she felt from the Imperial officer was apparent to the nauallis. Damn, Anderssen thought, her fingertips are on her sidearm! Is she going to chop him down right here?
The old Mexica’s eyes narrowed and he shifted his stance subtly. Then, apparently rallying himself, he said: “Your sensei still lives, Chu-sa, as I promised. And he prospers.”
“Proof?” Susan tilted her head slightly to one side, almond-shaped eyes bare slits gleaming with reflected light from the boat-bay.
“My word upon it.”
“Utterly without value.” Kosho’s free hand made a chopping motion. Then she glanced over at Gretchen. “Dr. Anderssen, a pleasure to see you again. Do you know what is happening here? What all of this is about?”
“I do,” Hummingbird interrupted at once.
The Chu-sa flashed a tiny, cold smile.
Gretchen wanted to smile, too, but thought it wise to mind her own business. She could feel Hummingbird’s anger starting to rise. She knew perfectly well the nauallis did not like to barter. He needs something very badly, or he would not be prepared to horse-trade. She sat down on her duffle-the console was like ice-and reached into her jacket for a Gogozen bar. Maybe I should record this, she mused, for posterity.
SOMEWHERE IN THE KUUB
Hadeishi sat in deep gloom, only the barest slivers of light shining on the pipes overhead. One boot was edged against the fuel valve at the top of an enormous tank of reaction mass, the other tucked under him as a makeshift seat. De Molay, tucked into the hammock again, was only a hand-span away, almost invisible in the darkness. The string net was suspended from a series of overhead pipes. Below them, intermittent sounds echoed up from the engineering spaces as two Khaid engineers banged around, trying to decipher the Wilful ’s control systems. Hadeishi had put the rest of their supplies-everything he could gather up in the time allowed-in another bag, which also hung from a lanyard.
A burst of harsh chatter rose up to them, and the entire ship shuddered with a sharp, reverberating clang- clang-clang. De Molay shifted, and Mitsuharu heard her whisper: “We’ve separated.”
He nodded, judging the sounds the same way. Their suspicions were confirmed a few moments later when the entire ship shivered awake and the pumps attached to the fuel tanks hummed into action. We’re on maneuvering drive, Mitsuharu thought.
His fingertips reached out, confirmed the location of the machete, and then he leaned close enough to the freighter captain to feel her faint, thready breath on the side of his face. “They are preparing to take us into hyperspace.”
Hadeishi twisted around, putting his back to her, and held up a comp he’d appropriated from one of the equipment lockers. The tiny screen displayed a telemetry feed relayed from the navigational system. The whole Khaid fleet was in motion.
“So many ships,” whispered De Molay. “That doesn’t seem like a raiding party…”
Mitsuharu shook his head. “This is a fleet. The first I’ve ever seen-or heard-of the Khaid assembling. Something-larger-is underway.”
On the display, Khaiden icons shook out into new positions.
“That is an odd formation,” De Molay wheezed, trying to find a comfortable position. The hammock swayed a little.
“They’re preparing for a hot combat jump,” Hadeishi replied softly, feeling a trickle of adrenaline start up in his heart. Old familiar feelings-ones he’d thought lost, now welcome in their return-flooded him, watching the alien ships form up. “Heavies pentahedral at the core, lights orbiting at the edge of their combat interlink range. But… what is there to attack out here? No planets, no systems… not so much as a mining enclave in range.”
De Molay snorted softly. She had recovered some color. “The hidden places are always busy, Nisei. There is an Imperial research station. Five or six light-years from here, I would venture. A secret… but not well kept, as we see.”
He looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “You were bound there yourself?”
“The Wilful? Not directly.” She tapped him gently on the shoulder with gnarled fingertips. “ Your destination, Captain Hadeishi, is a little grander… one of our sister ships should have been waiting for us at that moon. I wonder if they suffered our fate, only earlier. Unless they were delayed and have yet to reach rendezvous.”
Mitsuharu breathed deeply, calming a sudden burst of outrage. So-I’ve been deceived and carted about like a sack of meal! Hmmm… but who would want me out in this desolation?
“Ah, see? The Khaid fleet is underway.” De Molay’s voice was a bare whisper.
Indeed, the enemy was rippling out of sight into hyperspace.
“Three waves. Then us.” In this soup, Hadeishi thought, they’ll be on top of the station without the slightest warning.
He thumbed through a series of other views, tapping each ship’s system in turn. The hyperspace coil reported coordinates for transit had been locked in and the freighter was quickly approaching gradient. Mitsuharu’s eyes narrowed, but a quick flip back to the navigation feed confirmed what he’d expected-hoped!-when he’d seen the Khaid combat pattern.
We’re plotted for a different vector. For some frontier depot with a prize crew aboard. Useless in a fight, but too valuable for these scavengers to leave behind. Excellent.
He thumbed a set of commands into the hand comp, one ear listening to the banter of the Khaid technicians below them at the main engineering panel. A red glyph began to flash on the little display and he covered the icon with his thumb, ready to press.
The hyperspace coil buried two decks below keened awake. His thumb mashed down-the glyph deformed- then disappeared. The ship spun up to gradient and then-with a shudder and a queasy slide-the Wilful was away as well, racing forward at transluminal speeds.
Vector confirmed, he thought, smiling to himself.
De Molay looked up at him questioningly. “What have you done?” she mouthed.
“A detour,” he whispered. “When one door shuts, another opens.’”
ABOARD THE CAN
Kikan-shi Helsdon, formerly 2nd Engineer on the IMN DD-217 Calexico, squinted against the glare of a pair of work lights to see if he could help the shipnet specialist crammed down in the cramped bottom of a holotank housing. “Do we need to run in more power?”
The specialist coughed, his face spotted with flecks of data crystal interface cable. The sound echoed tinnily in the confined space. “Modelers always need more power, Engineer. And memory. And room. And… how long before somebody comes down here wanting to see a life-size model of the whole damned kuub?”
The other Mirror technicians in the upper chamber laughed. They were busy laying down conduit and hooking up racks of portable computation engines into the shipnet. The whine of cutting saws echoed from the outer corridor, along with the pang-pang-pang of a nail gun tacking up temporary wall sections.
Helsdon tried to grin. “Maybe we should have looked around when we appropriated this threatwell tank. Who knows what else Logistics threw in when they loaded up?”
“I could use less chatter in here,” one of the other techs muttered, “and more computational help. The volume of this flux data is unbelievable. We’re saturating the storage interface!”
“One moment,” Helsdon replied, wiping his hands clean. “Got a place for me to work?” He crossed to a computer station jammed in next to the pair of double doors leading into the chamber and took a handheld v-pane unit from the Mirror technician.
The sandy-haired engineer had barely sat down on the floor-no chairs were available-and started to drill down into the configuration of the interfaces when three figures appeared, their imposing bulk blocking the entire
