House of Reeds

consulates. After that…we'll see about your surveillance networks.'

'Chu-sa!' Chimalpahin's face turned dark red. 'Fleet is not the command authority here! Our precedence is well established -'

'I am not concerned about your little war of flowers and padded swords.' Hadeishi let a little of his anger flare, shocking the man into silence. 'You've put thousands of citizens in harm's way – once we've seen to their safety, then we will help you restore your comm network. Do you -'

An enormously bright light flared off to Hadeishi's right and above his shoulder. For an instant, he saw everything in the cockpit of the launch cast in sharp, unadulterated shadow. The view ports polarized a microsecond later and an alarm blared in his ear.

'Evasive!' he shouted, pressing himself reflexively into the shockchair. 'Full power!'

Asale had already thrown the launch into a break to the left, engines howling, the entire frame of the little ship groaning with rapidly mounting g-stress. Hadeishi felt his chest compress, then the z-suit kicked in and the shockwebbing took the brunt of the acceleration. His fingers darted across his command board, bringing up a situational plot and tasking the two realtime cameras on the launch to track the Tepoztecatl and the Cornuelle.

A tiny fragment of his mind heard the two Marines shouting in alarm and Sho-i Asale hissing through clenched teeth as the launch tumbled into a random series of spins and hops, hoping to avoid whatever enemy had crept up out of the dark.

His eyes focused on the video-feed of the freighter. In the seconds since the blast – another part of his mind had already correlated the flare of light with the detonation of some kind of anti-ship mine – a third of the Tepoztecatl had been smashed into ruin. Sections of the freighter's hull were glowing white-hot, while atmosphere boiled out in white clouds of ice crystals. The fans of comm relays on the outer hull were twisted wreckage. A secondary explosion ripped through the engine spaces as he watched, spewing a cloud of debris and short-lived flame. The fore part of the ship still seemed to be intact, but all of the habitat rings had stopped violently, their guide-rails torn and mangled. Inside, he knew from cruel experience, every compartment would be in chaos, filled with mangled bodies, crushed equipment and a cloud of paper, unsecured objects, fire- suppression foam, droplets of blood from the wounded and the stink of burning electrical circuitry.

'Situation report,' Hadeishi rasped, wrenching his attention back to the plot. He hadn't served as weapons officer for nearly a decade, but an eternity of cadet drill did not die easily. 'Comp shows twelve orbital detonations. Dirty anti-matter signatures are coming in…bomb-pumped x-ray lasers…' He snarled in disgust. The flash plot on the tiny board matched up perfectly with traffic control's last update showing the Development Board's planetary communications network satellite array. 'Max acceleration, pilot, match orbit with -'

Hadeishi stopped, heart in his throat, a chill feeling of horror flooding his z-suit. Six of the mines had erupted in a nearly perfect flower-box formation around his ship. Even at this distance, the v-feed of the Cornuelle showed massive ruptures in her hull, atmosphere venting in an ever-expanding cloud, the intermittent flare of secondary explosions, and worst – one maneuvering drive still firing in an orbital correction burn while the other five were silent. The light cruiser slid sick-eningly towards the upper atmosphere of Jagan, spewing bodies, debris and radiation.

'Jaguar-tzin!' Hadeishi's face froze. 'Hadeishi to the Cornuelle, come in. Hadeishi to the Cornuelle, come in!'

Static roared across the standard comm bands, popping in and out as the launch's little comp attempted to restore communications with the ship. Hadeishi flinched as the display flared again. Two thirds of the way around the planet, the free merchantman Beowulf – struck by only one of the mines – suffered catastrophic reactor failure and vanished in a sun-bright burst of hard radiation. The flare rippled across the launch – now racing to catch the wounded Cornuelle – only seconds later, and Hadeishi watched grimly as his display sparked, shuddered and went dark. The launch's shipskin groaned, toasted by the wave-front. The lights flickered and went out.

Asale released her hands from the control yoke. She flipped the main system reset control experimentally. Nothing happened. 'Comp is down. The radiation tripped a safety.'

Hadeishi leaned back in his shockchair, staring out at the vast tan-and-blue shape of Jagan. He breathed slowly through his nose, counting to ten with each breath. His z-suit had automatically switched to internal atmosphere. His heart slowed, his mind settled and he watched with cold eyes as the launch coasted ever deeper into the planetary gravity well.

Aboard the Cornuelle, the senior officer's ward-room was empty. Though there were no crewmen present to take heed, the battle-stations alarm blared from speakers hidden in the ceiling. Decompression warning lights flashed above both doors, which had automatically sealed themselves when the call to battle-stations went out. A terrible groaning sound echoed through the walls as the ship's spine flexed unnaturally. Unlike some of the other compartments, the mess had been tidied up long before the combat alert sounded. Isoroku had finished the repairs to the floor himself and made sure everything was shipshape before moving on to other, more pressing, duties.

The resulting floor was a beauty to the eye. The varnished surface glowed golden in the light of the overhead lamps. The subtle hexagonal accretion pattern in the lohaja fit well with the rice-paper paintings hanging on the walls and an expanse of native carpet. Even by his own high standard, Isoroku had done an excellent job in refurbishing the dining room.

The only things marring the elegant space were nearly a ton of spare lohaja flooring sections tied down in one corner with a web of magnetic straps and the box of custom-made Sandvik cutting and finishing tools, which had been carefully tucked away on a shelf beside the gaping hole where a command display had been mounted for the convenience of the senior officers.

Space on the Astronomer-class light cruiser being at a premium, most of the common interior spaces had been fitted to do double duty as necessary. The senior officer's ward-room was no exception, possessing a relatively large table and room for eight or more to sit, and the design firm handling the class specifications had provided appropriate furnishings to allow the room to function as a planning center with full access to main comp if the need arose.

The alarms continued to blare and gravity failed in the command spaces. Battle-lights came on as normal lighting dimmed. The mess was plunged into near-darkness. Inside the Sandvik box, a sensor tripped and one of the spare power cells – hidden beneath two of its fellows – hummed to life. A cutting beam sparked, cut through the shockfoam around the tools and out through the side of the wooden case in a perfect circle. A moment later a disc of wood popped out and a small 'bot – a cylinder no more than the size of a man's pinky – crawled out on six joined legs.

The infiltrator rotated, scanning the surrounding volume for a data-port, and found nothing. Secondary programming kicked in and a different set of patterns was loaded into its minuscule processor. This time the scan identified a comp conduit interface hanging in the void where the command display had been. The 'bot climbed the wall easily, reached up two forelimbs and seized hold of the hanging cable. A moment later the 'bot matched interface to interface, negotiated systems access, and disgorged a flood of wrecker viruses directly into the Cornuelle's master comp network.

The infiltrator then waited an eternity – three seconds – and exhausted the last of its tiny power cell with a piercing burst of hi-band radio noise.

Four meters away, a series of organic detonators woven into the lohaja wood tripped at the infiltrator's signal and initiated a catastrophic chain reaction through the six hundred kilos of nitro-cellulose explosive forming the plank cores. The officer's mess vanished in a shocking blast of flame and super-pressure plasma. The internal doorway to the galley blew apart and the blast engulfed two storage spaces and the dishwasher. Vent covers for removing waste heat and cooking smoke – closed by the battle alert – crumpled and flames roared down four air circulation shafts – two heading aft and two forward. The main door to the officer's mess was torn from its hinges and smashed into the opposite bulkhead.

A damage control party kicking past at that moment – heading for the number three boat bay, which was at that moment open to naked vacuum and venting atmosphere – was engulfed in plasma and their z-suits, shredded by flying splinters of steel-sharp wood, failed. They all died instantly. The whole center section of the command ring convulsed, ripped by the explosion, and then filled with a rushing wall of flame.

The wall behind the officer's mess, which contained one of the three primary nerve conduits handling all of the