fated Hoon Number Two.
Having received the request, the machine intelligence spent a quarter of a second thinking about it. The idea had obviously originated with the “human” soft body, and while it seemed like a waste of time, there were reasons to approve it. True to its nature, the Hoon listed them in descending order of importance: The being called Jepp had not only been useful where the elimination of Hoon Number Two was concerned, but had proven his willingness to slaughter the Thraki, and never stopped advocating the necessity for other others to do likewise. Add that to the new soft body’s ability to communicate via code—and the Hoon was ready to indulge the strange twosome. Veera cocked her head, listened, and made the translation. “The Hoon says ‘yes.* A shuttle awaits.”
Jepp gave a whoop of joy, jumped into the air, and landed with a thump. “Come on! Let’s get ready!”
Veera uttered the Prithian equivalent of a sigh, waited for Sam to scramble up onto her shoulder, and followed the alien toward his quarters. Once again, her father was proven correct: humans were a pain in the posterior.
The control area was neat, but homey, as if those assigned to it lived there, which they basically did. There were monitors, gently curving control panels, and holes into which the pilots and other crew members could insert their hands. Once positioned within a laser beam matrix, the ship’s Navcomp
“read” the complicated hand finger signals that controlled not only the vessel itself, but the various subsystems of which it was comprised.
Convoy CommanderPolBaySeph struggled to maintain her composure as alarms sounded, hatches hissed closed, and her crew went to battle stations. She should have been focused on the situation, on the fact that her forlorn group of stragglers had been overtaken by what appeared to be the entire Sheen fleet, but was filled with self-pity instead. Why now? After so many years had been left behind? After the fire that once burned in her eyes had dimmed? Why had the gods waited till now to fling the challenge in her face? Not that it mattered, since even a younger version of herself would have been helpless in the face of such an enemy.
Subcommander Ith Tor Homa shook her shoulder. It was a serious breach of etiquette and a sure sign of how desperate he was. “Commander! Every captain in the convoy requests orders . . . what shall I tell them?”
Seph glanced at a display. Once the Sheen were detected, she had ordered the convoy to land in the hope that they could avoid detection. The ships were arrayed around her. There were no signs of life on the airless planet, and the enemy was closing in. She felt like telling her captains to pray, since there was nothing else they could do, but she knew the unyielding younger version of herself, would almost certainly disapprove.
Seph was about to offer some sort of meaningless platitude when a holo popped into existence in the upper right hand quadrant of her command space. The technical looked worried. “Commander, I have an incoming message ... A Sheen envoy is on the way.”
Seph was surprised. Very surprised. Not by the arrogance involved—that was expected—but by the act itself. Why send an envoy when there’s nothing to negotiate? The Sheen never took prisoners, never made deals, and never showed mercy. The convoy was doomed. What were the machines up to? There was no way to know.
An envoy implied time, however, time the officer never expected to have, and she was determined to make good use of it. Years seemed to drop away. She felt younger and filled with energy. “Homa, you wanted some orders? Well, here they are: I want every youngster under the age of sixteen to suit up, grab what they can, and head for the hills. Any hilts. Got it? Good.
“The minute that effort is under way have the technicals alter all of the crew manifests, supply inventories, and other lists to reflect the reduced muster.
“While the technicals work on that have someone clean out their cabins and destroy anything they can’t take with them. And Homa...”
“Yes?”
“Prep some class two beacons. I want them to activate thirty cycles from now. Maybe, just maybe, one of our ships will happen along.”
Homa considered the possibilities ... Death at the hands of the Sheen—or by slow starvation. Which was worse? The decision was made, so it didn’t matter. He saluted, said “Yes, ma’am,” and turned away.” His daughter was on one of those ships . .. and there was no time to lose. Like the Sheen shuttles Jepp had used in the past, this one was equipped with a small almost perfunctory control space consisting of little more than a view screen, minimal controls, and a pair of uncomfortable seats.
Unlike previous outings, however, was the fact that Veera had agreed to accompany him and, after a quick survey of the lifeless control panel, had warbled a series of seemingly random notes. The human watched in annoyance as four additional displays appeared. One showed the relative positions of the shuttle, the planet they were about to land on, and the Thraki ships. The second consisted of colored bars that fluctuated in length. There was no way to be certain, short of asking Veera that is, but Jepp figured each bar was associated with one of the shuttle’s major systems. The third display shimmered with color but remained blank, as if not in use, and the fourth, which the human found to be especially interesting, scrolled through line after line of alien hieroglyphics. Jepp had seen similar symbols before, printed on bulkheads, hatches, and other surfaces, but never obtained a large enough sample to attempt some sort of analysis.
He was about to signal Sam and order the robot to record the alien text, when the surface rose to meet them. The planet was barren and seemingly lifeless. A mountain range stretched from north to south. It rose sharp and jagged—like the teeth of a saw blade. And, judging from the nav display, twelve Thraki ships waited up ahead, grounded at the bottom of a monster crater. In order to hide? Probably, though the attempt had been futile.
