was going to have to have a talk with Jax.
It wasn’t easy to get back to my work. White-haired visions kept interfering. Finally, I walked over to the closet and opened the door. On the mirror mounted there, I tried to see what Suli had seen. 170 centimeters. Thinning hair. I’d always had a stocky build, but where had that paunch come from? Twenty kilos overweight. Funny I hadn’t noticed the grimness around the mouth before.
I visualized an ebon goddess standing next to me; then I dismissed the vision. It was just too ludicrous. “Val,” I told myself, “There's no fool like an old fool!” I closed up the office and went to get a drink. Several drinks.
In fact, it got pretty drunk out that night.
Though the transmitting and receiving equipment is no problem, the equipment to initiate a subspace connection is incredibly expensive; I’d heard figures approaching the annual gross domestic product of a reasonably developed planet. That’s why I was surprised to be informed that the Viceroy wanted to talk to me on subspace. I wasn’t aware that the capability existed here on the rim. I reminded myself I shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, Cord was an Imperial Viceroy. Come to think of it, there might even be an initiator at the Fleet base on Thaeron.
I hurried down to the com room. A life-sized image of Cord sat behind a nonexistent desk. “Good Morning, Commodore,” he began pleasantly.
“Uh, good evening, sir,” I replied. I was still trying to cope with the fact that Cord was on Haven, three jumps away, yet we were communicating instantly.
Cord seemed to read my mind. He smiled. “You’ll get used to it, Commodore. By the time we’ve finished here, you’ll be an old hand at subspace communication.”
I grinned. “Calling to see how much of your money I’m spending, Viceroy? Or to tell me I’m under arrest?”
His political smile relaxed into one that was genuine. “I know how much you’ve been spending, Commodore. And what you’re spending it on. No, this is something urgent enough to require subspace.
“A ship has appeared in Haven’s system. A Destroyer. It claims to be the Predator. Jonas does, indeed, have a destroyer named Predator assigned to him. The ship is claiming to be manned by deserters from Thaeron. They’re asking for me, of course, but what I find especially interesting is that they’re also asking for you. Do you have any idea how they would know that you even exist? I was under the impression that we went to some pains to make sure you were a surprise.”
I flushed with embarrassment. “Uh, I may have told them, sir. Unintentionally. Did they mention what they wanted?”
An eyebrow rose. “Indeed? We may need to have a talk about security, Commodore.” The sardonic expression disappeared. “All that they said was that they had to warn me — and you. I led them to believe I’d been notified of their arrival by subspace. I ordered the Captain not to approach Haven, but to reverse course and report with all possible speed to you at Outback. I have been notified that they are obeying, and are driving at nearly 2g to the primary jump point for Outback.”
I thought for a moment. “With military jump engines and computers, they can make it in two jumps — say, three days. I’ll be ready for them, sir. If they’re sincere, a destroyer would make a welcome addition to our fleet.”
“If they’re not,” Cord replied, “your gunners may get some live fire practice. Take no unnecessary chances, Commodore. At the slightest suspicion of trouble, destroy that ship! I’m sending my yacht along to you, Commodore. It has the only other nonmilitary subspace initiator in the sector. My captain tells me it should arrive around the same time as the destroyer. It could be slightly before or slightly after. Please don’t let one of your trigger-happy warriors destroy it — it’s very valuable. The ship’s artificial intelligence will show you how to use the equipment. I will expect a report as soon as you know what’s going on.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” I replied in my crispest kaydet tones. “As soon as I know what’s going on, you will, sir.”
“I’d better!” His image disappeared. I hurried out of the comm room. I had work to do.
Valkyrie ’s conversion was complete. She now fairly bristled with comm and sensor gear. In addition, we had six of the rim tramps converted and armed, and over sixty of the mining boats.
I called a briefing for all the ship captains and boat pilots. I began by telling them about Predator, that she appeared to have defected, and that she was on her way here.
“There are three major jump points from which Predator could emerge,” I continued. “We have two ships for each jump point, and nearly twenty mining boats for each point, if we can get them there.” I outlined the tactical situation. Valkyrie would have to hang back to at least a thousand kilometers to provide a safety margin against collisions.
“If the destroyer appears at your jump point,” I ordered, “Both tramps will drive toward it a max boost; but you will stop at 500 kilometers. The boats, meanwhile, will close to 50 kilometers, and hold at that point.”
I turned to the rowdy, undisciplined miners. “Boat pilots, when I say hold, I do not mean simply sit stationary relative to the ship. I want you to keep maneuvering. Avoid letting the gunners lock onto you.” I grinned. “Sheol, give ‘em a show!” Cheering broke out, and I had to wait until they calmed down. “Give ‘em a show,” I repeated, “But do not fire. I say again, do not fire unless fired upon! These people may be friends. Even so, this will be an excellent opportunity to practice against real Fleet equipment, personnel, and weapons. I’ve seen you boys make those boats dance. Show the Fleet a nice fighter dance!” Cheering and whistling broke out again.
The miners weren’t trained and disciplined troops; they were a nonmilitary rabble who happened to be able to make a boat do incredible things. So, instead of orders, they needed pep talks. I hoped that none of them would get excited and take a shot at the destroyer. I repeated that hope many times in the next three days, as we prepared for the destroyer’s arrival. With such short warning, the ships and boats had to boost immediately to get to the jump points in time. It was no problem for the ships, but it meant that the boat pilots had to live in their suits and their tiny cockpits for a minimum of several days.
We had made rudimentary plans to use Valkyrie as a sort of mother ship for the boats: a place where the pilots could load aboard, climb out of that cramped cockpit and get a hot meal or even a shower. Now, those plans had to be implemented with no notice and no preparation. I thanked all the odd gods of the galaxy for Valkyrie ’s huge cargo hatches.
Valkyrie was designed to set down in the middle of a battle to resupply troops. DIN-class cargo carriers were the largest ships that could routinely ground. Anything larger was strictly orbit-to — orbit.
To give the haulers at least a minimal chance of survival, and more importantly, to make sure that the troops got their supplies before the ship was destroyed, the DIN-class ships had a specially strengthened frame. The hull plates over the holds actually formed huge doors, hinged at the bottom. When opened, these formed ramps that permitted the loading and unloading of heavy cargo such as tanks without special handling equipment. We’d never used them. The normal cargo hatches were better suited to the handling equipment used by all ground-based and orbital ports than the orange-segment hatches.
Now, they could work. Oh, not the way they were envisioned, but there was a way we could use them. As we drove for the jump points, boats pulled up, we opened the hull, and they settled into the holds, a dozen at a time. Close the doors, pressurize the holds, and the pilots got their breaks, and more important, could refuel. We used very strict rotations, and by the time we reached the jump points near the edge of the system, Valkyrie was the most popular ship on the rim.
Valkyrie 's crew now numbered twenty, but we still weren’t cramped; a full military crew had been fifty-four. I’d had a crew meeting aboard, and had warned all male personnel that ‘no’ meant ‘no’, and that no female crewmember owed them anything. I’d carried on at some length until I realized that I was sounding like the demented parent of some teenager.
Suli had been as good as her word. Of course, she wasn’t the only female crewmember aboard, which took a bit of pressure off her, but she screwed up her courage and actually approached crewmen to introduce herself. Most of the men, of course, had been dumbfounded to be approached by such a spectacular woman, and had fumbled for words. Only one idiot mistook her approach for a pass, and she was gentle about rebuffing him — well, relatively gentle. The arm wasn't broken.
I happened to be in the mess deck when Suli and Jax came in, already deep in conversation. Jax was babbling enthusiastically, and Suli was patiently tolerating his interest.
Jax had never encountered anyone as different as Suli, and he was asking her questions that were much too
