wooden bokuto when they ambushed him at prayer. Not one of them believed he was truly in danger.
The Kader cut her main drives, lighting off a hard deceleration burn as soon as the ship had rotated aspect. Inudo laid the light cruiser into the shadow of the Tlemitl as they slowed. Hadeishi watched him handle the old Spear -class cruiser with great appreciation. The helmsman was exceeding himself today, despite wrestling with an archaic control system. The Nisei officer was gladdened by his men’s undaunted spirit.
“All boat-bay doors open, recovery teams stand by,” Mitsuharu ordered. Then he tapped open a broadcast channel to the cloud of Imperial evac capsules hiding in the shelter of the stricken flagship. “All Imperial survivors, stand by for identity confirmation.”
ABOARD THE MOULINS
IN THE GARBAGE CHUTE
Green Hummingbird found himself in the tiny mess area of the freighter, two seats down from the kaffe dispenser, his hands secured with a pair of zipcuffs. The Fleet marines remaining aboard had sorted themselves out-three were on the bridge, one was keeping an eye on the nauallis and the shipcore, while the remaining man was downdeck in engineering. All of them had armored up while the first team deployed into the landing chamber, but the men inside the ship had slung their helmets over their shoulders on a lanyard.
No one, the old Nahuatl observed, likes breathing their own recycled waste.
For his part, Hummingbird was sitting quietly, being as unobtrusive as possible, while the marines and the crew went about their business. Captain Locke and his men, particularly Piet the navigator, had acquired a still, waiting quality over the last hour. The marines were all listening to the chatter of the Prince and his party banging around amongst the dead corridors of the artifact. The expedition had been dropping repeaters at every junction as they moved. The Europeans-Hummingbird had made careful note that all of the freighter crew were of a distinct genotype-were listening as well, but for something else.
The old Nahuatl could do nothing at the moment-guarded and bound as he was-but Hummingbird could let himself become aware of the tenor of men’s voices, the speed and direction of their movements, even their smell if they passed by close enough. What he absorbed from all of this was troubling. The very character of the Moulin ’s crew had gradually transformed from the ne’er-do-well collection of roustabouts he and Anderssen had first encountered, to a far more focused team with a well-defined air of something he could only describe as fierce intent.
They, too, have a mission here. One unknown to the Prince, or he would have warned his men.
The great unknown in the nauallis’ mind was-were they Maltese, or some other as-yet-unknown faction who had decided to step into the great game? The Knights he believed he understood and could manage, if they kept their tempers, but if it were some other organization? There is no path to take, yet, while they-ah, now, how interesting!
From his vantage in the mess, Hummingbird could pick out the respiration of the navigator and Captain Locke on the bridge, as well as two crewmen climbing up from downdeck. And in this very moment, each of the four men was breathing quietly and deeply in unison.
Now, a path is opening. Hummingbird tensed without open movement, preparing for violence.
“Captain, want a kaffe?”
Through the hatch opening onto the bridge, the nauallis saw the gray-eyed Pilot stand up, his motions easy and assured. Captain Locke looked over from his console, shaking his head. “No, not right now. But-”
Without the slightest hesitation, Piet slapped a gel-tab against the neck of the marine watching the main boards. The man stiffened, paralyzed before he could shout a warning. The Imperial toppled backward into Captain Locke’s waiting arms. Hummingbird, watching with interest, noted that both civilians moved with an admirable and soundless efficiency.
The other two marines on the bridge were out of sight, but Piet and Locke both produced slender, matte- black pistols from their jackets-sighted-and there was an almost unnoticed pfft. A series of clunking sounds followed, which drew the attention of the marine Heicho sitting across the mess from Hummingbird. The corporal rose, shipgun in his hand, eyes swinging to check the nauallis, then darting back to the two crewmen coming up the gangway-they were chattering about a zenball scandal on Langkasuka colony-and in that moment of inattention, Piet was behind him. Another gel-tab downed the Imperial, and the two crewmen were across the mess deck at a run to secure the fallen marine.
Locke emerged from the bridge, exchanged a series of complex hand motions with the other three-patterns which, to Hummingbird’s great interest, were neither Fleet nor Army battlesign-and then remained behind while Piet and one of the other men disappeared down the gangway.
Ignoring the old Nahuatl, Locke and the remaining crewman dragged the three marines from the bridge and lined up all four men in the middle of the mess area. When the captain removed a breakerbox from his jacket, Hummingbird decided that he was impressed by Locke’s resources and expertise. These men can only be Knights out of New Malta, and see-he is being so very careful not to violate the compact between the Grand Master and the Emperor.
To that end, Locke shorted out the combat armor on all three marines before tucking the tool away.
“Deft,” Hummingbird said quietly, watching the Maltese with intense interest. “Am I still a captive?”
Locke nodded as he removed the comm crystals from the marines’ headsets and pocketed them. When he did look up, his greenish eyes were cold. “The Old One said you would be carrying the tablet, but you’re not. Regardless, the Saints smile upon us. Better by far for her to be his messenger than one of your kind.”
Hummingbird’s eyebrows rose and he shifted slightly, testing the zipcuffs. Patience! he reminded himself. The Templar raised the slim little weapon. One pfft and Hummingbird felt a chill wash over him. Then… darkness.
DEEP WITHIN THE SUNFLOWER
The very long hallway ended in a sloping wall of dark metal pierced by a triangular door. This particular portal seemed to have become jammed, for at the top of the triangle they could see a portion of the valve itself. The edges of the massive frame were also mottled and streaked with carbon scoring and sections of the metal had melted before cooling into odd shapes. Beyond the door, illuminated by the hard white radiance of their helmet and hand lights, stood a nonagonal chamber of moderate size-only thirty or forty meters across.
“Nine walls.” The Prince’s voice was filled with irritation. “Three was sacred to them, then? And a dead end, Doctor.”
“I think, Lord Prince, that they are doors,” Gretchen amended. “All alike save this one, which has been damaged.”
“Massive.” Xochitl did not spit on the floor, but his impatience was very clear.
“They fought hard here.” Cuauhhuehueh Koris traced his light across the signs of ancient battle-huge discolorations from plasma discharges covered the walls, there were melted panels here and there, and the inlaid floor was scored with deep gouges. The Jaguar Knight dug at the wall with his monofilament combat knife, but left no mark. “Huh!”
Sahane offered no comment, standing amid them with his shoulders tucked in, radiating unease.
The glyphs and signs ghosting across Anderssen’s vision pointed her to the right, collecting like ephemeral birds over a collection of interlocking triangles scribed into the floor.
“Which way?” the Prince snarled, nervously swinging his assault rifle from side to side. “Is this a transit nexus? Swede, all we need is-what are you doing?”
Gretchen had nudged Sahane down onto the floor, just where he could step onto the triangles illuminated by her hand light. At the touch of the Hjogadim’s boot, there was an almost imperceptible tremor. Eight of the walls shuddered, spilling faint clouds of dust into the air. Behind them, the triangular door slid down with unexpected violence, grinding along hidden tracks with a squeal. The party turned in alarm, their lights sending a cluster of
