And Wind Sabre was sandwiched between them.
“Full speed and up!” she yelled, modifying her previous order. “Or we’re in their crossfire!”
The deck shifted below them as Tisker pulled hard on the altitude lever. Talis bent one knee, leaned toward the bow to maintain her balance. The others matched the motion or grabbed onto something for stability. Absently, she remembered the mess of charts she’d left out on the table in her cabin. Course-plotting tools loose and likely flying across the decking with the pitch of the ship. Shameful poor ship-keeping for a captain. The ring, at least, was protected in a small box she’d set atop her desk.
Dug recovered his balance and made his way to watch position at the bow, leaving Talis to aid Tisker as needed with the rigging. Scrimshaw stayed where xe was, holding fast to a railing to keep xist-self upright. Those hands were not made for gripping and pulling thick, coarse rope lines.
Meran had disappeared again, probably following after one of the others, or maybe aloft on the weather deck to watch the fleets converge.
As they lifted off the Horizon altitude, Talis saw that the aliens were moving slower than the Cutter welcoming party, those beautiful flower-petal ships fragile against the wind resistance of higher speed.
Beauty is impractical, she thought, and of all things Yu’Nyun. A simple cannon mounted with heavy bolts might have done the trick.
With a shout, Sophie descended from the lift envelope on a pulleyed line, the scope tucked into her belt. “Those aren’t Imperials!”
“What do you mean?”
The girl landed on the deck, her balance perfect even on this tilt.
“Well, they are, but they aren’t.” She handed Talis the scope again. “Got some new colors flying alongside the old—look.”
Talis raised an eyebrow at her but brought the spyglass back to her eye and leaned her hips against Wind Sabre’s railing for balance.
Sophie was right. On every ship, flown above the Cutter Imperial fleet’s usual flag, was a simple white one. Not a truce banner, though. It featured an oxblood red herald against a cream white field. Nothing she’d ever seen before, but if these were Hankirk’s friends.…
“Veritors of the Lost Codex,” she said, lowering the scope to watch the crews hustle about their business on the deck of the flagship. “I’d bet our run’s entire fortune on it.”
“No fortune in that,” said Sophie, and then worked her mouth as if something unpleasant was stuck to her gums.
“Aye,” Talis agreed. “Let’s at least be reassured they’re going to get some hurt delivered by those alien ships.”
“You actually want the aliens to win, Captain?”
It was more a rhetorical question, but such a nasty thought. It sent an instant queasy guilt through her gut, and she couldn’t leave it without response.
“Those Yu’Nyun teeth won’t be broken by any punch we can throw at them. If someone’s got to take the first hit, let it be Hankirk’s ilk, don’t you think? It’ll give us a chance to get to Onaya Bone before they clean up here and turn on Nexus.”
Sophie didn’t say what she thought. Scrimshaw offered no counsel. Together they watched, without further comment, as the two lines approached each other.
The Veritor fleet, suited to atmospheric travel, closed more than half the distance, so that Wind Sabre was behind their line when they came to a coordinated all-stop. Tisker leveled the deck at their higher vantage point. Scrimshaw held back as Talis and Sophie crossed to the port railing, which now afforded a view of both forces.
Silent moments hung heavy in the air.
Nothing happened.
“What are they waiting for?” Sophie looked to Scrimshaw.
The two armadas had each had plenty of time to size the other up, and the aliens had come with a clear purpose, even if Talis was starting to wonder about that of the Veritors. The local fleet was well within range of the aliens to fire their cannons now. She had to imagine they’d been within the aliens’ cannon range for twice the distance, if not the entire time.
Yet the ships sat, bobbing gently but holding formation. In the scope, the crews looked alert, most of them turned to the alien ships. But a crew anticipating a firefight ought to be readying weapons, or standing by with lit fuses, or even glancing about as a man might when he wonders who will launch the first volley.
“They’re not…” Talis started to say, slowly, under her breath, in wonder.
“They’re coordinating a course and attack.” Scrimshaw joined them at the railing.
Talis cursed under her breath. It was all she could manage. She should have known.
The Yu’Nyun ships rotated in place, angling their noses Nexus-ward.
At the same time, the Veritor fleet came about, maintaining their formation as they took the lead.
Together, the fleets gained speed to cruising velocity, and the glittering cloud of alien starships followed the subverted Imperial airships in an advance on Nexus.
“You wanna tell me what in Arthel’s furnace I just witnessed?”
Talis stood before Hankirk in the brig, arms crossed, feet squared. Knees slightly bent, as though she expected turbulence.
Dug was with her, standing on her left and just slightly behind. No way she was going to get into another one of Hankirk’s ex-boyfriend chats by being alone with him.
Meran had appeared as well, and sat on one of the supply crates fastened against the port bulkhead. One foot pulled up, her right arm casually resting on it. Her other leg dangled, knee straight, bare foot just skimming the decking. She leaned back on the other arm and watched them. Her eyes always calculating. That alien mechanical brain always humming under her native appearance. Well, native except for the light she radiated from those markings, softly illuminating the dark corner of the unlit cargo hold.
Hankirk was watching Meran, his dark eyes fully reflecting her strange blue glow.
He’d gone back to acting the part of the pompous Imperial, and Talis was glad she hadn’t
