“Captain, we are at zero emissions,” the pilot reported in a low voice. “Gravity generators are cold. Engines are cold.”
Gretchen was interested in Locke’s reaction-Hummingbird had given direct orders on his bridge-but the freighter captain seemed unperturbed. If he’d noticed at all? Anderssen found that peculiar, but the captain had been treating the old nauallis very deferentially for the last week. I need to look up what Pr?ceptor means.
The icon on the navigation board continued to show swift progress and Gretchen, peering over Hummingbird’s shoulder, suddenly realized that another icon-one shining green with a blue band around it-must be the Moulins. Which meant…
On the camera screens, a point of blue-violet light suddenly became visible. As she watched, it grew in size, resolving into a black speck surrounded by a brilliantly colored corona of violently excited particles. The wake of the approaching starship quickly became apparent as a corkscrew-like fan of burning motes.
The pilot cursed, looking first to Locke and then to Hummingbird. “Radiation from that drive plume is going to slam us hard. We need to-”
“Hold position.” The Crow’s voice was steely and his demeanor inflexible. “They are blinding their own sensors with all that electromagnetic trash. If we remain still, they will race past, unknowing. Otherwise, we’ll be a fine target for a sprint missile or particle beam practice.”
Locke nodded, swallowing hard. His hands clenched on the arms of his chair.
Gretchen was glad-she’d had the thought before-she’d already had her quota of children. Though just one more… no, it’s too late for that.
Twelve minutes later the Moulins groaned, her hull hammered by successive waves of particles-all hot and glowing with borrowed radiation-as the massive ship rolled past.
“A super-dreadnaught,” whispered the pilot in awe, camera interpolation yielding an enormous outline through the curtains of fire. “It must be four kilometers long, or more!”
Hummingbird was working his stylus in a quick, efficient blur on a hand comp. A lead had been jacked from the unit into the control consoles and Gretchen jumped slightly when he suddenly cursed aloud. Locke and the pilot turned in alarm.
“Xochitl!” The sound was harsh, abrupt.
Hummingbird stared at his comp, right eyelid twitching. Then, after a stiff moment with everyone staring at him, he looked up. “Captain Locke, spin up the mains as soon as we’re in the thrust shadow of that monster.”
“Delicate flower?” Gretchen ventured. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“One of the Princes Imperial has arrived,” the old nauallis answered, looking at her sidelong. She had been around him long enough to glimpse anger and unease behind his usual stoic mask. Could our all-seeing sorcerer be worried? Gretchen struggled to suppress a grin.
“We have to get in there immediately.” Hummingbird glared at Locke.
Xochitl-I remember, that’s “precious flower”-now where… Ah! Of course.
A flurry of 3-v magazine covers, each more lurid than the last, came to mind. Page after page of Temple of Truth filled with “candid” snaps of a young, heartbreakingly handsome man. The foremost of the Emperor’s “Mighty Sons,” Prince Xochitl was not the eldest, but he did shine the brightest in popular culture. A victorious Fleet commander-he’d driven the Kroomakh back from Al-Haram, recapturing two colony worlds and a series of critical mining stations-and a notorious duelist who had left a long trail of broken hearts and honorable deaths behind him.
So, she thought, feeling Hummingbird’s tension ratcheting up with each second. The pilot had the maneuver engines on restart and Captain Locke had pitched in to bring up the hyperspace coil. But she could tell it was all going far, far too slowly for the Crow’s frayed patience.
“Hm,” she said, drawing a baleful gaze. “He’s the pretty one, isn’t he? With the hair?”
THE NANIWA
Kosho happened to be reviewing battle-group dispositions in preparation for ordering a change in heading for the next leg of their patrol pattern, when a bright spark popped into view on the threatwell. Her eyes widened, then flicked to the ident code glyphs popping up around the speeding mote.
“ Kiken-na! ” she snapped, outraged. “Evasive action, Thai-i, cut to starboard at maximum burn.”
The lieutenants at the navigation and pilot stations were already in motion and acceleration alarm Klaxons blared the length of the ship. Naniwa ’s frame groaned, antimatter-powered drives kicking into maximum thrust, and Kosho watched, face impassive, as they cut away from intercept.
A moment later, as the g-decking stabilized, Sho-sa Oc Chac was in Command as well, sliding into his own shockchair. He seemed a little wide-eyed, given the abrupt maneuver.
“ Chu-sa?”
Susan did not answer for a moment, her face hard-set, brows furrowed. She was watching the conversation between the Naniwa ’s ’cast system and the intruder. Camera images of the oncoming ship began to unfold on her panel, and the ident system chirped, yielding a verified identification.
“IMN SDN-6 Tlemitl has joined the battle-group,” she said at last, her lips a tight, hard line. “Under the command of the Prince Imperial Xochitl, Admiral of the Fleet.” She sat back in her shockchair and forced her hands to stillness. “What is he doing here in the Firearrow ? There isn’t a 3-v camera within light-years! I should…”
“ Kyo,” Oc Chac ventured to interrupt, his black eyes curious. “Do you know the Gensui?”
“We were in school together,” Kosho bit out. And I will not tell you what I think of the Flowery Prince, his personal attributes, or his social history. She tapped her earbug angrily.
“ Chu-i Pucatli, please send appropriate greetings to Prince Xochitl aboard Tlemitl on behalf of myself and the crew of Naniwa. ”
Then she turned back to her XO. “ Sho-sa Oc, get us out of the Firearrow ’s drive plume. Send Naniwa wide, then curve back to the patrol pattern. That should avoid any radiation wake behind that behemoth.”
“ Hai, Chu-sa! ”
Susan tried to turn her attention back to reviewing the latest supplies and munitions projections from Logistics, but the constant chatter on the battle-group stellarcast-which she had spooling on one of her earbug channels-was afire with speculation. Tlemitl had not ’cast the usual greeting or pleasantries, though the massive ship’s course was clear-dead on to the Can.
The thought of Xocoyotl’s reaction to being usurped by the Prince, who outranked the vice admiral in every possible way, did lighten her mood a little. But she did not relish the prospect of managing both of them.
Sixty-two minutes later, as the Naniwa completed her course correction, an alarm sounded from the Navigation station.
“ Chu-sa! ” the navigator said sharply, looking up from his console. “Unknown signature on the plot! We have an intruder in our patrol box.”
“Where?” Thai-i Konev at Weapons looked keen to exercise his systems.
“Report,” Susan said, her voice calm and controlled. Her own displays were already adjusting, with threat analysis panes opening up. “Size-heading-something pertinent, Thai-i Holloway.”
“Pretty small, kyo, about sixty meters long. It’s piggybacking in the Tlemitl ’s wake. Signature is intermittent-” Holloway swallowed a curse, as the icon suddenly vanished from the threatwell.
“Project location from the data we’ve already captured, Thai-i. Lock heading as soon as we’ve caught sight of her again.” Kosho looked to Pucatli, who was sitting in at comm for the usual first-watch officer. “Signal battle stations to all hands, Chu-i. Immediate intercept. Unauthorized ship of unknown flag. Guns live. This is not a drill. Load missile racks one and two. Direct Socho Juarez to ready two teams for board and seizure.”
Then she sat back, feeling a cold shiver of adrenaline course through her limbs as the Klaxon sounded, and her bad mood vanished like the morning frost from the eaves. Smartly now, she thought, watching the bridge crew in action. Mitsuharu would be pleased to see their progress.
