left in a rush, some doubtful of their good fortune and others desperate to remove themselves from Steg’s presence. The rush developed into a stampede down the stairs and Steg listened for a moment to the noisy clatter.

“Millie, keep watch from the top of the stairwell. Use a grenade if you see anyone on any level. I’ll look after our friend here and then I’ll join you. I can set some HEx to blow a couple of the flights of stairs and that should make it difficult for anyone to get to us.”

Millie took up her position, more than ready to drop grenades down the stairwell. Steg looped a length of flex around Jackson’s wrists and ankles and tied him to a heavy metal desk. “I’ll get you out of that once I attend to the stairwell,” he promised.

Steg hurried to the landing with the HEx that Pete had provided. He set about taping small portions onto the supports of the stairway, down to the third floor. He positioned the explosives and then wired in remote detonators. He climbed back to the fifth floor and signaled Millie. They both moved into the control center. Steg closed and locked the heavy doors, and then fired the detonators. The dull thump of exploding HEx rocked the floor. Dust and small chips of plaster showered down on them. The doors held.

Millie brushed off the dust. “That will slow them down,” she smiled. Her face was lively with mischief and Steg noted she looked younger, with a glow softening her features.

Steg agreed. “Yes, the stairs should be quite a tangle. If you can get one of the viewcams and set it up to give a picture of the stairwell, we’ll link it to one of these viewscreens. The technical team will be reporting to company security by now and the explosion certainly would have attracted attention. We’ve no more than five minutes before security gets its act together.” He turned to Jackson and untied the flex. “I told you I wouldn’t be long. I want you to show me what communication equipment you have here and how it works, both local and starcoms.”

Steg listened to the details. At last he was satisfied. “Right. Set me up with a viewscreen of the ore face where the auto-miners are operating. Then help Millie finish her viewcam setup. While you do that I’ll prepare a couple of messages for transmission—one to your bosses and one to—a friend of mine. OK?”

As Millie and the technician completed setting up the viewcam, Steg sat back and relaxed, watching the mining activities.

He reached out, seeking, searching. If he could take control of the auto-miners, he’d have a small brigade of destructive and potentially unstoppable tanks at his disposal. Out he reached, further and further. At first the contact was feather soft, a whisper of tiny signals. He concentrated and gradually the contact strengthened. He now could discern a multitude of electronic twitterings, tangled and difficult to separate. He reached out to a pattern and held it, pulling the soft thread away from the mass, lifting it out of the flock. The system was a primitive and simple structure and it reminded him of a small bird wriggling and bathing in a pool of warm dust, chirping and fluttering.

He penetrated its basic electronic structure and quickly dealt with its protests, canceling and overwriting its security program, and established a destruct sequence that would be triggered if anyone else interfered with its operation. The destruct sequence would cause the laser drill to short out, rupturing the auto-miner’s drive shield, resulting in a small and dirty nuclear explosion.

Steg dealt with each of the auto-miners in turn, taking control and setting the same destruct sequence until he had control of all forty. He sent ten of the now captive auto-miners on a rampage of destruction at the ore face, destroying spares and supplies, climbing over and crushing makeshift shelters and facilities. Maintenance crews fled out of the way, powerless to divert or stop the blind rush of their charges. He sent another ten units on course towards the ore shuttle launch pad. They would surround the launch pad, and unless Steg canceled his instructions, they would assault and destroy the entire complex, including carriers waiting for their loads. The remaining twenty units he directed towards the company town. The miners had nothing capable of stopping the progress of these huge, robotic, and now rogue vehicles of destruction. He set viewscreens to monitor all three groups of auto-miners.

He checked progress with Minnie. The stairwell viewcam was up and running. The stairwell wreckage was impressive. He prepared two messages, saved the files and then handed the two message sticks to the technician.

“I want you to send these. The first one will go in open mode, general broadcast. Copy to security and management teams here, as well. The second one will be in restricted mode.”

“Taul’s acting chief. Our boss is offplanet,” advised the technician.

“Taul will do,” confirmed Steg.

Now that he had control of the auto-miners, he had leverage. The first message was to House of Aluta, describing his control of their mining operations on Hellfire. At the very least he should be able to exchange safe passage for control of the rampaging auto-miners. Trust would be the major—the only—issue. He had to be convinced of his and Millie’s safety in any deal arranged with the House of Aluta. The second message was addressed to Major Denke and it consisted of an urgent request for assistance. Responses to both would be interesting, he thought.

“Sir, security’s trying to contact me,” the technician advised, pointing at a flashing viewscreen. “What shall I do?”

“Switch it on and let’s see. Sound only from here. No nonsense.”

The technician obeyed Steg’s instruction and the viewscreen cleared. The speaker was obviously angry.

“Jackson, who the hell is with you?”

Millie quietly whispered. “Taul.”

“I think his name is Steg de Coeur. He’s sent out some messages on starcom. I’ve looped one on the local net.”

Steg stepped forward. “Taul, listen to me. The auto-miners are under my control. I estimate that within twenty hours no infrastructure will remain on Hellfire for you to secure. Just forty rampaging vehicles.”

“What do you think you are doing, de Coeur?” Taul sounded as though he was almost frothing with rage.

“Seeking safe passage off Hellfire for myself and Milnaret of Fain. Guarantees of personal safety for both of us. Otherwise the company’s investment and reserves on Hellfire are a write off.”

“No way, de Coeur. The Fain stays. And you are dead.”

“First, I would check with your bosses. Also, check with your men at the ore face. Get them to tell you what’s happening at the launch site. Then get back to me. Remember, if anything happens to me, the auto-miners are unstoppable and rigged to explode.”

He turned to the technician. “Turn him off for now. He can investigate and get back to me.”

Before the technician could act, the lights dimmed and failed. The power supply had been cut. Steg cursed and then remembered mention of emergency power supply.

“How do we get the back-up power switched on?”

“Simple, I’m doing it now.” Jackson was indicating his support.

The lights flickered, as the power came back on. Viewscreens returned to life. Steg examined the progress of the auto-miners. Even after a short interval, destruction at the ore face was very evident. No buildings were standing. The auto-miners were circling aimlessly now, their tasks completed. Steg directed each one to stand down beside a section of the mine face at intervals separated by a kay or so, until he had a string of potential nuclear bombs across ore reserves.

Jackson was speechless. Millie expressed her surprise.

“How did you do that?” Millie queried. “Taul will be berserk. Those auto-miners are all out of control.”

“They’re under my control,” corrected Steg. “The company will see them as out of control.” He noted the flashing viewscreen. “Jackson, sound only again from us, please.”

“This is Taul. What exactly do you want, de Coeur?”

“I told you. Safe passage off Hellfire for myself and Milnaret of Fain.”

“As far as we’re concerned you can go any time you want. As I said before, the Fain stays.”

“I won’t bargain on this point. Total destruction here on Hellfire or free and safe passage for the two of us.”

Steg’s calm reiteration angered the other man. “I’ll see you in hell first,” Taul roared, face reddening. Steg thought for a moment he was going to attack the viewscreen.

“You have my requirements. The auto-miners have completed their destruction at the ore face. They are now positioned along the face where I can trigger dirty explosions. Ten kays or more of the mine face will unusable for a hundred—two hundred years or more.”

“Listen, mister, when I get my hands on you—”

“Don’t bluster, Taul. Just keep in mind if anything happens to me, nothing on Hellfire can stop the auto-miners. Nothing. Can you afford to be the cause of the company losing its entire Hellfire investment? I’m adding this conversation to the transmission to the company.” Steg cut off the viewscreen.

“I think Taul needs some extra pressure. Do you have an ore carrier in orbit?” he asked the technician.

“Yes, D’Art arrived yesterday.”

“Tape and send the following message—address it to the captain of D’Art, copies to Taul and to the company.” He dictated his message. “I am requesting guaranteed safe passage off Hellfire for myself and Milnaret of Fain. Currently ten auto-miners are buried along the mine face, ready to be detonated; the resulting nuclear explosions will contaminate ore reserves for hundreds of years. Ten auto-miners are in transit to the ore shuttle launch pad where they will destroy the infrastructure and waiting shuttles, whether loaded or empty. Then each auto-miner will return to the mine face, where it will bury itself, ready for detonation. The remaining auto-miners are in transit to the company town where they will destroy the town infrastructure. All mining operations on Hellfire have now ceased. The company has less than ten hours to agree to my request. Signed Steg de Coeur.” He watched as the technician keyed and transmitted the message. “Good. That is a signal of intention, if nothing else. Although House of Aluta will treat it as a declaration of war. Now we sit and wait a while.”

Minutes slowly turned into an hour without a response, either from Taul, D’Art or from anyone else. Steg could see activity in the stairwell, as presumably Taul’s security force attempted to build makeshift access to the fifth floor. Taul, Steg realized, would risk all on an attack if he didn’t believe Steg’s threat of devastation.

“Signal the captain of D’Art. Also, get Taul on a viewscreen. Set your transmitters for general broadcast so that we have a wider audience—this will get attention Empire-wide.”

He spoke with Taul first. “Taul, keep your men away from this floor.”

“Now why should I do that?” queried the security chief, smirking in smug anticipation.

“Listen carefully and you’ll learn why. I’m about to speak with the captain of D’Art. I think you’ll find the conversation instructive.” He checked with Jackson who signaled that the link was operative.

“Captain, my name is Steg de Coeur. Yes,” he acknowledged. “I sent that earlier message to the company. Our conversation is being broadcast on open channels. I’ve added background information which will be very interesting to interstellar media, I’m sure. Do you have equipment on board your ship that’s capable of detecting and measuring a small nuclear explosion on Hellfire’s surface?”

“Yes, de Coeur. We have the ability to do that, although I fail to see—”

“Captain, bear with me please. I’ve been marooned on Hellfire so the company’s thugs can murder me. Taul, the local security chief, has instructed his men to capture me and I want them to stop. I’ve stationed ten auto-miners along the mine face. I’m going to explode one of them in sixty seconds. Please have your technicians monitor and record. Countdown completing now … three, two, one.”

Steg reached out to the most distant auto-miner along the ore face. He triggered the auto-miner’s self-destruct sequence. The shock wave spread rapidly. The building shook as the ground tremor rushed past.

“Captain, did you record that? And can you confirm the effects to Taul?”

“de Coeur, the company’s going to require compensation—”

“Captain, do you wish another example? I’ve control of thirty-nine more auto-miners. Thirty-nine, all keyed to me. My death will cause all of them to detonate. Each one alone will cost well over five million credits to replace. That’s a total of two hundred million. Plus costs of lost production. Plus costs of de-contaminating ore. Add the cost of closing this facility for two hundred years. Let’s call it at least eight hundred million credits. Possibly double or treble that amount. So, please answer my question—did you monitor and record the explosion? Taul needed a demonstration. Can you inform him and advise him to stop his attempts to capture me?”

“Yes, de Coeur. Your demonstration was most convincing. Taul, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“You fool. He’s right. That explosion was right at the mine face. The company wn’tt be able to mine that area for at least two hundred years. Stop whatever you are doing. Leave de Coeur alone at least until we get instructions. Hear me?”

Taul was visibly agitated. “Yeah, I understand. Just wait until I get my hands on him—”

“Shut up! de Coeur has us on general broadcast—everyone in the Empire will be listening to this.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Steg replied. “I’ll wait just a little while. Demolition of the launch site will commence in approximately two hours. Destruction of the company town will commence in six hours. After that each auto-miner then will return to the mine face. Expect to see a further thirty-nine explosions over the next two days or so. If Taul continues to attack me, I will begin exploding auto-miners at the mine face immediately, and continue hourly.”

“I understand, de Coeur. Taul, you fool. Stand down, stop whatever you are doing and wait. The company’ll deal with de Coeur. D’Art out.”

Steg turned back to the viewscreen and addressed the security chief. “Well, Taul—convinced? Call off your men.”

The viewscreen cut off without a reply from Taul. Steg watched the viewscreen showing the stairwell. After a minute or so the activities ceased and he smiled at Millie.

“I think Taul got the message.”

Her response was a tentative smile. She was unable to account for the explosion of the auto-miner. Steg seemed somehow to be in control of forty—no, now it was thirty-nine—machines and he was about to destroy Hellfire.

Steg thought for a moment and then addressed the technician. “Jackson, how about another general broadcast? Send it to D’Art first, and advise them it will be transmitted in two hours.” The technician nodded and Steg began to dictate. “Officer in Charge, Imperial Xeno-Service HQ. Message reads as follows. Numerous artifacts of ancient and alien origin have been found on planet Hellfire evidencing previous high culture civilization. Ore reserves currently being mined are remains of extensive stockpiling by that civilization. Non-disclosure of existence of these artifacts has been at direction of House of Aluta which claims Xeno-Service does not have mandate to enforce prohibition of their activities on Hellfire. Signed Steg de Coeur. Message ends.”

“Please send that to the captain now. Schedule it to transmit automatically in two hours, unless we decide to stop it“

“Yes, sir. This’ll mean the end of mining on Hellfire. We’ve all known about the artifacts.” He proceeded to carry out Steg’s instructions.

******

Chapter 22

Steg and his Fain companion took turns to monitor the viewscreens as time passed. Jackson, the technician, was unlikely to act against them, Steg realized, but Taul, driven by anger, could again attempt to assault their temporary refuge. Earlier Taul had cut off the air conditioning and the heat build-up had been almost overwhelming. Steg had threatened to detonate another auto-miner, communicating his threat to both Taul and the captain of D’Art, before Taul repowered the cooling system. Time moved slowly and Steg paced up and down, restlessly burning energy. Millie watched with anxious eyes.

“Their response is overdue,” mused Steg. “All the auto-miners are in position. Nineteen now are along the ore face. I’m holding off wrecking the company town while we’re here. The xeno message is ready to be transmitted. Perhaps we should remind the captain.” He nodded at Jackson. “See if he’s accepting calls.”

Contact was soon established. “Captain,” Steg advised. “We are about to broadcast the xeno message on a general band. The shuttle launch pad is out of commission. Nineteen auto-miners are now buried along the mine face. Twenty are here at the company town, ready to destroy it. We need some action from you.”

“de Coeur. I sent a full report to the company and I expect to receive their instructions any minute. You know I can’t do anything without their consent. If you ask me, you have them in a bind and I can’t see how they can refuse your request. Can you wait—another thirty minutes?”

“Captain, I’ve been waiting long enough and I’ve a very uneasy feeling. However, I’ll wait fifteen minutes, if in the mean time you’ll remind the company that the auto-miners are ready to blow. I can trigger one at a time, or all at once, whatever makes the most impact. Point out the auto-miners are unstoppable and the company’s investment in Hellfire is at risk.” Steg terminated the connection and instructed the technician to send the xeno message.

Steg was apprehensive. The company was tenacious and would resort to any lengths to protect their Hellfire investment. He had publicly tweaked their corporate tail and they would not rest until they had taken their revenge. At this stage either they were sacrificing their investment or they were preparing a counter. Steg decided to extend his control.

Steg de Coeur to Module D’Art.

Module D’Art. Provide authority for contact.

He ignored the security request and instead of withdrawing, he strengthened his contact by reaching into D’Art’s system and suppressing its protective intruder defense program. It lacked sophistication and quickly succumbed to his deft intrusion. He linked with its processes, absorbing and analyzing its data flows. He quickly countermanded its control and command structure and finally withdrew. He again attempted to link to the system.

Steg de Coeur to Module D’Art.

Module D’Art ready.

Load and run two programs. Program one, begin decay orbit preceding emergency landing on Hellfire. Implement now. This program can only be countermanded by Steg de Coeur. Program two, relay to Hellfire viewscreen a complete copy of all D’Art communications and data flows from minus ten hours ongoing. Run until canceled by Steg de Coeur. Confirm.

Module D’Art to Steg de Coeur. Program one running. Program two running.

Steg turned to the control center technician and requested him to link a viewscreen to the freighter’s system. He relaxed as the viewscreen cleared and then colored with data images. He now was able to access all messages to and from D’Art, and he could monitor shipboard activities in real time. His foray had not yet disturbed the routine of the carrier. When he was satisfied with the progress of the orbit decay program, he signaled the captain.

“I understand your ship orbit’s in gradual decay, Captain. My estimate for the carrier to touch down on Hellfire is just under ten hours.”

The captain was perplexed. “What do you mean, de Coeur? I don’t have time for senseless pranks.”

“I suggest you check with your watch officer. He’ll be able to verify my estimate.”

“I’ll do that.” The link ended.

Steg, with Millie and Jackson, watched and listened via the viewscreen to activities on board the freighter, silent observers as the captain spoke with the duty watch officer. Jackson and Millie each wore a puzzled expression. The carrier officers both expressed incredulity and disbelief and then alarm as they checked and re-checked their bridge readouts. They struggled unavailingly to regain control of the carrier which now was in a decaying orbit, its controls were locked. Planetfall was inevitable. Steg waited for the captain to communicate his plight to the company and listened avidly to the brief and irate report with its urgent request for assistance. At last the captain came back on line to Hellfire.

“de Coeur?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“What’s happening to my carrier? What have you done? This is an orbit to orbit star ship, it’ll never pull out of Hellfire’s gravity well.”

“Captain, I understand it will take some time for your ship’s orbit to reach the point of no return. You can stay with the carrier or abandon ship, the choice is yours. I understand the emergency landing process is completely safe.”

“But I’ll never get my ship back into space! It will be stuck on that godawful planet.” A tinge of near panic momentarily colored the captain’s voice.

“Captain, I have a similar feeling. I may never get back into space, either. Perhaps you should consider a compromise? I suggest you think about it.” Steg cut the communication link although he continued to monitor the viewscreen displaying activity on board D’Art.

The captain sent another almost panic-stricken message to the company. He was fighting to save his ship although he would soon appreciate the benefits of compromise. Steg waited patiently while his companions watched anxiously until at last the captain returned to the communication link.

“Very well, de Coeur. I’ll have a landing craft down to you as soon as it can be launched. First release my ship from this disastrous orbit.”

“We accept your offer, Captain. Note that your crew must not be armed. Keep in mind my demonstration with the auto-miner. You’ll be able to move back into your routine orbit once we are safely on board.” Steg could see the realization of his plans as at last the captain acknowledged the inevitable.

“I’ll cooperate,” the captain agreed unwillingly. “You’ll be off Hellfire in three hours.”

Steg smiled his relief to his Fain companion. “Millie, we’re going to make it. At last we will get off Hellfire. After that we need to take just one step at a time until we get well away from the company.”

They all watched the activities on the freighter. Millie’s hand crept slowly into Steg’s and he gripped it tightly. They listened to the orders flowing from the captain and his senior officers. Their intention was to capture and imprison the two passengers once they had boarded and the freighter returned to its normal orbit. Steg smiled. He was not surprised.

“Listen,” exclaimed Millie. “Our kind captain is reporting back to the company.”

“Yes, he was under instructions to stall for as long as possible.” Steg recalled the messages he had read while connected to D’Art. “The company’s arranged for one of their security star ships to rendezvous here with the carrier, to plan and take further action. The other ship—they called it a firefighter—is still some hours away and they’re running out of time.”

“Why do they call the other ship a firefighter?”

“I suspect it’s equipped for more than fighting fires. They may decide to risk destroying the auto-miners with missiles. We’ll see, soon enough.”

Steg was unconcerned about the second ship because he estimated they would be aboard D’Art and well away from Hellfire by the time the firefighter arrived.

“Taul’s our only problem now. Well, apart from getting down the stairs. He’ll have to escort us to the landing site, which won’t please him.”

The security chief was unarmed and his cooperation had been obtained only after a direct order from the captain, after Steg triggered another auto-miner’s nuclear explosion. Taul cursed Steg continuously while they clambered aboard a small tracked desert vehicle and headed for the intended shuttle landing site. Taul knew he was hostage against action by his own men, and acted as though that Steg would kill him once he and Millie had access to the carrier’s shuttle. The security chief projected a mixture of fear, distrust, and hatred that was almost tangible. Steg watched him carefully, since he didn’t trust the man. Under no circumstances would he leave Millie in the destructive hands of the man who had killed and persecuted in order to exert his control over her. He did not relax as Taul drove the tracked vehicle across burning hot sand and rough rock outcrops. The grip of the Fain on his arm was almost painful.

They reached the rendezvous point without mishap and then waited anxiously in the limited shelter of the cabin of the desert vehicle. Outside their small bubble of cooled refuge, waves of heat radiation blurred the sharp outlines of rock outcrops. The sun was overhead and almost no living creature would survive for long, unprotected from its harsh and withering heat. Steg felt the cooling system falter and almost stop, before carrying on, as the temperature burden occasionally overloaded its straining efforts.

Fortunately they did not have to wait long. The small shuttle touched down with a roar and Steg and his Fain companion boarded the craft quickly, eager to depart the planet Hellfire. Taul scowled angrily at their escape and Steg ignored the unspoken promise of revenge. They barely had time to strap in when the shuttle jerked and roared aloft, heading back to the space carrier, into the inky blackness of space.

The captain was brusque and unfriendly. His relief at regaining orbit control did not overcome the barrier of antagonism created by his duress. While he was not prepared to actively assist Steg he had to protect his ship.

“de Coeur,” he explained. “I’ve no argument with you. However, the company regards you as its enemy and therefore I can’t provide assistance to you or your companion. Consider yourselves to be my prisoners.”

“Your ship, captain, is no longer in a decay orbit although it could be returned there very quickly. Your current task is to select a destination for your passengers—not prisoners—that’s acceptable to us. Of course, it should not be a planet within the influence of the House of Aluta.”

“This is piracy, you realize? The penalty for piracy is death,” he added with emphasis, taking pleasure in the threat.

“Captain, House of Aluta was attempting to kill me on Hellfire. Anything I’ve done is self-defense, I assure you. I’m requesting safe passage for my companion and myself. The Imperial Fleet will pay the transport cost and I’m confident we can negotiate a reasonable charge for one more passenger. If for any reason Fleet doesn’t pay, Homeworld will.”

“Very well, I suppose I can,” the captain reluctantly agreed. “However I’ll have to wait for a full consignment of ore before I can leave. My capacity is fifteen loaded ore shuttles, you know, and I only have five.”

“There are problems you obviously haven’t considered, captain.” Steg maintained a patient attitude with difficulty. “There’re no operating auto-miners on Hellfire and the shuttle launch pad’s inoperative. It will be months—perhaps a year, before the planet’s producing ore again, assuming the xenos allow it.”

“What do you mean?” the captain demanded, urgency and alarm filling his voice. “There were only two auto-miners destroyed? They must have thirty-eight that can continue mining?”

“Yes, and each one has buried itself under sand and rock, hidden from any rescue team. They’re designed to burrow and they’ve done just that. They’ll stay hidden under protective rock mantles with their systems on standby. I can still communicate with them and if anyone attacks me or Millie, their self-destruct triggers will fire automatically. Imagine the whole thirty-eight exploding simultaneously. The explosion would probably fracture the planet.”

The captain cursed. “No wonder the company is after you.”

Steg attempted to explain. “Captain, I’m protecting myself against House of Aluta. Simply that. If I make it too expensive for them, they should leave me alone. Of course, their pride will require revenge no matter the cost. So be it. Now what do you propose? Your ship could wait years for the remainder of its load. Perhaps you should reconsider?”

Steg left the captain to ponder the problems posed by his two unwelcome passengers. A crew member, unresponsive to Steg’s questions, silently led them to a spare cabin. The carrier was a working ship and did not normally cater for passengers. The bridge and accommodation deck were housed in the blunt nose of the craft, its skeletal body similar to the carriers that operated at Homeworld. Most of its bays were empty of ore shuttles. Whatever their destination this would be a profitless trip for the carrier.

He carefully checked the sparse cabin. The interior walls were unlined, with regular rows of rivets joining heavy steel sections, reflecting the utilitarian nature of the carrier’s structure and functions, and had been re-painted numerous times with gray paint over years of maintenance. Electrical wiring was laid flat in open channel ways and painted white, the one color scheme of decoration. Steg checked but did not find any listening devices. The furniture was basic, consisting of little more than two couch-bunks and built-in wall units. They had access to a small washroom, basic, adequate for its purpose. Overall, the cabin was antiseptic and impersonal, without appeal or attraction. However, they were both off Hellfire.

“Better than Hellfire?” he queried Millie. She nodded her agreement. She was silent, apparently unable to believe she was at last off the planet that she thought would be her grave.

Steg tested the bunks and indicated to Mille she should rest. He lay back on the other bunk, unable to relax. He wanted first to re-establish his contact with and control over the freighter’s system.

Steg de Coeur to Module D’Art .

*Module D’Art.”

*Prepare for inter-system drive activation. Initiate all pre-drive checks. Prepare to depart orbit in thirty minutes. Destination to be advised. Lock system including outgoing communications. These instructions can only be countermanded by Steg de Coeur. Run instructions.*

Instructions running.

Steg was committing the ship and its captain. He could not sit idly while the firefighter approached. He searched the ship’s navigation charts and files, seeking a system outside the influence or control of the company. At last he found a suitable system, Tacia, central member of the Tacian League. It seemed the best choice given their need to reach a non-Imperial, non-Alutan system as quickly as possible. The chain of nexus points from Hellfire to Tacia would take five days to transit. Satisfied, he loaded the destination details into D’Art’s navigation system.

The carrier captain was in a developing state of confused anxiety when Steg was brought to the bridge by a nervous crewman. D’Art was preparing to depart orbit and he and his crew were powerless to prevent it. Controls were locked against them and the carrier’s systems refused to accept new instructions. Steg had observed his increasingly urgent messages to the company and had blocked their transmission. The captain was isolated, faced with circumstances he had never before experienced. He turned to Steg with almost a sigh of relief.

“This is impossible,” he cried. “My ship’s underway, it ignores my instructions, I’ve no idea of where we’re headed and the company won’t answer me. All this is because of you, I know.”

“Captain, please be patient,” Steg reassured the man. “Yes, control of your ship is out of your hands. I‘ve blocked outgoing communications. Your ship’s now following my orders. If you were to jettison me into space or set out to harm me in any way, I promise, you’d be unable to prevent her destruction. You’re still responsible for the ship and her crew. However, if you cooperate, I’ll be off your ship as quickly as possible. We’re heading for the Hellfire nexus and our destination is Tacia. That’s where we’ll disembark.”

The captain stared at his unwanted passenger for a moment, silenced by his quiet air of confidence. He was concerned only with his command, his carrier, and her crew, and he’d do anything to rid himself of the threat posed by his passengers, even if it meant cooperating with an enemy of the company.

“You give your word that my ship will be unharmed and my crew safe?”

“Yes, captain. As long as you cooperate. Make no attempt to communicate with the company. If you or your crew act against Milnaret or me, I’ll see your ship to the scrap heap.” Steg paused for effect. “If anything can be found of it.”

“Very well, you have my cooperation. Now let me run my ship unhindered. Meals will be brought to your cabin. Keep out of my way and off my bridge and I’ll see you safely to Tacia.”

******

Chapter 23

Tacia, a system containing a complex mixture of species, welcomed peaceful visitors of any kind from anywhere across the galaxy. Tacians spoke the languages of space and permitted visitors to live and trade in their cities without restriction, except adherence to Tacian law. This freedom added exciting zest to their cosmopolitan lifestyle. Tacians were vigorous and frenetic traders and their bazaars were hectic and colorful.

On Tacia one could buy or barter for shiploads of spice, for exotic silks or for alien artifacts. Indeed, one could barter for a star ship or for an entire trading fleet. Alternatively the traders were just as ready to sell a handful of trinkets or a hot and bracing drink. Bargains were struck and fulfilled on word of mouth, accompanied by shouting and arguing that was merely a decorative adjunct to reaching an agreement, which, if need arose, would be enforced by Tacian guild courts.

This was their third day on Tacia and Steg was seeking a banker. Millie held firmly to Steg’s hand as they threaded their way through the clamoring crowd, ignoring the proffered bargains of eager traders, absorbing the market atmosphere. Heavily cloaked ertich, rarely seen away from their remote water planet, disdainfully pushed through the crowd, while their traditional enemy, war merchants of Sicca, carefully ignored their presence. Hooded and barefoot holy men from Ria muttered incantations and held out ancient wooden bowls to the ever-moving throngs. Begging was forbidden; however, religious donations were considered to be outside that prohibition. A tailed ortot, furred and warm-blooded, a native of Ortos, walked by in deep and serious conversation with a gliding pertona from the fabled snake planet Circe, both oblivious to the incongruity of their apparent friendship. Traders were everywhere and sometimes when they outnumbered the sightseers, they traded amongst themselves. At last Steg found a banker, a bazaar moneylender, who was prepared to do business with him.

“Do you have inter-system links?” he queried once they were comfortably seated on soft floor cushions. He laid Ebony on the floor beside him. The walls of the tent held the clamor of the market at bay as they discussed the financial links of Tacian bankers.

“My friend, I assure you, from here we can do business anywhere, with anyone, as long as the transactions comply with guild rules,” the alien, a native Tacian biped, nodded his reassurance.

“Very well. My name’s Steg de Coeur,” Steg offered. “If you can send a coded message for me, my identity will be validated and credit established. You may deduct your fees and commission from the proceeds.” He supplied details of the bank on Althere.

They negotiated vigorously and eventually a bargain was struck. Because the banker had only the expense of a message at risk and could see the possibility of future business, his final fee was not exorbitant. Steg drafted his message and handed the slip to the Tacian.

“This will take four—no, five days, my friend. We need to allow for Tacian non-business days. Then we’ll talk more business. And if your credit’s all gone, perhaps your Fain would be adequate pledge for an advance?”

“She is a free Fain, please understand that.”

“I apologize. I did not wish to imply otherwise. No ill was meant. In five days I’ll send my messenger to your abode.”

They exchanged elaborate and formal farewells. Steg plunged back into the teeming market throngs, with Millie close behind.

“Do you trust the banker?”

“On Tacia, yes. Their guild is very powerful, and it protects the Tacian reputation for fair trading.”

Eventually they returned to the small apartment that Steg had rented. The proprietor stopped them as they were about to enter the building.

“There are some visitors for you,” he advised, indicating with a frond-like hand. “They’ve been waiting for some hours. Very patiently.”

“Who are they?”

“Two are offworlders. They have a Tacian League official with them. They say their business is very urgent, very important.”

Steg checked that Ebony was secure and led the way indicated by the waving fronds. He did not recognize the offworlders although he assumed they were from the company’s firefighter. He would have to do something about that star ship, he thought.

“Gentlemen? I understand you wish to see me?” Millie stood behind him, out of the way.

“Steg de Coeur,” the Tacian League official acknowledged his presence. “I am Quaestor Enn. These two persons have laid some very serious charges against you. We have no process for hearing what appears to be a domestic matter of House of Aluta, nor do we have a treaty providing for extradition. The matter will rest while you are within the borders of the Tacian League, or unless either party offends against the laws of the League. If either of you pursue this matter within the League, then you will be subject to our laws. Invested in me as Quaestor is the responsibility of ensuring maintenance of good order and I will take whatever action I consider necessary against any party to ensure good order is maintained.”

One of the offworlders protested. “You didn’t tell us this when we requested the assistance of the League. This man’s a fugitive. He’s an enemy of House of Aluta and we demand—”

“Demand?” interrupted the League official. “You may represent House of Aluta but here on Tacia you do not demand.”

“Oh—I mean request, of course. We request this—criminal be apprehended and delivered to us in order that justice is done.”

“That is not possible. I can identify no legal basis upon which you can base your request. I repeat,” admonished the Tacian Quaestor, “if you break League laws, we will punish you.” He addressed the two offworlders. “I serve due notice. If you take action against this person or his Fain companion, your freedom and even your lives, will be forfeit.” He turned to Steg. “And you, sir. I levy the same burden on you. Now, all of you, be aware that I have allocated monitors. They will maintain surveillance of each of you and report to me any infringement of our laws. Action will be swift in such event. You have been so advised.”

Steg nodded his understanding and compliance. “Quaestor, I accept these restrictions and I thank you for your information. Now gentlemen, if you’ve completed your business with me?” He looked at the two offworlders and indicated the door.

“de Coeur, we’ll be waiting for you. One day you’ll leave Tacia.” The two men departed somewhat ungraciously.

The Quaestor turned to Steg. “The monitors are on their way to you and to the other offworlders. They will stay with you always, while you and the offworlders are on Tacia.”

Each monitor was a free-floating robotic device. Their grating voices jarred on Steg’s nerves as he begrudgingly permitted two of them entrance to their accommodation. The second device was obviously for Millie.

“We have the protection of the League whether we wish it or not, Master,” commented Millie, smiling resignedly.

“We could do without their watchdogs. The consolation is that the firefighters each will have one of these as well. Now, how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Master?”

The following morning they again explored the markets although this time accompanied by the two robotic monitors floating at head height immediately behind them. The presence of the monitors passed without comment from any of the Tacians. Eventually, Steg arranged to spend the afternoon in practice with a Tacian swordmaster. Their hours of intensive drill were followed by a dazzling combat display for the benefit of the curious audience which had gathered, attracted by the serious dedication of the two participants.

“Young man,” panted the Tacian swordmaster when they put aside their practice swords. “I recognize the touch and technique of an expert and very well trained swordsman. You could be taught nothing further by my humble self. Rather, I am honored you have chosen to train with me.” They bowed and Steg returned to Millie, patiently waiting with the ever-present monitors.

He took Ebony from Millie and looped the sword belt over his shoulder.

“So you do have a real sword, stripling?” The hostile voice came from behind a small group of onlookers. They parted quickly and nervously, their withdrawal and tension communicating a warning to Steg. He ignored the speaker and concentrated on Ebony. The speaker came closer and regarded Steg with a show of insolence. He wore the black varma robes of a Tacian guild sword assassin and his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. Steg acknowledged the assassin’s presence with a bow of his head, neither answering nor commenting on the implied challenge. Millie moved close to Steg, her expression concerned. She remained silent.

“Well, stripling,” jeered the assassin. “Do you want a real fight or are you only capable of fancy displays?” The crowd had gathered again, this time standing behind the sword assassin, their voices now muted. The assassin continued. “The custom of Tacia is that only cowards refuse an invitation to sword fight.”

Steg turned to the monitor. “Is this assassin correct? Is his invitation to be accepted? If I defeat him, will that infringe any Tacian law?”

“Offworlder de Coeur,” grated the harsh flat tones of the monitor. “An invitation must be accepted if both parties are wearing swords, otherwise dishonor falls on the person who refuses to fight. Tacian penalties for refusal can be severe. In this instance you are not wearing your sword and therefore no penalty will apply.”

“Master,” Millie ignored Steg’s frown. “You have practiced for hours and this guild assassin is fresh. Put him off until morning at least. I must prepare you for this combat.” Her voice was soft, too soft to reach the ears of the assassin.

Steg regarded Millie thoughtfully as he absorbed the validity of her advice. “I need to get him to challenge more directly, I think.” His voice was soft, too. He turned to the sword assassin.

“You think you could show anyone how to fight, assassin by night?” Steg used the insult phrase purposefully, and the crowd laughed at the promise of entertainment although their laughter had a nervous edge to it.

“So the stripling thinks words will fight and settle his battles for him,” rejoined the sword assassin.

“With a noisy assassin by night, words are all one needs. In your case words are unnecessary. All I need do is wait until you trip over your fancy dress.”

“Listen cub, I will help you eat your words,” growled the assassin, tightening his grip on his sword hilt.

Steg laughed, driven by a genuine flash of amusement that communicated itself to the growing crowd. “Perhaps your corset is too tight and is giving you pain,” he jeered. “No, I can’t fight a female. Or should I say, a near female?” The crowd guffawed. The red-faced assassin unsheathed his sword with a flash and loud ring of cold steel. The crowd fell back, silent again.

The assassin advanced on Steg. “Fight, you offworld filth, I challenge.”

“Thank you, assassin. I’ll defend myself, as is my right. The time and place are of my choosing, as you have bared your sword in challenge and attack.”

“What does it matter, stripling? You will die, anyway.”

“The place is here. The time is tomorrow, midday,” declared Steg, ignoring the assassin. “Monitor, you are witness. This guild sword assassin, somebody’s hireling, has attacked me and I have offered to defend myself accordingly.”

“Witnessed, offworlder de Coeur,” agreed the monitor. “You, sword assassin, give you name.”

“Selkin,” came the reluctant reply.

“Your life is forfeit, Selkin,” advised the monitor, “unless offworlder de Coeur is alive and able to attend here, unharmed, tomorrow at midday. I suggest you withdraw to your guild rooms for meditation. Return tomorrow as arranged. Failure to appear will result in loss of your guild rights. And you, offworlder, are similarly enjoined. Return to your quarters.”

The sword assassin turned on his heel and strode away through the crowd. He had lost the first round by reacting to Steg’s jibes and now his life and reputation depended upon his winning the second round. He would return the following day, eager to establish his supremacy, ready to remedy his error.

Steg ignored the curious crowd and gathered up his belongings. He bade farewell to the Tacian sword master who had stood in worried silence throughout Steg’s encounter with the guild sword assassin. Neither Steg nor Millie spoke until they had returned to their rooms. The monitors again stationed themselves in an unused corner, despite Steg’s angry protests.

“Milnaret of Fain,” lectured Steg. “Remember you’re not a chattel, you’re a free person and if by mischance this assassin succeeds tomorrow, you remain free.”

“I am a Fain and you are my Master,” came the soft reply. “Now come, I must free your muscles from their anxieties and prepare you for this battle. Commit yourself to the ways of the Fain, oh Master.”

Steg obeyed her instructions and gradually relaxed under her ministrations as a wave of velvet-soft sleep slowly encompassed him. It wrapped him in its protective and healing folds and he felt consciousness fade as the Fain worked her magic. He had confidence in the ancient ways of Fain and he had complete trust in Milnaret of Fain. Time slipped by unnoticed. Steg slept. The Fain worked her magic until she was exhausted, and then she too slept. The monitors stood on silent guard through the night and no one disturbed the seclusion of their rest.

******

Chapter 24

“Well done, de Coeur. You are up to your neck in trouble again, I see.”

Steg spun around to face the speaker. “Denke!” he exclaimed. “You’ve a fine sense of timing. You can hold my coat for me while I deal with a sword assassin.”

“You need someone to do more than hold your coat. The whole damned town is buzzing with your forthcoming fight. Remind me to send you on a secret mission, sometime.”

Millie looked bewildered at the semi-serious exchange between the two men. She and Steg had just departed their apartment for the noon encounter with the guild sword assassin when the newcomer had approached, unannounced. Steg explained after he made introductions.

“Denke organized a spot of bother for me on Ziangka and then fled the scene of his crime, leaving me to face a court-martial.” Denke looked pained at this description. “I daresay now he’s come to gloat.”

“Your misjudgment cuts me to the quick, de Coeur,” protested Denke. “Duty called and I had to leave you unattended. I didn’t realize the depth of the mess you’d got yourself into. I came to rescue you as soon as I could, which is why I’m here.”

“Your offer’s a fraction late, Denke. Now back on Hellfire, it would have been a different story. Come on, we don’t have time to spend here chatting.”

“Better fill me in, de Coeur. What are these friendly little fellows for?” Denke queried, indicating the monitors.

“They’re League justice monitors. I’m under threat from House of Aluta, and these are supposed to protect me from illegal attacks. The sword assassin’s legal, and I assume, hired by the company.”

“A sword assassin was foolish enough to challenge you?”

“Yes. Now tell me. I’ve a burning question. How the hell did you leave the star ship?”

“Quietly, de Coeur. When you can travel without big ears here, we’ll have a chat, I promise. Now what are your plans?”

“Apart from seeing off this assassin? Waiting on funds to buy passage off Tacia. The company has a firefighter in orbit that’ll probably try to interfere. I’ll need to deal with it, as well.” Steg was silent for a moment. “One thing, Denke. You owe me.”

“Yes?”

“Milnaret’s a free Fain. If anything untoward happens to me today, I burden you with her care and protection. You are to ensure her safety and protect her, get her away from these Alutan thugs. Understand?” Steg waited for the major’s reply. He could feel the trembling pressure of Millie’s grip on his arm. He stopped and looked at Denke. “Agreed?”

“Agreed, on my honor, de Coeur.”

Steg smiled down at his Fain companion. “All will be well, one way or another.”

“All will be well if you win this contest unharmed and with your life,” countered Millie as they continued on their way.

A larger, jostling, noisy crowd had gathered around the small arena. Steg ignored the crush of curious onlookers and prepared himself as he waited for the arrival of his opponent. The crowd grew silent as the noon hour approached, tension building. A sudden parting of the crowd announced the arrival of the sword assassin and he moved confidently towards the center of the arena accompanied by two assistants, their black varma robes fluttering like sails as they approached.

“Well, stripling, you turned up. A pity, for you won’t survive this encounter. And then what’s yours will be mine.” He leered at Millie, little realizing she was almost as competent a fighter as Steg. He ignored Denke.

“Assassin, I came to fight, not to talk.”

“I’m ready,” the assassin signaled his preparedness by dropping his black robe and drawing his sword. His attendants drew back, carrying the robe.

“I challenge this sword assassin,” cried Steg and Ebony was in his hand. No one had seen the movement and the crowd sighed its surprise. The arena cleared.

The two combatants moved together, each confident and surefooted, eager to engage. Ebony was humming its song of power and Steg felt a surge of assurance from its almost separate life force.

“Come, stripling, come closer,” the assassin taunted, beckoning.

Steg moved in swiftly and the sudden clash of swords jarred both combatants. The sword assassin looked surprised for an instant and then struck out, forcing Steg to defend and defend again. The assassin was trying to force a quick conclusion to the encounter but Steg moved back and the crowd broke and scattered behind him. Steg flicked a sudden response back to the sword assassin, who parried his attack and they locked swords, faces almost touching.

“The Fain’s free, assassin. She won’t be yours,” taunted Steg, jumping aside and defending a sudden riposte.

The two swordsmen tracked and traversed, each intently seeking a weakness in the other’s defense, to no avail. Steg felt the weight of Ebony lighten as the battle drew on; it became an extension of his arm, of his mind. He felt a flow of power. He struck and struck again, thrusting viciously at the defense of the assassin. He moved forward and Ebony sang its song of victory. Steg saw his opponent’s eyes widen in sudden fear.

The sword assassin disengaged and stepped quickly back out of reach. “Break,” he cried, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Steg looked startled. “Is this permitted?” he asked the Tacian League Quaestor who was standing beside the monitors.

“Why yes, either party may cry break once and rest for up to five minutes without loss of honor or other penalty.”

Steg remained alert and prepared, Ebony firmly in his grip. He watched the sword assassin confer with his assistants. Their discussion was intense. At last the assassin signaled his readiness to continue. Steg noted without surprise that the assassin was moving with more caution and less confidence. He entered into the attack, thrusting and parrying, buffeting the sword assassin with powerful and deadly sword strokes.

The sword assassin faltered and feinted, attempting to entice Steg into an error of overconfidence. Steg refused the invitation and pressed his attack. Now he struck at his opponent’s head, now at his legs, now thrusting at his body, always parrying and avoiding the less effective moves of the sword assassin. Steg had a reservoir of energy and his body moved faultlessly and effortlessly. Steg knew he could wear down the sword assassin with energy to spare. The crowd moved, sensing the inevitability of the sword assassin’s fate.

Again the sword assassin disengaged and stepped well back, raising his sword with a flourish and a strange display of symbolism. His sword sparked with fire, the flame growing and rolling to form a ball at the tip. The crowd groaned their displeasure. The sword assassin aimed and thrust the fiery ball at Steg. The fireball traveled rapidly across the short distance, growing in size and intensity as it came closer and closer. Steg faltered, unsure of his defense against the fireball. Ebony hummed, almost jumping out of his hand as it detected the threat, and Steg raised the blade to fend off the approaching fire. The black blade pierced the fireball and he felt a shock run up his arm as Ebony absorbed its energy. He exulted; the fireball had not harmed him. He moved into the attack, oblivious to the wonder of the crowd and to the fear of the assassin. Steg’s now desperate opponent threw himself forward, meeting attack with attack. Gradually the force of the assassin’s attacks faded as he weakened. Steg paused to give his opponent an opportunity to cry quarter but the sword assassin declined the gesture.

With lips tight, the assassin pressed back into the attack. Steg could see only one conclusion to the encounter and drove Ebony past the weakened guard of the assassin. The sigh of the crowd followed his final blow. The assassin fell, exhausted and severely wounded. Steg stood back and saluted his fallen foe. The crowd slowly dispersed, silent in their appreciation of swordsmanship. The two guild attendants carried off their fallen companion. Steg returned Ebony to its scabbard and then almost fell as a wave of exhaustion hit him.

“So sword assassins use fireballs,” murmured Denke as he assisted Steg. “Apart from electronics in Ebony, what magic did you use? I think your Fain lady may have helped somewhat?”

Steg did not answer. He was exhausted and in no condition to review the fight. The sword assassin had been a worthy opponent. Now, with Denke supporting him on one side and Millie on the other, they made their way back to their accommodation. Steg slept for hours, a deep and healing sleep which the Fain attended.

******

Chapter 25

As Steg slowly awakened, in that half state between sleep and full alertness, he realized the Alutan firefighter was somewhere in orbit above the planet posing a threat to his and Millie’s safety. A major threat, and he had no knowledge of its capabilities. He reached out, seeking, searching for the whisper of its system. He detected and discarded a number of ship systems. Practice was improving the range and depth of his ability to identify and link with ship systems. He listened to the electronic tangle of space, separating natural noise from ship systems, and then identified each star ship, sometimes by taste, sometimes by color, sometimes by both or neither. He heard numerous distant electronic murmurs, their messages unintelligible and indecipherable, their coherence lost in the impossible distances of space. The background was star noise, the random stirrings of insensate systems blended to a deep rumble of blurred ululations as they struggled for life. Steg quickly blanked out these sources, afraid to be drawn into the intense turmoil of their painful struggles. He concentrated on the sensible systems, those with coherence and identity. At last he found the firefighter. He merged with its system, absorbing and studying it until he was able to see with its sensors and hear with its detectors. He accessed its memories, read its data cells. He understood its deliberations.

The firefighter was a long distance traveler, a private sloop rigged for deep space. He noted its heavy armor and illegal arms, and he counted the force that it carried. House of Aluta had dispatched a powerful, armed unit from its own force of military professionals, soldiers of fortune, mercenaries who signed on for life and who were prepared to lose it in service of the company. Nominally they were a security force, functioning to detect and deter enemies of the company where local forces were either non-existent or else corrupt or possible inept, and where the arm of the Imperial Fleet was unable to reach. In fact they were a private army trained and ready to settle with arms and force any dispute against the interests of House of Aluta. The company was prudent in their utilization and never used its private force against Imperial interests. The company was not yet strong enough to challenge the Empire.

Steg admired the sleek and deadly craft. He was determined somehow to capture the sloop and make it his own; that would be a fitting reversal, he thought.

Suddenly he was wide-awake, his energy restored, his appetite ravenous. He refused to speak with Denke until he had eaten. Millie prepared a meal and he ate. When he had finished he turned to Denke.

“You can talk all you wish, now.”

“What about little big ears?”

Steg thought for a moment. He did not answer Denke. Instead he sought the robotic program of the monitors and, without triggering an alarm, carefully rearranged their eavesdropping programs. Now they were temporarily deaf. They would revert back to full functionality after an hour or so, and his interference would be undetectable.

“Not a problem,” reassured Steg. “I still have two questions. Why did you throw me to the wolves on Ziangka? And how did you leave the ship?”

“I told you, de Coeur, duty called. My CO sent an urgent signal and I had to respond. I knew Captain Gallos had been subverted by House of Aluta, I just didn’t expect things to move as fast and as far as they did. My error. And I know the result was almost fatal for you. I came as soon as I could, I assure you. Why did I come? We want you, de Coeur. We need recruits of your caliber, with your—attributes. It is a dire need.”

Steg was not impressed. “Why should I have anything to do with Imperial Special Forces?”

“Two reasons. I have offered you our assistance against your Homeworld enemies. Oh, not that you must have our assistance to overcome them, but we can help, we can make it a lot easier. The second reason is the answer to your other question.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Denke. In case you need reminding, your promises have proven somewhat nebulous, from my point of view.”

“What can I say?”

“Answer my second question. How did you leave the star ship? A massive power usage occurred at that time, which somehow is linked. And don’t worry about Millie—if I have anything to do with the Specials, she’ll be involved as well.”

“Very well. This is one of those ’if I tell you I’ll have to kill you’ secrets. The Special Forces have guarded this information and we’ve killed to keep the secret. So, if I answer you, and then you refuse to join us, we will have on our hands what can only be described as a major impasse. Understand?”

“I think so,” confirmed Steg. Millie nodded and remained silent as the two men determined their paths.

“Well, be it on my head, I suppose. The answer’s relatively simple although the issues it raises are not. The star ship’s equipped with a portal, as are a number of Fleet star ships.”

“A portal?” cried Steg. “Are you serious?”

“Shhh,” cautioned Denke. “Yes, a portal. Don’t ask for an explanation of the science or how they work because we simply don’t know. So far we’ve identified over a hundred installations. About half—sixty or so—are built into the older, larger star ships of the Fleet. Most of the others are on planets although one or two are on made satellites and one just sits in space. We’ve lost twenty good men over the last three years in accidents from just mapping the damn things.”

“You are serious, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m serious, dammit. Listen. I’ll tell you what I can. The existence of the portals was discovered about five years ago, by accident. We—the Specials—took over and placed a tight security block on the discovery. We managed to achieve a total exclusion of publicity, mainly by conscripting everyone who had some knowledge of the discovery. Since then we’ve been exploring and mapping the network which is vast. It spreads throughout explored space and well into the Rim and other regions we’ve never penetrated. Our main problem is that we need to experiment with new destination codes and the risks are extremely high for our exploration teams. Imagine keying in an untried destination and stepping through the portal into space. Or into a location where the planet has long been destroyed and all that remains is a collection of rocks in space and a portal.

“The network is an invaluable resource, especially to the Specials. The Emperor’s advisers, the good ones, are predicting decay and decline of the Empire. Some of the things we see make us think the Empire is already decaying. The Specials are doing all they can just to cover the major attacks against the Empire, or rather, attacks on the freedom the Empire is supposed to protect. We have too many needs and not enough resources. So the more we can discover about these portals, the better our chances are for success.”

Steg said, “I understand the value, at least in part. The concept is phenomenal. But I am at a complete loss to see where I come into this?”

Millie spoke. “Major, who made these portals?”

“We don’t know. They are old, very old. Older than the Empire. We don’t know who made them and I am reluctant to add to popular mythology about an ancient race. We just don’t know. We are still trying to determine how they work, and we need all the help we can get.” Denke turned to Steg. “de Coeur, I think—no, I know—you have an ability to communicate with these damn things.” He indicated the monitors. “I know you were in direct contact with the Ziangka system, and I think also with D’Art and others. I heard about the auto-miners on Hellfire. I’m either grasping at straws or making an intuitive jump, however you wish to describe it. I think you can help us, and I’d like to have your willing assistance.”

“I see an implication that if you do not have my willing assistance, you will make do with my unwilling assistance?” Denke shook his head and Steg continued. “I still don’t know how I can help. However, I recall an offer of assistance in exchange. My willing assistance for your support against our Homeworld enemy.”

Denke did not hide his satisfaction. “Done. We can work out the details on the way to our base. Can you leave tomorrow—no, dammit—can you leave now?”

“I thought press ganging had been outlawed. Millie, are you willing to join in this mad venture?”

“For a Fain, Master, I have only one answer. If you’re going with Major Denke, I too, will go.”

Steg turned back to Denke and said, “I’m waiting for a transfer of funds, which will take another three or four days. Otherwise I’ve no objections to an early departure from Tacia.”

“I can arrange for your transfer to be taken care of. The longer we stay here, the more exposed you are. You’ve little to pack, and I can settle for your rooms.” He indicated the monitors. “The League authorities will be relieved to see the last of you. What do you say—I borrowed a star courier to get here and it can be ready to go in thirty minutes.”

Steg nodded in agreement, as did Millie. Steg was prepared to take advantage of even the remote possibility of assistance from Denke and the Empire’s Special Forces against Homeworld’s enemies and had no reason to stay any longer on Tacia.

******

Chapter 26

“Don’t worry,” counseled Denke as the star courier left Tacia orbit and exited the system’s space control region. “Anon can run the legs off the firefighter. She’s almost as fast as a Xesset star ship.”

“Oh, I am not worried,” countered Steg as he watched the viewscreen. “In fact I was going to ask you to let them catch up with us. Can we review the navigation charts and find somewhere where they could attack us?”

“Dammit, I don’t want to sacrifice my ship,” protested Denke. “That firefighter’s well armed and Anon’s built for speed, not military maneuvers.”

“Relax, Denke, relax,” soothed Steg with barely concealed amusement. “Do you really think I want to let them capture us? All I need is for you to ask your captain to keep us idling along. In the meantime, let’s see where we can tempt the firefighter to launch its attack. They won’t succeed, but they don’t know that.”

Steg and Denke sat with Anon’s captain and navigator around the navigation station, examining star charts. Denke was begrudgingly following Steg’s directions while the star courier’s officers were totally perplexed. They were tasked with identifying locations where their potential enemy could launch an attack, while every component of common sense suggested they should be running at full speed.

“We need a location where we are between shipping lanes. The firefighter won’t want to attack us while we’re in the middle of a shipping lane,” advised Steg.

The pilot traced their course, identifying jump points and shipping lanes. “We move off standard shipping lanes when we pass the Kohn Cluster. See? That should be a suitable location—if I was their captain that is where I would attack.”

They all examined the indicated chart. The location was an ideal, two days out of Tacia, and would be overwhelmingly tempting for the firefighter.

“I agree,” commented Steg. “I would attack there, too. Denke? Captain?”

“I think you’re both crazy,” commented the captain. “But I have to agree. If I were going to attack, that would be ideal.”

“Good,” confirmed Denke. “Captain, I know it troubles you—it troubles me as well. However, I’ve experienced enough of de Coeur’s abilities to know he’s not putting Anon at risk. We’ll do it. Objections?”

“Hundreds. But you’re the senior officer here. We’ll cut our course accordingly. Anon can coast along for a day or so.”

The meeting concluded and Denke accompanied the captain and navigator as they discussed the necessary course settings. Steg located a spare viewscreen, sat down and accessed its displays. For the moment he stayed out of direct contact with the courier’s system since he had no need to subvert or control its activities. He sought out the firefighter system and re-established his previous contact. He spent hours in careful programming of the firefighter. His tasks completed, he sat back and relaxed, retaining a slight thread of contact as the two star ships headed to the first jump point. Intent on his task, he had not noticed the repeated visits of his Fain companion as she checked on his comfort.

“That’s the second jump point,” commented Denke. “The helmsman’s now laying in the course past the Kohn Cluster. As far as we can tell, it’ll be only us and them, there’s no one else around.”

“Can you ask the captain to give us have control of the main viewscreen?” requested Steg. “I’ll connect to the firefighter control bridge and display their activities for you. It should be interesting.”

It did not take long to set up the connection once the captain gave his permission. The bridge and Anon duty crew could hear and see everything taking place on the firefighter bridge.

“Astounding,” murmured the captain. “I’ve never experienced anything like this.”

Denke was still dubious. “Does this mean we’re going to watch them attack us?”

“Relax, Denke. Just sit and watch and listen.”

A silent group of officers and crew gathered around the main viewscreen, totally focused on the display. A secondary screen displayed the two ships as they traveled towards the Kohn Cluster. The conversations relayed from the firefighter indicated they were intent on destruction of Anon and the death of its crew. The firefighter strategy did not include their capture.

They watched and listened as the firefighter captain gave instructions for the attack on Anon. The firefighter’s missiles were armed and prepared for launching. The Anon audience listened to the countdown, their amazement and concern growing while Denke held off giving instructions to speed them to safety.

“Prepare to launch rack one. Prepare to launch rack two.”

“The target is steady. She is still unaware of our presence.”

This latter comment generated a wave of nervous laughter from the watchers.

“Launch rack one.” Ten missiles were fired. The bridge held its collective breath.

“Launch rack two.” Another ten missiles were on their way towards Anon.

Denke turned to the secondary viewscreen. “What? Our sensors aren’t detecting any missiles. de Coeur, what’s going on?”

“Wait.”

Suddenly, the firefighter bridge was awash with the glow of a series of explosions. Pandemonium ensued on board the firefighter as a massive shockwave rocked and buffeted it. Alarms sounded, shrill and deafening. Smoke bled from the ventilation systems.

“What the hell’s happening?” queried Denke.

“Watch.” Steg counseled. “They think they’ve been caught in a missile blowback.”

“Sir, rack two exploded in situ.”

“Sir, we are leaking air. The hull has been penetrated by missile debris.”

“Engine room—we have lost power, complete drive failure.”

“Sir, radiation readings are off the scale.”

“Sir, we are starting to lose system control.”

“Captain. Damage report as follows. Hull pierced at rack two shaft. We are losing air. The main drive is out. Auxiliaries are not responding. Radiation leakage is increasing rapidly. The explosion threw the stabilizers out and we cannot regain stability. The ship’s now out of control and is heading directly into the Kohn Cluster.”

“Options?”

“Only one, sir. We must abandon ship. We’re still close enough to shipping lanes for rescue. We can save the crew, captain. However, the ship is lost.”

“I agree. Give the order to abandon ship.”

The clamor of sirens increased while the sounds were relayed to Anon’s bridge. Steg damped the noise to a less intrusive level as his audience watched, entranced. The secondary screen showed the lifeboats dispersing from the firefighter, which, as far as the watchers could determine, was undamaged and on its original course. The firefighter bridge was in an almost utter panic state as the last of the officers prepared to abandon ship. One by one and in small groups, they exited the bridge. The clamor continued to echo in the abandoned star ship, as it continued on its course, empty of life.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” breathed Denke.

“Major, that’s an abandoned star ship. Accordingly, as no one else is in control, I wish to lay claim to it, under interstellar custom.”

“Y-e-s,” agreed Denke, somewhat dubiously. “I can see it’s been abandoned. But salvage rules require the claimant to be in control. How can you establish that?”

“I am in control,” Steg affirmed. “The firefighter will now take up a new heading, one that I’ve prepared and instructed it to follow. Captain, would you please log the relevant details and confirm I’ve established control over an abandoned and derelict star ship.”

“de Coeur, I can’t work out whether you’ve made the Imperial Fleet obsolete or not. Sometimes you frighten me. Captain, log the claim as legitimate.” Denke stood and addressed the bridge. “Folks, the show’s over. I remind each and every one of you that you’re bound by your oaths of secrecy. You cannot mention or discuss these events with anyone. Breach will give rise to charges of high treason for which the minimum penalty will be a very long period in a Fleet prison. Return to stations.”

Denke watched the group disperse and then turned to Steg. “There, that’ll keep them relatively quiet. All right, de Coeur. The firefighter’s yours. I assume the ship is heading for Homeworld?”

“Yes. It will orbit there until I enter new instructions. I plotted a high orbit, out of everyone’s way.” Steg was elated, he had extracted a small measure of revenge on House of Aluta.

Denke caught the gleam in his eye and immediately experienced major doubts. “Tell me,” he almost shouted. “What have you done to my ship—to Anon?”

“Denke, you threw me to the wolves when you left me on board Ziangka, so why should I trust you now? You have no reason to worry, as long as I’m alive, as long as I remain conscious, while I’m on board Anon. The ship’s under your control. As you observed earlier, you have a responsibility to keep me alive.”

Denke walked off and Steg could see the major was having difficulties in controlling his temper. He motioned to Millie and they both retreated to the shelter of their cabin.

Anon accelerated to its more typical cruising speed. Denke spent the transit time briefing Steg and Millie on the Special Forces and the planet they used as their base. Jochum, he explained, was a small, desolate ball, lacking either minerals or a fertile environment. It had been settled once in a misguided attempt to terraform the planet and there were rumors the survivors had resorted to cannibalism when their supplies ended.

“They died out,” Denke continued. “Probably from starvation, for nothing will grow on the planet. We have replicators running all the time, supplemented by imported fresh food. Nowadays, Jochum is a forgotten world, a wasteland no one wants. It’s been deleted from navigation charts and we actively discourage intruders. Anyone who persists—uninvited—is finally warned off by one of the three dreadnoughts we have on station. They’re our final defense line. I’m not sure the Fleet has more than ten fully functioning dreadnoughts in operation, so that should give you an idea of how important we view our base on Jochum. Needless to say, Jochum also has a portal. Why anyone established one there, we don’t know. We have a second planet available, Jochum II, if we need a fallback.”

“The more I hear, the more I consider this could be a one way trip,” commented Steg as he paced up and down the courier’s small conference room. Denke watched him intently and Millie was reminded of a bird of prey as the major waited for Steg to continue. “I—we—now know more than we should about your operation. I don’t suppose you’d want us anywhere else except engaged with the Special Forces?” He turned sharply, surprising Denke with his sudden, almost accusatory stare.

“de Coeur, you are in, and that’s all I can say. Likewise—with apologies—Millie,” admitted Denke, not without reluctance. “I expect you’ll be able to survive your enlistment. We’ll help you. We expect you to help us. We need, though, a token of your cooperation.” He ignored Steg’s reaction. “We’ve landing clearance, come on.”

The base was substantial and as far as Steg could determine in the short time between touching down and entering the heavily guarded buildings, very well armored. Security was visible everywhere inside the building housing the Special Forces operational headquarters. Denke led the way to a large conference room where they were to meet with the commanding officer.

“I think we’ve met before.” The bland statement contained an element of humor.

“Why—yes, Colonel Boston.” Steg suppressed his start of surprise. For Denke’s edification he continued. “We met on Althere when you—accepted—my application for a commission into the Fleet—for a fee. Although you were then a Fleet Commodore.”

“Hmmm. I don’t think I charged enough,” responded the colonel. “You gave me some concern, I admit. A pity. It had taken me over a year to get myself a suitable reputation; we had to suspend that fraud detection program. Now let me welcome both of you. de Coeur, I’ve heard a lot about you since you enlisted. I’ve heard of you, Milnaret of Fain and thank you for the assistance you rendered de Coeur. I’ve included two of my officers in our meeting, Major Justin, responsible for base security and Major Trench, who’s in charge of mapping the portal network. Now please be seated, all of you.”

The colonel paused as they followed his instructions.

“Let me be clear,” he continued. “We want you, de Coeur. I prefer not to conscript you—I don’t think that kind of force is helpful. I understand you value your freedom and we need your full cooperation. If we force you, I realize we’ll lose that cooperation or perhaps worse; you may destroy our systems. So we have alternatives. The first is we kill you, here and now. Although that would be our loss as well as yours, and I assume you’ve taken out insurance to cover that possibility?” He raised his eyebrows at Steg. Denke was poised, alert. Millie was pensive.

“Yes, Colonel. The dreadnoughts are now in decaying orbits and if my estimates are correct, they’ll impact the base in about twelve hours.”

“I expected as much. Justin, go and inform the dreadnoughts they have less than ten hours with nothing they can do to prevent their impact on Jochum. Tell them we’ll recover control, otherwise it’ll be a bloody disaster.”

He waited until the major returned. “The next alternative to consider is that we go our separate ways. That would disappoint me and leave you with a difficult although not impossible task of defeating the Lady Gaetja and her supporters. The viable alternative—the one I like—is to reach a mutually satisfactory agreement. I can offer you a roving commission, you can offer your services and we can repay in kind. I’ve been briefed by Denke, I’ve read reports of the Xesset capture and of your short stay on Hellfire. Believe me, we’ll welcome you to our service. In return, Captain de Coeur, you’ll be able to call on the Special Forces for the assistance you require.”

“That’s a very generous offer, Colonel.”

“Perhaps. Remember, any assistance requires approval by our Strategy Board. We report to General Baker. He reports directly to the Emperor. The chain of command is very short. If the Emperor says no, you have no appeal. However, I strongly suspect he’ll agree with reasonable requests for assistance. What’s your decision?”

Steg considered his options. He was not interested in destroying three dreadnoughts nor in sacrificing himself and his Fain companion. He understood the quandary faced by the colonel; the one he faced was equally difficult to resolve. He looked at Millie and she nodded her head.

“Colonel, I—we—accept your offer.”

“Very well, Captain. Welcome. Congratulations, both of you. Steg, we need you to make a preliminary study of the portals. Then we’ll move against your Homeworld enemies; I will so recommend. Denke’ll command that force. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes, sir. The dreadnoughts are back under control; there’s nothing preventing them from resuming normal orbits.”

“A delicate stand-off, de Coeur. One I do not wish to repeat, ever. Welcome aboard. Quarters have been assigned—we were optimistic, you see. When you’ve settled in, Majors Denke and Trench will introduce you to the portal network. We’ll also arrange preliminary discussions for your Homeworld expedition. Now, gentlemen, I have other duties to attend.”

******

Chapter 27

The boardroom filled slowly. This was an emergency meeting called with very short notice by the Chairman. One or two directors shuffled in hesitantly, their worries obvious, their reluctance arising from concerns that somehow the emergency was directed at some failing or especially poor performance of theirs. Eventually the Director for Special Projects arrived. He was a walking wreck; his eyes were bloodshot, his hands shook and a repetitive and involuntary motor movement on the left side of his face showed his near panic state. Finally the Chairman arrived, riding his medical grav-chair. He was pushed into the boardroom by his Fain nurse. As she settled the Chairman at the head of the boardroom table, he was followed by a younger man, a stranger to most.

His identity was quickly circulated by soft whispers; it was Marius, of the House of Aluta. Non-directors could attend the board meetings only at the express invitation of the Chairman, a fact which added a frisson of excitement to the whispers. Marius did not take a seat; instead, he stood next to the Fain nurse, an amused smile on his face. The Director for Special Projects was ashen-faced, his fears near realization.

“Order,” exclaimed the board secretary. “This emergency meeting has been called pursuant to article three hundred and fifty-one of—”

“We don’t need all that nonsense,” barked the Chairman. “I called the meeting. We have a major emergency to deal with.” He glared at the Director for Special Project. “Harrison. What the hell is happening?”

The Director for Special Projects licked his lips and tried to find his voice. “Mr. Chairman,” he almost squeaked. He continued, his voice quavering. “We’ve had some setbacks—”

“Setbacks? Setbacks?” barked the Chairman. “Damn disasters, more like.” His expression had caused many an underling to quail. “I want a full accounting from you. Now.”

“Yessir. Er—as reported in the last meeting, we arranged for de Coeur to be court-martialed. It was successful and he was dismissed from the Fleet.”

“Yes, man, go on.” The Chairman argued for a moment with his Fain nurse, who reluctantly adjusted flows from his medication reservoirs. “Aaaah. Next?”

“The Fleet captain landed de Coeur on Hellfire.” A buzz filled the room. Hellfire was a prized asset of the House of Aluta.

“And did you manage to—eliminate—de Coeur?” The Chairman queried softly. No one observed Marius as he quietly stepped away from the Chairman’s side. He walked casually around the table, and as he moved, he extracted a pack from his pocket. It contained ampules which were small sealed containers and their contents glowed a soft golden color. He stopped behind the Director for Special Projects, his apparent attention on the external view across the city,. He examined and selected one of the ampules.

“No, sir. He—he must have had assistance. I don’t know how—”

“How he escaped your men, and wrecked our entire mining operation?”

“Yessir. I mean—we had—he—the only way he could’ve defeated our force on Hellfire was if he had outside assistance.”

“He not only escaped your force, he caused at least one billion credits of damage and also brought the planet to the attention of the Imperial xenos. All mining has ceased—we’ve lost one of our most profitable income flows because of your total stupidity. In addition, we lost a firefighter star ship. Correct?”

“Yes, sir. But we have almost complete control of Homeworld—”

“Pah! That’s nothing. Your project has failed. Do you not agree?”

Harrison felt perspiration beading down his back. He could not still the shake in his hands. “No, sir—not yet. I need more—”

“More nothing!” shouted the Chairman. “You’ve cost the House of Aluta—me—more credits than you can ever recover.” He signaled Marius, who had loaded the contents of the ampule into a small, high-pressure jet injector.

Marius touched the instrument to Harrison’s neck, just at the base of his skull, and pulled the trigger. Harrison convulsed as the golden fluid penetrated his spinal column under pressure and its effect flowed throughout his body. His scream was cut off as paralysis set in almost instantly. His body collapsed and death followed within seconds. Marius reset the injector trigger and pocketed the small device. He returned to the Chairman’s side.

“Gentlemen,” announced the Chairman with glacial calm. “Let that be a message, an example, to all of you.” He ignored the expressions of horror and alarm on the faces of his board members. “We’re in a life and death struggle. He—” he indicated the now lifeless body. “He cost me—billions of credits with his failed special project. I won’t have it. I cannot sanction such outright, devastating failure.” His voice rose, his face reddened and the Fain adjusted the medical flow again.

“Now, I wish to introduce my protégé—some of you may already have recognized him. Marius, meet the Board of the corporate arm of the House of Aluta.” He waved a hand at Marius who now was again standing beside him. “Marius will take over the role of Director for Special Projects—”

Marius held up his hand and the Chairman stilled, an inquiring expression on his face.

“No, sir,” corrected Marius, withdrawing the jet injector from his pocket. He held it against the Chairman’s neck. “No, the shareholders have requested your retirement. I shall be taking on the role of Chairman.” He pulled the trigger. “You see, the ampule held enough venom for two very fatal heart attacks.” The late Chairman did not hear him, did not reply, did not move.

Marius looked around at his stunned audience. “I think that concludes business for today, gentlemen. Please consider this very stressful meeting closed.”

******

Chapter 28

Steg listened carefully as Denke worked through a more detailed portal briefing. His warnings were dire. The lack of knowledge of portal functions had created a mystique that was not entirely logical.

“Once you key in your destination, de Coeur, don’t hesitate. You must step through immediately. Show no panic, no hesitation and most important, keep your mind calm. The controls react somehow to mental pressures and we’ve proven it is possible to key in one destination and end up at an entirely different portal. In the early days, some of our portal explorers disappeared. They never arrived, anywhere. We don’t know what makes this happen. It doesn’t seem to be a flaw in the portal network, but we don’t know what causes these losses from misdirection.”

According to Denke, the first and only attempt to dismantle a portal had resulted in a massive explosion, killing a senior scientist and his support team as well as destroying the star ship where the portal was located. That loss had resulted in a total ban on further attempts to dismantle a portal or related equipment.

The small seven-pointed star-shaped structure beckoned Steg. The portal was set in an apparently solid wall of decorative marble, deep underground, accessible only through a series of artificial, hewn caverns. Steg was apprehensive at the thought of entering the narrow portal, and at the same time excited at the prospect of stepping across space. The structure vibrated softly, humming with coiled power, ready to hurl a traveler to destinations unknown.

Two corporals were on gate duty, accompanied by a heavily armed squad, eight in all. They watched with interest.

“Promise me, de Coeur, for my—and Trench’s—peace of mind, promise me—no wild adventures on the side, eh? At least experience the test run the way we have planned before trying to tackle anything else. Now remember, if it glows pink, step back. It means someone is in transit. If it glows blue, you can enter.”

“I think this is one situation where I’m willing to be guided by the advice of more experienced travelers,” reassured Steg. He was nervous and had no inclination to experiment. He indicated the waiting portal. “Shall we—?”

“Very well. Step up here, onto this pad. Now watch me key in the destination for the closest dreadnought, ss Xuotang. She’s a hundred kays away, straight up, directly above us. Ready?”

Steg nodded, his mouth dry.

“Step through—now.”

Steg calmed his mind, soothed his racing thoughts and relaxed. His destination was firmly fixed in his conscious awareness. He watched Denke key in the destination code and felt the tap on his shoulder. He stepped into the portal. He was surrounded for a timeless moment by vivid blue light. The transit was breath-gasping cold and he was bereft of all other sensations. He completed his step and stumbled, almost falling as he jarred back to reality. He was on the portal deck of the dreadnought. A young, serious corporal caught his arm and tugged him away from the portal.

“Excuse me, sir,” the corporal apologized. “You must stand clear immediately you arrive, otherwise following travelers will collide with you. Also, it’s very dangerous to fall back into an uncontrolled portal.”

“Thank you, Corporal—Elsteen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t apologize. My mistake. I’d been briefed—this is my first portal trip.”

Denke followed through, arriving just seconds after Steg. He smiled with relief when he saw Steg standing beside the corporal.

“Excellent, de Coeur, excellent. Now back to base. Ready?”

Steg did not hesitate. He stood before the portal and as before stepped through the shimmering blue gate when Denke tapped him on his shoulder. This time he was ready for the sensations of transit as the portal network caught him and projected him across space. He stepped out without stumbling and moved aside to clear the way for Denke. He panicked for a moment and then quickly regained control. The small room was empty.

He looked around carefully, reluctant to step further into the room. Behind him, the portal hummed and glowed softly with its vibrant blue color. He waited, more and more anxious as the minutes passed. Denke did not appear. At last Steg reluctantly concluded that he had somehow miscued as he stepped into the portal gate. He explored the small room; it was dusty and apparently had not been used for some time. His were the only footprints in the dust on the floor. The room had not been disturbed for years, perhaps centuries. Yet the portal functioned. He considered his options. He decided his thoughts must have wandered as he stepped through the Xuotang portal.

Steg groaned aloud as he realized his error. For a brief instant he had visualized the portal system and its continued operation through the centuries. That was it, he decided, he was on Jochum, but back in time. That had to be the answer. He examined the room again. It was carved out of marble, the same as the room he had started from; however, it was empty except for layers of dust. Nothing here proved his hypothesis. He was torn between exploring further and attempting to return to his real time on Jochum. He decided further exploration could wait. He would first return to the dreadnought and then to Jochum, selecting the correct time. He approached the portal with a high level of apprehension. He halted and stilled his mind, relaxing. He keyed in his destination and stepped into the portal.

He stumbled into the arms of the shocked corporal. “Sir, we just heard the alarm, you didn’t arrive on Jochum. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m all right. I think I miscued the transit. It took me a few moments to work out what went wrong. Now I daresay Denke’s in a state, so I’ll try for the base again.”

Steg keyed in the destination code for Jochum. This time he did not miscue. He stepped through into the now familiar marble room. Denke tried to not look relieved.

“de Coeur, I told you not to experiment—”

“Listen, I miscued accidentally. How quickly can we get to see Colonel Boston?”

Denke raised his eyebrows in silent interrogation, but Steg remained silent. “You want to see Henry?”

“Yes. Just you, me and the Colonel.”

“Come on.” Denke turned abruptly. Steg did not speak as they made their way to the colonel’s office.

The desk sergeant objected, but Denke strode past the man. He did knock on the colonel’s door before opening it. Boston was alone, working intently. He looked up, frowning, as Steg closed the office door.

“Yes, Denke? You have a problem?”

“Henry, it’s de Coeur’s problem.” They both turned to Steg.

“Sir, is this room secure? I mean, totally secure?”

“Yes, I have the security team sweep it every morning and I have a monitor running continually.” He indicated the machine.

“My next question may sound very strange.” He had his hand on his sidearm, a Special Forces issued stunner. “Are you totally certain of Denke’s loyalty?”

“I trust him completely, personally and professionally.” The colonel had no hesitation.

Denke looked totally dumbfounded. “de Coeur,” he exploded. “You’d better have a damned good reason for this—”

He stopped at a signal from Boston.

“Denke, I’m sorry, but I had to ask. If the colonel’s response had been otherwise I would’ve been extremely surprised.” Steg took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to appear totally melodramatic, but I think I can explain a function of the portal network. Denke, I accidentally caused a miscue when you keyed me from Xuotang to Jochum. Yet I arrived at the keyed destination.”

“What do you mean? I arrived five seconds after I sent you through and you were missing. Then you arrived, one—two minutes later.”

“Go on,” instructed Boston.

“Sir, I arrived on Jochum. It was the same room, it was Jochum. The floor was covered in dust.” He paused to moisten his lips. “It was the same room. It was in the past. The miscues are time cues.”

Denke was stunned. “But—that’s impossible, de Coeur.” Colonel Boston looked very thoughtful.

“Denke, Colonel. I’m certain I was in the same room. I returned to Xuotang, arriving one minute after I departed. Then, after a brief discussion with the portal corporal, I cued for Jochum again, current time. I arrived less than two minutes behind Denke. However, I was in that room for nearly ten minutes.”

The silence grew as each man considered the implications of Steg’s travels.

Colonel Boston looked at Steg. “You asked if Denke could be trusted. What about me?”

“Sir, you are the Special Forces, at least for this project. However, if we had any doubt, we would act—now, if necessary.” He raised his small hand weapon.

“I thought as much. Denke, are you satisfied?”

“Yes, Henry,” Denke replied without hesitation. “Also, I agree with de Coeur. We would have acted if necessary.”

Steg lowered and holstered his weapon.

“Hmmm. I don’t think I‘ll issue any challenges.” The colonel smiled a bleak smile. “de Coeur, you’ve raised more questions and issues than you might realize. As you imply, this information cannot be released, not even within the Specials.” He rubbed his temples. “The first step is to verify your hypothesis. Then we’ll need to consider how to proceed after that.”

“Henry, even experimenting with the time cue will cause comment,” cautioned Denke.

“I know, I know,” acknowledged the colonel with a wry smile. “Here we have potentially the greatest news since portals were first discovered and immediately we’re filled with gloom. We should be shouting from the rooftops.”

“Imagine—say—House of Aluta—with this under their control.”

“Aargh,” groaned Denke. “Don’t even think about it. All right. Anyone without a totally unblemished record, who does not have a top security clearance, who’s not known to us, will have to be excluded from direct portal network research—and use. This is going to create havoc.”

“We should transfer all the portal network research to Jochum II, and keep Jochum for routine Special Forces operations. We cannot even brief the Strategy Panel on this; it has some members I wouldn’t trust with my lunch money.” Colonel Boston rubbed his temples. “I’ll have to consult with the Emperor; I need his authority for what we must do. Leave those problems to me. Denke, see if you can duplicate de Coeur’s time cue. Then think about your technical support. In the meantime I’ll start the process to bring Jochum II online. Return here immediately you can confirm this thesis.”

Denke ordered the portal security team to take up position outside the marble portal room. Corporal Elsteen was in charge and Millie was also in the team. She had joined as a security team section leader and her camouflage grays had ’civilian’ stenciled in small letters on both the front and back of her jacket. She stood with Denke and Steg as they considered the next step.

“Very well, de Coeur. If this doesn’t work, color us both embarrassed red. Then we’d need to look for our firing squad.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” Steg grimaced. “Every time I think about the miscue I wonder if I was mistaken, and I break out in a cold sweat.”

“Let’s transfer to Xuotang.”

They transited successfully, Steg first, then Denke. Once on board, Denke cleared the room, again posting a security team outside the door with instructions to prevent any further access to the portal.

“Now for the big step,” declared Denke.

“I’ll try to repeat my miscue from last time. I’ll then return. After that, you can try.” Denke nodded his agreement and watched as Steg approached the portal. Steg keyed in the Jochum destination code and stepped forward, adding a mental time cue to the destination target. He was immersed in the now familiar wash of blue light and the sensation of intense cold. At last he stepped out. The small room was empty, bare of equipment and personnel, with only his footprints appearing in the dust on the floor. He did not hesitate. He spun around and stepped back to the portal, keying in and time cueing for the portal on Xuotang. Denke was waiting, an anxious expression on his face.

“It worked,” Steg exclaimed. “Come on, your turn.”

Steg stood by while Denke keyed in the destination and as he stepped forward, Steg added the time cue. Immediately after the portal cleared, Steg also stepped forward, cueing the same destination and time combination. To his relief, Denke was waiting patiently for his appearance.

“Damn it, de Coeur,” Denke thumped Steg on the back. “I half hoped I was dreaming. You’ve really done it, this time. Let’s do a quick check.”

Denke struggled briefly with the door out of the portal room, fighting its age and non-use. The door swung open and they stepped cautiously out into the corridor. On Jochum, access was via a modified natural cave network, and here the corridor led to a carefully concealed entrance into an identical cave structure. They made their way out to the planet surface, alert in case they were detected by whoever might currently inhabit the area. Denke looked around, examining the immediate countryside.

“This definitely is Jochum,” confirmed Denke. “There are some minor differences of course. However, the more significant topography matches without doubt. Of course, we need to get a team here to take star shots for confirmation.”

They returned to the portal room and in turn, transferred back to Xuotang and then to Jochum in real time. They quickly headed to Colonel Boston’s office. The colonel listened intently as they described in detail their experiences.

“Like Denke, I also thought it was a dream—a nightmare,” commented Boston. “This requires a meeting immediately with the Emperor. You two will have to come with me, I’m afraid. Right now. He’ll see us; I flagged this as an emergency.”

Steg only had a moment to explain to his Fain companion as they headed to the portal. “Just Denke and I, with the Colonel, are taking this portal trip. Don’t worry, we’ll be back either this evening or tomorrow morning. Boston is locking down the portals; he thinks network exploration should stop until we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.” Millie gave him a quick hug and stood back, as the Colonel and Denke joined Steg.

The portal network delivered them to the Special Forces office in the Emperor’s palace. Security was intense. They were swept up by a combined Special Forces and Emperor’s Own combined squad and delivered to a nondescript office in the depths of the palace building. All their weapons were surrendered to waiting guards. They needed to further convince the Emperor’s chief secretary of their need to meet with the Emperor. That task was quickly addressed and they were shown into a large, informal office which included a working desk and a larger conference table. The chief secretary allocated them to seats around the table. They didn’t have to wait for long.

“Henry,” welcomed the Emperor as he entered the office with a two-man guard detail; they were members of the Emperor’s Own. They stood by the door, just inside the office. Steg assumed others were in position outside the office. With Colonel Boston and Denke, he stood to attention. The Emperor waved a casual, at ease, gesture. He was of slender build and appeared to be just forty years of age, with hairline already receding. “If I recall, Major Denke. And—?”

“Sir, Captain Steg de Coeur,” introduced Colonel Boston.

“de Coeur? Homeworld? Yes, I’ve seen a report, somewhere. Now, I’ve cleared my calendar for the next hour. Upset the delegation from Delphi B. Why are you here?”

“The issue is simple. The portal network permits time travel. This feature was discovered by de Coeur.”

“Exceptional. I need to re-read that report.”

“Yes, sir. I agree. The time cues have been verified by both de Coeur and Denke.”

“Hmmm. As you said, it’s a simple issue, at least to state. You want to bring Jochum II on-line?”

“I’ve already commenced that process.”

“Good. We can’t have the Strategy Panel involved if we want this discovery to be secure. I see your problem. Or should I say: problems. I think this may become a working lunch.” He gave instructions to his secretary.

“Gentlemen. Let’s work this through. Say what you think, don’t stand on ceremony. This—the portal network with its additional functions—has potential to impact the very fiber of my Empire.”

“We need a special force within the Special Force,” suggested Boston.

“That’s going to create major issues unless we manage it very carefully,” predicted Denke.

“So we don’t do it. We create a separate force. You, Henry, will be in charge. Report directly to me. No exceptions. I’ll bump you up to General, which will cut out most of the noise. Your promotion is overdue, anyway. Denke will be your second. de Coeur, you’re included in this key structure. Henry, work out the how and so forth. Build your team—take whomever you want from the Specials, active members, security, technicians or civilians. Anyone you want, just transfer—you have my authority to access any Imperial force for resources. I will smooth and soothe the resulting ruffled feathers. You can even reach into the Emperor’s Own; just check with me, first. This new force needs a name, something that hides its real purpose, but ensures recognition as mine. Something like the Emperor’s Intelligence Agency. As of now, Jochum II is yours. You’ll need the three dreads—take those stationed at Jochum; the Fleet can provide replacements. I’ll authorize that requisition. Henry, make sure you get some good paper shufflers, the bureaucrats and politicians are going to scream.”

The discussion veered into technical issues, resources and budgets. To Steg’s surprise, two hours later the new force was almost fully defined, in comprehensive terms of governance, mission objectives, scope, resources and finances. He was, he admitted to himself, impressed with the speed of the Emperor’s decision-making.

As the session drew to its conclusion, Steg found himself the total focus of the Emperor’s attention. He felt like a small animal caught in an intense spotlight.

“de Coeur. You’ve provided an invaluable service, and we’re in your debt. I know parts of the Empire require pruning, and I agree with what Henry and Denke have offered you in the way of assistance. Go quietly, please. Also, at this stage, we probably don’t need Acolytes involved in the portals. If you think they can assist—later—discuss first with Henry. Agreed?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Henry, seeing you have ruined my day—go and do some real work.”

******

Chapter 29

“Henry,” reminded Denke. “Our security issue is now acute.”

“I know,” replied now-General Boston wearily. He was managing a transition that filled him with concern, building a new portal team that they now referred to as the Emperor’s Information Agency. “We’ve started to re-build the portal team here. The technicians are putting together their plans. Meanwhile, we’ve stopped all use of portals, except for research and occasional—very occasional—special projects. Special Forces command is screaming.” He rubbed his temples. “With each portal constituting an entrance not only to other portals in the network, but also to the past—and perhaps—when we’re brave enough to explore—to the future.”

Denke said, “We need to monitor every known portal in the network to ensure we have no unauthorized transits. We can use our portal guards and security teams for that. We need to work closely with the Specials to ensure they understand our approach. We’ll have exceptional use circumstances, as always.”

“Of course, we need to continue exploration, but under even tighter control,” added Trench, who had been brought into the senior team. “The research teams must validate the time cue discovery, and validate it again and again. Some barriers may exist that we don’t know about; we need to find out what they are and how to overcome them. All portal travelers must be trained in this spatio-temporal network structure and operation before we open up access again to the network.”

“Agreed. I can delegate these activities to you all. I have to focus on the bureaucrats, the worst problem we have.”

The meeting ended unsatisfactorily, without resolution of pressing issues. Their task was immense and Steg felt that the team was getting lost in the complexities of trying to understand the portal network.

Both he and Millie had worked to find a Homeworld portal while they continued to develop a plan for recovering Homeworld. At times his frustrations increased, as he seemed to spend more time exploring portal network issues than working on what he regarded as his real needs.

Steg met with Denke to raise his frustrations at lack of progress.

“Denke, this has gone on long enough. Millie and I have done some preliminary planning for Homeworld and we want to brief you on this.”

“Speak.”

“We’ve three stages to implement. One, I plan to recruit Djiis to help us, which will minimize use of Special Forces. Tziksis has returned to his planet—one of his nephews is the accredited ambassador to the Empire, and Tziksis holds a very senior military position. As far as I can make out, he’s in charge of the new Djiis star fleet—their Star Admiral. They captured quite a haul of star ships from the Xesset, as you should recall.”

“I do recall, and yes, I agree, contact Tziksis and see what they’ll provide to help you. I can authorize that.”

“The second stage—I process gaining access the House of Aluta’s computer system. I have to be there, on the planet. I’ll take Millie. However, we need papers, transport, cover, etc.”

“Hmmm. No issue with providing cover, documents and so forth. But you run a tremendous risk—Aluta’s a nest of vipers—have you thought this through?”

“Oh, yes. As I said, I must gain access to their systems, and for that, I have to be on Aluta. We can travel as legitimate visitors, or we can use portals. I think we should arrive as legitimate travelers. If we used portals and were subsequently detected on the planet, it’d be impossible to explain our presence.”

“Points taken. You mentioned three stages?”

“Yes. I can mentally time cue destinations, so can you, and now so can half the technical team. I don’t need to work on that any more. I want to take our testing to the next level. I want to test transiting by mentally cueing not just the temporal portion, but also the complete destination code, encompassing both place and time. I can test on known portals and once we establish that I can do it, I want to try for a Homeworld portal. I’m sure it will work. If we find a portal, we have a back door to the planet.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“It will spit me out somewhere.” He was optimistic. “I can key in a new destination and time codes, whatever happens. Look, I can test a transfer to Xuotang, first.”

Denke was not totally convinced. “W-e-l-l,” he drawled. “It might work.”

Millie added her input. “Denke, you have an outstanding promise to help. We—Steg—he needs to do this.”

“Denke, of course it’ll work. Let me test a couple of known destinations, first.”

“Henry will kill me if this goes wrong. All right, I agree to a test, here to the Xuotang and back.”

Steg moved to the portal and calmly, with his mind relaxed, he mentally cued both destination and time. Then he stepped up to and through the portal. The transfer was immediate.

The dreadnought corporal, reassuring his security team, expressed surprise. “Sir, I did not know we had a transmission scheduled.”

“An impromptu experiment. Just a simple test. Log it, with my return to Jochum II portal.” Steg turned and stepped back into the portal, mentally cueing his destination.

“It works, Denke, it works.” Steg was jubilant. “Admit it, nothing went wrong.”

Denke was still worried. “Yes, that worked, transferring from one known portal to another known portal. We don’t even know if Homeworld is part of the portal network. What happens if you can’t find a way to Homeworld?”

“Either the network will not accept an invalid destination, or I’ll be shunted to the nearest location. I must try it, Denke. Millie, you understand?”

Steg ignored the final protest from Denke and stepped up to the portal. Denke motioned as if to stop him, but changed his mind. Millie remained silent, a strained expression on her face. Steg squared his shoulders in front of the portal. He knew the risks. He calmed his mind, thinking only of Homeworld, of Castlehome, of the Glass Complex. He stepped forward, projecting, he hoped, the correct cue. The transit time seemed excessively long.

“You’re early, far too early.” The speaker was an old, old man, seated at a large viewscreen, working. He did not turn around.

Steg shook his head. Sparks flashed in front of his eyes, spiraling like exploding fireflies. His mind didn’t seem to be functioning properly.

“What?” Steg asked. “Isn’t this Castlehome?”

“Castlehome? Certainly not.” The old man was indignant; his beard trembled as he spoke. “Castlehome is it? Well, back you go, back you go. Do it again and this time don’t cue any reference to computer systems. Otherwise you’ll return here and I won’t have it. I won’t have it, do you hear? Now I don’t want any more interruptions. Go, go,” he urged impatiently, waving Steg back towards the portal.

Steg tried to ask a question, but the old man frowned and waved him to silence. Still dazed, Steg turned back to the portal and cued his Homeworld destination again. This time he didn’t reference the Glass Complex. He stepped into the waiting blue, painfully cold portal field. After what seemed an equally long time, he stepped out into a small room, softly lit by a flickering light cell. The room had the now familiar appearance of an undisturbed ancient portal facility. Steg stepped quietly to the door and after a brief struggle, managed to open it. He climbed up broken stairs and stepped over loose rocks, the path lit by faded light cells.

He continued up, guided more by instinct than by actual sensory data. The downward drafts were freezing cold and he shivered at the feel of midwinter snow. He moved more quickly, in an attempt to keep warm, edging past rock walls and sidling around falls which almost blocked the path. At last, after climbing for what seemed like hours, he came to a section where rough rock gave way to a far smoother finish. Now cableways blocked and caught his feet, instead of loose rocks. Occasionally the soft murmur of voices reached him.

Steg reached out, seeking, searching for data, for contact with electronic systems. The reaction was staggering. He was on Homeworld and the Glass Complex welcomed him into its midst where he was surrounded by excited, welcoming Acolytes.

******

Chapter 30

Steg and Millie kept to their cabin during the long and wearisome trip from the Telrin Cluster to Aluta. They had used the time to study and absorb Telrin background briefing material provided by the Special Forces post on Telrin V. Their plan was simple. Steg, posing as a Telrin post-graduate research student, had received a grant for travel and related costs and was attending a university conference in Aluta. Millie was traveling as his wife. Special Forces had produced their new documents and identities.

At last Millie protested as Steg reloaded the files. “Oh my head aches, Master,” she complained. “I know more about Telrin than I do about Fain. Spare me, please.”

“Only if you stop calling me Master,” laughed Steg at her plaintive expression. “Although I agree—we certainly have covered a lot of material. Do you think you can carry it off?”

“I am certain another memory session or two or ten will not improve my chances. In fact, I could recite the whole twenty boring hours, word for word, if you wish.” She poised, ready to comply.

Steg winced and shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Come on, we’ll explore this passenger ship and test our act as naive travelers from Telrin.”

On arrival at Aluta, they discovered the planet’s landing processes were rigorous, as though the government was preparing for war. Question followed question. Police, security and other officials monitored every answer and added more questions. Who are you? Where are you from? Why are you visiting Aluta? They were questioned separately. Then together. The same questions, with different interrogators, with different emphases. At last their papers were accepted and their documents stamped.

Steg heaved a mental sigh of relief as they settled safely into the small suite of rooms provided by the Alutan University. Their briefing on Telrin V had been thorough. They had been warned to assume at all times Alutan security forces were monitoring their activities and conversations. Ever cautious, Steg and Millie took painstaking care to remain in character even when they were alone and resting in the apparent privacy of their rooms.

They spent their first full day on Aluta, acting as typical tourists. They exclaimed in Telrin terms, gasped phrases of wonder at the tourist attractions, and carefully ignored the crushing gray sameness of the spiritless faces and the hurrying silent masses. In the evening they retired early, fatigued tourists in a foreign world.

Steg locked the door to their small suite and relaxed. The casual or even interested observer would think he was resting after a tiring day. Millie composed herself for sleep while all the time prepared to defend herself and Steg against any intruder. Steg reached out, seeking the computers that lay at the heart of House of Aluta.

He found and studied the impressive, almost majestic Alutan system. He spent hours sifting through data, examining processes, evaluating programs, until at last he had evolved his course of action. He wove a cohesive chain of intrusive instructions through the very core of the system, subtle and gossamer soft, undetectable. He initiated the trigger and withdrew from the system. It continued to function. Nothing had been visibly altered, no obvious change affected the rhythm of processes, no ripple disturbed the even surface of its operations. Steg knew otherwise and wondered for a timeless moment why its operators didn’t detect the commencement of an irreversible data erosion that would gnaw at the foundations of House of Aluta.

On Homeworld, a separate and otherwise isolated sector of the Glass Complex switched into life. Acolytes followed their instructions and ignored the apparent strange behavior as the Complex prepared to receive an inflow of invaluable data. On Aluta, security was overridden, controls were ignored, and a stream of data gained full flowing momentum. Millions and millions of files were swept up in the flood as data flows increased.

The process would continue until the last item of information was stored safely in the Glass Complex. When the transfers were finished, without triggering alarms and without declaration of emergency, the structure of the Alutan system would slowly alter and change, and memory banks, now empty, would collapse into their vacuum-state, their contents forever lost. The system would suffer an induced attack of permanent amnesia, and the brain-damaged system would never again provide its supporting structure for the fabric of House of Aluta. Exhausted, Steg finally slept.

The conference was aimless and Steg was inattentive. He forced himself to maintain a semblance of interest, aware that his failure to do so could attract the attention of Alutan security. He was distracted by a background hum of concern as House of Aluta operators detected multitudes of errors, identified missing data stores and corrupted programs, and took ineffective remedial actions. Already banking difficulties were impacting traders and customers, and major corporate operations were grinding to an unexpected halt. He persevered through the day, distancing himself from the background degradation of corporate operations.

In the evening they sought distraction and played at their tourist roles, exploring brightly lit regions near the university, ignoring and avoiding contact with the strangely attired shapes inhabiting the night.

They were being followed. Steg caught a glimpse of a furtive movement as a shadow figure moved away, out of his line of vision. He watched for a repeat and was oddly pleased when it happened again; at least his imagination was not playing tricks. They walked on, now seeking darker streets, while Steg maintained a cautious watch for their elusive shadow. He quietly warned Millie and they varied their pace, now moving quickly, now pausing, now moving slowly, always with caution as they progressed through the nighttime throngs.

Steg tried to repress his growing concerns and started to head towards the access point for their path to the Alutan portal, deep below the city. He wished he had Ebony. Without the sword, without any weapon, he felt more exposed.

“He certainly is persistent,” Steg muttered.

Millie whispered her concern, her voice hoarse with indignation. “Why is someone following? We have done nothing to alert security.”

They moved further away from the crowds and bright lights, along streets leading deeper into the darkness. Bursts of white steam leaked from underneath the roadway and occasionally strange and distant rumbles vibrated beneath their feet. A vehicle cruised slowly past, its occupants unseen. Its lights pinned their two shadows to the rough wall of an abandoned building and then twisted them into grotesque enlargements as it approached and then shrunk them abruptly to almost nothing as it continued down the street. Steg ignored its passing as he sought a sign, a sound, something which would pinpoint their shadower.

He pulled Millie into a narrow alley and whispered a soft instruction as he pushed her into a dark doorway. He returned to the corner of the alley and waited, hidden in shadows. Then as the false sounds produced by his imagination faded into a sympathetic rhythm with his pulse, he heard a cautious shuffle. He sprang and their pursuer became real as Steg encountered solid flesh. They scuffled. Millie disregarded Steg’s instruction and ran to his aid. A sharp curse was followed by the metallic tinkle of a blade falling to the ground. Millie stepped forward and claimed the knife while Steg brought their pursuer to his knees with a sharp blow to his chin. Steg pulled back the stranger’s hood to reveal a familiar face.

“Taul!” exclaimed Millie. She hefted the knife and before Steg could move, buried the blade deep into her tormentor’s body. Taul fell to the pavement.

He groaned and opened his eyes. He blinked and struggled to focus as pain struck. He tried to raise himself up from the pavement.

“You accursed Fain,” he gasped as a trace of blood flecked his lips. “I was brought back in disgrace because of you. I lost everything—” He groaned again and his face twisted with agony and evil intent. Steg moved Millie away. Taul caught the movement and addressed Steg.

“And you too—I will not die without taking you—” He struggled against a spasm of coughing and reached under his cloak. As he withdrew his hand Steg realized Taul had another weapon, a blaster. The man fired as Steg jumped to disarm him. Taul collapsed.

A muted cry came from Millie and Steg spun back to her side as she too, slowly sagged to the pavement. Steg checked, frantic with worry. Taul’s final shot had found its target. Under the pale light in the alley, Millie at last had found peace. Steg bowed his head.

Steg stood for a long moment, considering. Only one thing was left for him to do, now. He knelt and carefully wrapped the fallen Fain in her cloak. He stood, lifting her in his arms. He could not leave her to an unknown wasteland burial on Aluta. Access to the portal was not distant, according to his mental map of its location. In the dark, unseen hands snatched at him from the alley shadows. He pushed his assailants away and kicked brutally when one became too insistent. At the end of the alley he turned and looked back. Taul’s body had already disappeared.

He walked on, seeking access to the lower levels of the city. He moved quickly as a small group of city underdwellers approached and he flowed with them as they moved off the street towards the underway system. The stairs went down and he followed, down and down. He ignored the occasional curious glance from a grey face, trusting the conditioned introspection of the underdwellers would dampen any tremor of alarm. As he reached each lower level, the lighting grew dimmer, until eventually he was fumbling in half darkness, stumbling occasionally when he encountered an unseen broken step or other rubble.

His burden grew heavier. He stopped his mad downward rush and paused to check his location. He had left the last of the underdwellers many levels above and no one now was near to watch his almost furtive actions. He moved off the stairwell and sought the mapped corridor location. He almost tore the skin on his hands as he impatiently struggled to lift the trapdoor without setting down his burden. He climbed down the short vertical ladder and slotted the trapdoor back into its recess. He then bolted it to inhibit the curiosity of any casual passerby. Now he was forced to move more slowly as the low roof of the service tunnel restricted his progress. He followed the winding passageway for more than a kay, struggling to move quickly in the dark, around damp piping and heavy conduit channels, across foul waterways, and under heavy beams, until he arrived at another vertical ladder, descending further into impossibly black depths. Down he climbed, deeper and deeper into the ancient levels of the city, levels long forgotten and neglected. He paused occasionally to listen for sounds of pursuit. He heard only the harshness of his breathing and the sounds of falling water. At last he stepped off the ladder and made his way cautiously; only a few orange service lights lit his path. He checked his location and felt along the wall for the door. After a short struggle it slowly opened, almost reluctantly. He stepped into the portal room, locking the door behind him. The portal glowed in the opposite wall of the small room. He stepped up to the pad and mentally keyed his destination, and stepped through.

Steg staggered and almost collapsed. He was exhausted. The startled technician caught his arm and steadied him as he stepped away from the portal. Steg brushed past him, and left the room, not bothering to heed his worried question. Denke caught up with him before he reached the surface.

“What happened?”

“She is dead. I did not think she would be in danger, but Taul found us, somehow.”

“Let me help you,” offered Denke, his voice soft with sympathy.

“No,” Steg was adamant. “I will take her to the surface where she can see the sky. She would want that, after Shantytown.”

He continued on his way.

******

Chapter 31

Steg lost himself in intense preparations for the attack on House of Aluta forces still holding Homeworld. Whenever he relaxed, whenever he tried to sleep, he saw before him the elfin eyes of his Fain companion. Always they were filled with concern, concern for him, concern which he felt he did not deserve. Mental pain accompanied him everywhere he went. At last the pain eased when he realized she would not forgive him if he remained in self-pitying mourning. He shook his head. He would remember her, Milnaret of Fain.

He called Denke. “Briefing in thirty minutes. This will trigger the next phase. Be there.” He did not wait for a response.

Steg de Coeur to Module Jochum II.

Module Jochum II.

Prepare full link with Glass Complex, First Acolyte. Priority one. Implement.

Running.

The full weight of Jochum II resources drove the communication process. The link was established before he could begin another task.

Glass Complex is in link.

Go to full holo.

He waited as the hologram slowly formed above the display panel. He knew a similar representation was also appearing for the Castlehome audience.

First Acolyte.

Aah, young prince. What news do you have for Castlehome?

Tziksis is due here tomorrow and will report on his campaign. Final briefing will follow, and the Specials will launch their attack immediately after that. What is the Homeworld situation?

Our farming machinery arrived safely and is being distributed to the Guards and Militia. The task will be completed within the day. Everyone is briefed. We are waiting for your signal.

Steg and the First signed off and the almost solid image blanked as the connection was terminated by the Jochum II module. Time now was running against the Homeworld invaders.

“General Boston, Major Denke, gentlemen,” Steg acknowledged the presence of the senior and operational officers gathered in the briefing room. Additional Special Forces officers were in attendance; this was more than a portal briefing. “Some of what I will say is already familiar to you, some is not. House of Aluta over the past four decades has pursued a most vigorous and aggressive program of corporate expansion. Their methods have been devious, disruptive, fraudulent and even treasonous for the Empire. Examples and evidence in support are enclosed in the briefing file that I distributed earlier, refer attachments five and six. We ran some prognosis programs earlier, and within another five to eight years, House of Aluta would be able to challenge the Empire with impunity.”

Major Denke supported Steg. “The extent of their infiltration into the Fleet has been confirmed. We have detected similar patterns across other Imperial forces.”

“We have implemented counter measures,” continued Steg. “At last report over three hundred and fifty serious criminal actions have been initiated against Fleet officers. At least five hundred Fleet officers and crew are now under arrest and the final number is expected to be closer to two thousand before this is concluded. Additionally, authorities—trusted authorities—in all Imperial military branches now have received evidence of House of Aluta criminal activities affecting those branches and we expect numerous arrests and courts-martial to follow. Special Forces also have been penetrated by House of Aluta corruption, and these traitors are now being arrested.” His statement caused a sudden move from one of the meeting attendees.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” queried Denke. “We are aware of your—er—divided loyalties. Consider yourself under arrest.” Denke had a stunner leveled, ready to fire. The lieutenant unfastened his weapons belt and pushed it away across the table. He did not speak. The major signaled a guard and the lieutenant was led out of the room, under arrest.

Steg continued. “House of Aluta recently has experienced major systems issues and their corporate structure has suffered immense financial losses. Alutan corporate defaults are at record levels. The House is insolvent.”

One of the attendees looked puzzled. “Why has this happened—they were vast, one of the most powerful houses?”

“They lost their computer systems—all their data disappeared and their systems collapsed. They lost details of their bank accounts, of their assets, of their business operations. While they’re in denial to some extent, creditors are moving in. Any surplus assets will be taken by Imperial courts as a result of legal actions now underway. The Emperor has taken a very active interest in this matter and has assured us that prosecutors across the Empire will take action. A number of prosecutors will end up as defendants. These people have been identified and evidence provided to the Imperial Attorney for action.”

General Boston offered his congratulations. “Well done, Steg. And you too, Denke. Well done.”

Steg nodded. “General, we are ready to move against the House of Aluta forces on Homeworld. Fleet confirmed yesterday that they issued recall orders for the marines and the two destroyers. Refusal by the destroyer captains to obey those orders will constitute mutiny—I doubt they will take the risk. Just in case, a Fleet dreadnought is on its way to oversee the recall. Departure of the warships—with their mercenary forces—will simplify our operation.”

The next meeting was with the newly arrived Tziksis. He was welcomed as a full Flag Admiral of a friendly system by both Fleet and Special Forces, with all the fanfare expected for such a welcome.

“Young princeling,” exclaimed the excited Djiis after the ceremonies were over. “You in much improved circumstances pleasant to see. I too in much better circumstances am. Before you the Flag Admiral of the Djiis fleet stands. Tziksis to this exalted position in response to popular acclaim promoted. Also a result of some backdoor boondoggling was.” He paraded in his uniform and Steg almost had to shield his eyes from the bright colors.

“Congratulations, Tziksis. I suppose as well, you’re in every deal made by the new Djiis fleet?”

“Oh, only a small bonus, and a small commission as well, here and there, Tziksis receives. All voluntary is. But more serious business calls. Your comrades otherwise will grow impatient.” He waved and clicked his eyestalks. “Come now, friends of young prince, and my story you will listen.”

General Boston, Denke and two other Specials officers gathered with Steg to listen to Tziksis as he recounted his story. Homeworld had appointed Tziksis as its agent, and had provided funds for him and his Djiis associates to acquire outstanding debt on Alutan freighters.

“First,” explained Tziksis, “news of Alutan crimes we published. Bad news prices lowered. We the truth told. When everyone frightened, we purchased. Some panic when the avalanche comes. The avalanche we helped. Now most of the commercial fleet, for want of payment by House of Aluta, we foreclosed.”

“How many ships did you—er—purchase?” inquired General Boston.

Tziksis tugged at a heavy report. “Detail of tonnages and contracts is. Very confidential is,” he checked the report. “Seventy-three percent of Alutan fleet units, eighty-five percent in tonnage. Most shipping contracts and charters we have renegotiated. At far better rates, of course.”

“Djiis now has a contract to manage this fleet on behalf of Homeworld,” advised Steg. “Although I’m starting to wonder which group were the pirates on Djii.”

“Yes, young master,” the small alien waved and clattered. “Much new business for Djii. And for you we special rates have.” The small group collapsed with laughter.

“Yes, I’m sure, Tziksis,” advised Denke. “But make sure you get cash in advance, these Homeworlders are a tricky lot.”

“Surely they are.” Tziksis bobbed his eyestalks.

“We know the farm machinery shipments arrived safely,” commented Steg. “What about transporting Special Forces? Are you ready for them?”

“Oh yes, young master. Our escort two very comfortable ex-Xesset troop transports includes. As many as you need, up to perhaps five thousand, we can carry.”

“General Boston,” advised Steg. “We plan to use the portals for one hundred Specials, with Denke in command. They will join the Homeworld Guard who are supported by a very eager militia. We only need additional Specials if something goes completely awry. For example, if House of Aluta brings in reinforcements. However, this seems unlikely.”

“Alutan ships do not worry us. Our new fleet is very fast and well armed. As long as we do not encounter Imperial Fleet star ships. That would be bad for us, a small state still making friends with the Empire.”

General Boston stepped into the conversation. “We’ll ensure no Fleet ships go anywhere near Homeworld,” he affirmed, “except for a dreadnought which will be under Special Forces control. I think you are good to go. We’ll issue authorizations—you’re carrying out a mission for the Special Forces. If your passengers are needed by Major Denke, you’ll have to land quickly.”

“My ships will,” boasted Tziksis. “They very fast were made, you know.”

“Er, yes—we have some knowledge of their capabilities,” Denke coughed. “We want accommodation for only one thousand Specials, although we’ll need capacity for our equipment. Just in case.”

“Excellent. My friend we can assist. Also a mission for the Empire out we can carry. Imperial Fleet from direct involvement in a domestic dispute is saved. Djiis for future operations you can retain. All is well.”

“We’ll consider that,” confirmed Boston. He indicated the table that had been prepared by white-jacketed stewards. “Come, we welcome you to our base.”

******

Chapter 32

Denke completed briefing the Homeworld relief team. He had hand-picked his one hundred, a small company by general standards. However these were members of the Imperial Special Forces and he knew their capabilities. The relief team, heavily armored and carrying large weapons packs, were ready to depart for Homeworld where they would join with the Castle Guard. If they encountered heavy Alutan forces he would call on the battalion carried by Tziksis in his ex-Xesset star ships.

He and Steg led the team to the Jochum II portal. They all had portal experience, and Denke did not expect to receive any reports of portal failure or misdirection. Just before sunrise on Homeworld Denke sent Steg ahead to alert the Castle Guard, and then dispatched his team in rapid sequence. When he followed the last person through, the team was already threading its way up the long stairway to the lower reaches of Castlehome. He overtook the more heavily laden troops and caught up with Steg and three Castle Guard officers at a major passageway junction.

“DefNet is now in our control,” Steg advised. “Alutan communications are blocked off—they’ve flagged it as a com failure. They can’t regain access; the Complex has made sure of that and is blocking their local communications, as well. Now, I’ll take the first squad and Lieutenant Jones with me to free Rakyd from his prison cell. Major Reading and Lieutenant Ascot will escort you the rest of the way to the surface and to our Guards. Depending on Rakyd’s state, I’ll either leave him and catch up with you, or stay and take care of him.”

Denke nodded his acquiescence and Steg signaled to the leading squad, which veered off to follow him along a side passage. He set a rapid pace since he was not armored apart from his chain mail, and he carried only Ebony. Eventually, after a number of direction changes and after climbing more stairs, they reached their target.

Steg pressed up against a ventilation grill set in the wall, and peered through the narrow vertical vents. The grill was set far too high and he was unable to see any movement. He listened carefully and thought he could hear soft conversations and the occasional jangle of heavy keys, probably from guards patrolling the makeshift prison. He moved further along, after signaling his squad to follow silently. He found a narrow descending passageway between the rough natural rock foundations and a smoother, man-made wall and carefully edged down the crumbling stairway. When he reached the bottom, he continued, taking short shuffling steps as he penetrated further into the cleft. A ventilation grill scraped his face and he peered through into an empty room. Here, he thought, we can blast our way into this room, and gain access to the dungeons.

“Denke,” he called on the DefNet comunit. “We’ve reached a possible backdoor to the dungeons. However, we have to blast our way in. It’ll take five minutes to set up the HEx. What’s your progress? “

“We’ve joined with the Guard units. We can move against Lady Gaetja’s supporters when you need.”

“Start now. We want a diversion. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to blow the wall.”

They were too deep underground to hear the assault against the core Alutan forces supporting Lady Gaetja; however, Steg was confident it had commenced. He signaled the squad’s demolition expert and described his needs. She was fast, well-trained and had a joy for her job. She waved the squad back and then joined them around a protective corner. The blast was disappointingly subdued. Steg was surprised because he had expected lots more noise.

“We didn’t need very much HEx,” the demolition expert explained as they followed the squad, led by their sergeant. “Not like some people with stairwells.”

Steg smiled at the reminder. Knowledge of his heavy hand with HEx was widespread. The squad had already entered and taken up positions in what appeared to be a small recreation room. He signaled for a cautious advance, and the sergeant directed his men out into the main area. The dungeons were unguarded; the Alutan guards apparently had been summonsed to defend against Denke’s attack.

Steg again used DefNet. “Denke, we’re in the dungeons. It’ll take a few minutes to find keys and release everyone here.”

“Good. A number of Alutans have surrendered. Their casualties were very high. None on our part. Your Guards are ferocious. I think I might recruit some.”

“They’ve been frustrated with the situation for too long. Ask one of the Palace officers to lead a small force to meet us here. We need to protect Rakyd. Send a medic as well.”

He turned to the squad. “Lieutenant, see if you can find some keys to unlock these cells. Sergeant, take six of your men and control access into this area. I think the main entry is over there. I doubt the guards will return. However, stray Alutans could decide to revenge themselves on the prisoners. Allocate someone to keep a watch to protect our back. The rest of your squad can provide general protection and some can assist me once we get the cell doors open.”

He waited for the sergeant to allocate his small force. The lieutenant was already searching for keys. Steg began an examination of the cells. Each door was padlocked; he rattled a lock and peered in through a peephole. No one stirred. He feared the prisoners either were drugged or too injured to move. He called over the squad’s demolition expert.

“Lacy, how difficult will it be to open these padlocks without injuring anyone?”

“Sir, I can do that almost as quickly as using a key.”

“Do it. Start here, so I can see who they’ve imprisoned.”

Again, Lacy worked quickly. A soft crump was followed by the first padlock falling to the floor. She moved to the next cell. Steg opened the first door and checked the two occupants. Neither was his cousin. They were Guards officers; one a captain, and the other a lieutenant. Both were unconscious, apparently in a drugged sleep. He called to the lieutenant and halted the search for keys. Lacy’s approach was proving effective. Steg opened the now unlocked door to the next cell. It had one occupant.

“Rakyd,” called Steg, recognizing his cousin. He shook his cousin’s shoulder. “Rakyd, it’s me. Steg. Wake up.”

His cousin mumbled, semi-conscious. Steg called to the squad medic to check Rakyd. His cousin stirred and mumbled again. Steg could not distinguish any words.

“Sir, I don’t want to stimulate him—I don’t know what they used to drug him. His heartbeat is erratic. His breathing is OK. We should wait for a hospital medic to check him.”

Steg nodded his agreement. He called Denke on DefNet and explained the situation. “We need that medic. Perhaps more than one. We may need stretchers here as well. The prisoners have been drugged and are unconscious. I’ve not been able to waken anyone yet. Ask Major Reading to alert Castlehome Infirmary; we need their expertise and support.”

“My medic and his team are on their way—probably only minutes away. Opposition has eased off, only a hardcore remains. We think they’re Lady Gaetja’s personal guards. They’ve taken over the east wing; fortunately, well away from your location. The Palace Guards are very anxious for their Earl; I’ll dispatch more of them to assist you.”

Steg alerted his sergeant to watch for the medic team. Then he checked the occupants of the other now unlocked cells. All were unconscious, in the same apparently drugged state. Some, according to the squad medic, needed substantial medical assistance.

At last a small squad arrived, escorting Denke’s medic. He quickly confirmed the decision to not stimulate the drugged prisoners. Shortly after, more Castle Guards arrived. Steg took control and directed the arriving officers to move their men into positions outside the dungeons, to protect access to the area. He also requested more men from Denke, to provide stretcher-bearers and security for the prisoners, when they were moved to the Infirmary.

Infirmary doctors and staff arrived in a rush, accompanied by the requested stretcher-bearers. Castlehome Infirmary staff established a triage station, allocating doctors and nurses to the more serious drug victims. The still unconscious Rakyd now had a doctor and two nurses caring for him; they’d set up and were carefully monitoring an intravenous drip. Steg approached the Infirmary doctor.

“What do you think?”

“They’re heavily dosed with a soporific of some kind. Probably delivered in their food. Certainly overdosed. I don’t think the effects will be harmful or long term—it should wear off shortly. I suspect the Alutans used drugs to make life easy.”

“They can be moved?”

“Yes. We’d like to commence moving them to the Infirmary. If you can authorize that?” The doctor thought Steg was a member of the Imperial force.

“It’ll be done. When do you think Rakyd will regain consciousness? I’d like to speak with him.”

“You mean his Excellency, the Earl?”

“My cousin.”

“Oh—sorry, sir. You must be Lord Steg? I apologize for not recognizing you.”

Steg smiled. He was about to move away when Rakyd stirred. He grasped Steg’s wrist. “I don’t believe my eyes,” he whispered.

“You had better, cousin. We don’t want a blind Earl ruling Homeworld.”

Rakyd struggled to sit up and the doctor held him back. “Sir, until you have recovered some energy, please stay where you are.”

“No, let me out of here. You’ve no idea— I am so relieved to be free.”

“Rakyd, take it easy. I’ll brief you.”

Rakyd laid back and closed his eyes. “Steg, I owe you. I think they were planning some form of show trial and execution. It could have been very messy. She’s a barbarian, that woman.”

“Delusional, paranoid, homicidal and narcissistic, is the Complex diagnosis. She may react with a violent counterattack, if she can marshal enough forces. We’ve an Imperial Specials company here, supporting the Castle Guards. I understand that she is cornered.”

“Then she’ll be at her worst. Now tell me, what have you been doing?”

Steg provided only a cursory outline of his activities. With too many listeners, including the two nurses and doctor, he was not prepared to disclose everything in public. He concluded his summary. “We used nominees to take over most of the Alutan merchant fleet. You’ll enjoy meeting them. I persuaded the Specials to help us. The Empire wants Homeworld as a friend, not as an enemy.”

“I sense a lot unsaid.”

“Of course. Now we’re going to move you to the Infirmary, where I’m sure you’ll be both well guarded and well cared for. We’ll debrief in detail, once you have recovered some of your energy and the medics say you’re strong enough.”

Steg watched while the stretcher team departed with his cousin and the doctor and nurse escort, taking him to where he could be monitored and medicated if needed. He then met with Denke, to review status and next steps.

Denke, with his Special Forces, was already heading down to the portal, satisfied the Castle Guard could complete the necessary capture of any stray Alutans. He waited for Steg to join him as the Specials were transitioning through the portal, returning to Jochum II.

“I’ve one concern,” he debriefed. “We got the hard core Alutans, including the Lady Gaetja’s bodyguard. However, neither my men nor your Castle Guards have seen the Lady. She is missing. We checked all the dead and wounded, but nothing. Castlehome and the Glass Complex control are checking all shuttles and star ships on Homeworld. I know the Complex is monitoring all spaceport access ways, and all boarding bays. So, if she’s alive, she can’t get off Homeworld.”

“We must find her. She’s not someone we can permit to wander freely.”

“Agreed. The Dastle Guard is searching; they’re sure to find her. My men are monitoring everyone through the portal; she can’t get out that way, even if she knows the codes. We have an Imperial warrant out for her arrest; it’s been published throughout the Empire.”

“I’ll make sure the Castle Guards and the Complex will continue their search. At least she’s lost her supporters and should be relatively harmless.”

“Like a viper.”

They neared the portal and one of the Specials approached Steg. “Sir, one of the Castle Guard wishes to speak with you—she’s over there.”

Steg turned his head and froze, as recognition dawned. “It’s her, the Lady Gaetja.”

“Careful, de Coeur.”

Steg ignored the warning and the restraining hand. The Lady Gaetja had been the cause of so much pain and so many deaths. He knew the risk but didn’t stop. He walked towards his enemy.

“Steg de Coeur,” she snarled. Steg halted, shocked at the almost physical wave of hatred emanating from the woman. “You may have stopped me this time, but I promised I would have my revenge!”

She raised her fist and too late Steg saw the clenched blaster. He ducked away, too slowly. The sudden flare caught him, blinding him to the shot from Denke. Both he and his attacker sank down to the floor. The Lady Gaetja was dead and Steg was not far from that fate.

Denke bent over and lifted him. “Come on, de Coeur. Step through the portal, quickly now, and we’ll have you patched up in no time.” He half carried him to the portal, assisted by one of his men.

Steg looked at Denke, blinded by the blast and suffering from the intense pain of his injury. The blast had hit and burned across his head. He struggled to stay upright. He could see a blue haze in front of him and he stepped forward into the cold light. Behind him, Denke’s cautionary remark cut off.

“Henry, we’ve searched every possible portal, in current time,” Denke exclaimed with obvious frustration. Denke was making his report after five days of intensive searching for Steg. “We have found no trace of him, none whatsoever.”

“What about ’other times’?”

“Oh we’ve tried some possible past times. We’re not ready to try future times. The task is impossible.” Despair was showing in Denke’s face. “We’ve tried. We’ve tried. We simply can’t find him.”

“Could he survive this long without treatment? Five days?”

“I don’t know. He took a terrible blast in the head. I think he was badly injured.”

“Denke, we have to face the inevitable. You’ve had a large team—fifty people—searching for nearly a week. Reduce it to a smaller team, perhaps six or so. Keep them for as long as you think feasible. Report back to me in a tenday. But you need to face facts—we have lost him.”

Denke dropped his head into his hands. He knew Henry was correct in believing de Coeur was lost somewhere in the portal system. And Denke had no idea how to find him. A small search team was only a token. The facts were obvious to both of them. They were not likely to find Steg with a smaller search team. Denke mourned the loss of his friend.

**~~~~~~******~~~~~~**

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Books by John Hindmarsh

The following pages describe my books and stories and is current as at December, 2014.

Science Fiction

Glass Complex Trilogy

Book 1: Broken Glass

Book 2: Fracture Lines (target is January, 2015)

Book 3: Diamond Cut (target is December, 2015)

Shen Ark: Departure

Another Universe - Volume 1 (short stories)

Thrillers

The Mark Midway series -

Mark One

Mark Two

Mark Three

Explore further details at http://www.JohnHindmarsh.com

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Mark One

Nine men, ex-military, are on a mission to destroy a genetics laboratory and capture a genetically engineered specimen. They are supported by four rogue CIA agents, who have commandeered a test drone and a missile, at a Marine base. The team attacks the genetics laboratory complex before dawn, during a raging blizzard. Within hours, seven of the men are dead, one is severely wounded, and one barely escapes. The drone with its missile has been destroyed. The next morning the four rogue agents are found dead from carbon monoxide poisoning.

Mark Midway does not know his real parents, nor where and when he was born. Two scientists adopted him when he was a young child and his home since has been a genetic research laboratory.

After the attack, Mark flees the laboratory complex, seeking safety and somewhere he can call home. The FBI is on his case and a mysterious organization offers him its assistance. However, he is at risk. There are unknown killers chasing him and he needs to protect himself and his friends.

Mark needs to survive. All he wants is a normal life.

A fast-moving, finely plotted political thriller that will keep you reading.

****

Mark Two

Cerberus is breeding super soldiers and has penetrated the FBI, DHS, CIA, the US Army, and other government departments. Rogue Cerberus soldiers have killed Agency operatives, deleted FBI records, stolen millions from currency transfers to Istanbul, and are creating even more powerful forces inimical to US law enforcement departments.

Archimedes Schmidt and Special Agent MayAnn Freewell go sailing in the Caribbean and when they meet with a Cerberus informer, a sniper assassinates him. The search for Cerberus escalates and Schmidt is recalled to active service and promoted to General.

MayAnn Freewell and Schmidt are sent to Afghanistan where they enlist the support of Special Forces to arrest a rogue Cerberus MP battalion. Schmidt is shot and survives.

Mark Midway is living in Boston under an assumed name when he is witness to a kidnapping. He shoots and kills the kidnappers and saves their victim, an eighteen-year-old daughter of a billionaire. His life goes downhill from that point: he is attacked, kidnapped, and then held prisoner with a group of Cerberus children.

Schmidt discovers his relationships are not as reliable as he thought, fatally so.

Key people in Cerberus are attacked by Chinese agents tasked with establishing a research laboratory so they can join the race to breed super soldiers.

Mark needs to survive. All he wants is a normal life.

Mark Two continues the page-turning momentum of Mark One; it is a fast-moving, finely plotted thriller that will keep you reading.

****

Mark Three

A young woman escapes from a luxury yacht under attack by Chinese pirates in the Mediterranean. American law enforcement agencies collude and conspire to bring about an end to Cerberus, uncaring who gets in their way. Genetically engineered Mark Midway faces deadly assaults by unknown enemies. A military helicopter is brought down over Washington by a Russian missile and General Archimedes Schmidt is in critical condition.

Mark meets his sister and travels to London to rescue three more genetically engineered children. He finds romance, but he and his companions are under attack in both the US and England. Mark knows only one response - fight back.

Mark needs to survive. All he wants is a normal life.

Mark Three is the third book in the Midway series and continues the page-turning pace and excitement of Mark One and Mark Two.

****

Broken Glass

Book 1-Glass Complex Trilogy

Steg de Coeur, his family murdered to further an armed takeover of Homeworld by the House of Aluta, flees to space just ahead of corporate mercenaries and warrants issued for his arrest for treason against the Empire. Adventures follow as his ability to link with computers develops, in emulation of the Acolytes who attend the mysterious Glass Complex of Homeworld. Steg purchases a commission in the Imperial Fleet where he aids in the capture of an alien space ship preying on Imperial shipping lanes. He is court-martialed on trumped-up charges and marooned on Hellfire, a desert planet controlled by the House of Aluta. Steg takes over the computer-based mining equipment and creates havoc, eventually escaping with Milnaret of Fain, a pleasure companion. Duels, deaths, enlistment in Imperial Special Forces, and exploration of ancient portals drives the tension.

A deranged and very bitter rival for control of Homeworld attacks Steg with a blaster. Her attack severely injures him as he is about to step through a portal. He disappears and despite a major search by his fellow soldiers, he cannot be found.

The pace of Broken Glass is rapid with well developed and solid characters and a compelling storyline.

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Fracture Lines

Book 2 - Glass Complex Trilogy

Fracture Lines is the long awaited sequel to Broken Glass and has a target of January, 2015 for its release.

Steg de Coeur, severely wounded by a savage attack, is transported some hundreds of years in his past. To make matters worse, he not only has lost his memory, but ImpSec sentence him to death as a spy when he is unable to account for his presence on board an Imperial Fleet hospital ship. He is offloaded from the hospital ship in chains and admitted to a prison run by the House of Aluta pending his execution.

Steg escapes the prison when a mercenary commander recruits killers and other criminals who have been sentenced to death and establishes himself as a potential mercenary officer. He finally recovers his memory to discover the mercenaries, lured into a trap, are about to engage three Xesset starships.

Steg takes over leadership of the mercenary force and takes the fight to the Xesset. The mercenaries not only must defeat the Xesset, but they also must take over the freighter which is shipping armaments to rebels on the main planet in the Eo 3 system and then defeat the rebels in a planet-bound battle.

His adventures take him back his proper time and to Jochum II where ImpSec have taken over the base established by the Imperial Intelligence Agency. His challenge is to survive, discover what happened, and escape, because the Xesset fleet is on its way to Homeworld.

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Diamond Cut

Book 3 - Glass Complex Trilogy

Scheduled for 2015 - December. The concluding book in the trilogy.

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Shen Ark: Departure

Dr. Joseph Krowe, a young scientist in London, develops a mind-bending drug—a pharmacological-chemical-nanite [PCN] mix—tests it on himself and almost dies. He tries to market PCN to a nightclub and disasters follow. Dr. Krowe barely survives. Meantime, his drug has initiated an accelerated evolutionary change in rats—New Rats. Their natural enemies—New Cats—also evolve, and a state of war exists between the two. Rats support Dr. Krowe, and he guides and influences them, as they continue to evolve.

The drug also affects some humans.

Freddie and his family befriend Sam, a young Rat who is a member of the Rat royal family, thus commencing a strong relationship between humans and Rats. Freddie—called Engineer by his friends—takes on responsibilities to aid the Rats’ plan to purchase a starship from alien refugees—the Shen. His task is to build the bubble warp drive which he designed; the drive, if successful, will allow the starship to travel at faster than light speeds. Engineer experiences violent attacks, love, deaths of family and friends, looming deadlines, and other challenges as he attempts to meet his commitments to support the Rats’ dream to travel in space.

Rats are impatient to board their starship and depart Earth.

Humans want the alien technology.

Cats just want to kill Rats.

Shen Ark: Departure is the beginning of a voyage that will follow Rats and a small group of humans as they attempt to achieve their dreams.

Let me know if you want more in this series.

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Another Universe - Volume 1

This first volume is a collection of three short stories, totaling about 11,000 words. I intend to release further collections, mainly science fiction, although some fantasy may creep in.

The Mortgage

Sometimes GalFed commercial operations are unsupervised, planets are mined or assets reaped, and there is no guarantee the planet will survive these attentions. The Mortgage is a story at the end cycle of one such planet.

Give Peace a Chance

I recently wrote Shen Ark: Departure, which tells a story about mutated rats (New Rats), cats (New Cats), other animals and humans, as the Rats prepare for a voyage in a starship. The Rats and Cats of course are bitter enemies.

Rats are impatient to board their starship and depart Earth.

Humans want the alien technology.

Cats just want to kill Rats.

To give you an idea of the relationship between Rats and Cats, here is a very brief excerpt:-

Cedric shivered and hid a rush of fear from his Rats and from himself as he realized the Cats’ intense concentration was simply a prelude to their intended attack. These Cats had identified him as the leader of the New Rats, and he was their target. They stared at him with their almost glowing yellow eyes, as though each Cat was imprinting him on some feline prefrontal cortex target acquisition function. He shivered. Those yellow eyes watched his every move.

So the question arises, what would happen if one of the Cats was interested in peace? Give Peace a Chance* is the result.

(*With apologies to John Lennon.)

Grators

Grators is one of a series of short stories about the Fleet hero, Foster Allyil. He claims he was a Colonel in the GalFed Fleet and has a starfighter stashed away—for defensive purposes only, of course. If readers are interested, I may develop his story and adventures into one or more novel length stories; I have unauthorized access to his logbooks and diaries, which should provide me with excellent material.

Occasionally, in stories about the GalFed universe, you might encounter a science fiction in-joke—if these are too obtuse, or indeed too obvious, let me know.

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