Outside, the cloakskin on the Chusexx’s exterior, usually tasked with keeping the ship as invisible as possible, instead flashed and shimmered a dazzling splash of color in every shade from the infrared through the ultraviolet, programed to match in frequency and time with the song as it was performed in real time. It was an honor usually only exchanged between ships of the Dark Ocean Fleet at the conclusion of a successful expedition as they parted ways for their home harbors. No human had ever lived to witness it in seventy years. It was unprecedented. But then, so were the events of the last few days. What more appropriate time would there be?
The final crescendo ended and silence descended on the mind cavern once more until it stretched out awkwardly.
“Hurg, is the link active?” Thuk whispered.
“Yes, Derstu.”
“That was [implausible/incredible] Thuk,” Susan said at last. “Please. Thank your harmony for us.” She paused again. “I [aspire/regret] we have no song reply. But, please accept.”
Kivits sat up in his alcove. “Derstu, the Ansari’s defensive systems have just gone active.”
“What?”
“They’re energizing short-range claws!”
The human ship’s mass-driver claws were small, meant to swat down incoming javelins, but still powerful enough to pierce several layers of armor and breach the outer caverns.
“Are we inside their reach?” Thuk asked.
“Easily.”
“Evacuate the outer caverns and seal—”
“Too late! They’re firing!”
All eyes stuck themselves to the display ringing the mind cavern, tuned to the visible light spectrum. The Ansari had indeed begun firing. Seven small mass-driver nodes along the side of the human vessel facing the Chusexx fired in unison. Once. Twice. Three times.
Then, the nodes fell silent.
“Do we have tracking on those impactors?” Thuk shouted.
“We do, and they’re … flying wide.”
“Say again?”
“They’re going to miss us, by a wide berth. Intentionally, I think. They couldn’t have missed at this range. It was a display.”
Thuk leaned back in his chair and let the unexpected tension drain from his limbs. “No. It was a salute. Their answer to our ‘Forked Path Lament.’ Seven shots. Three times. How interesting.”
“Interesting?” Kivits raged. “No wonder we ended up at war with these people. Leave it to humans to use live-fire weapons in a friendly parting salute!”
Susan reclined in her command chair and absently rubbed the armrests.
“I think that went rather well. Wouldn’t you agree, XO?”
“Swimmingly, mum. Just one quibble.”
“Which is?”
“The twenty-one-gun salute is traditionally reserved for visiting heads of state or CEOs.”
“True, but the Xre don’t know that. Besides, I thought it added a certain gravity to the proceedings.”
“The Chusexx is coming about,” Mattu said from the Drone Integration Station. “Bearing shortest course for the treaty line. Fusion rockets warming up.”
“Should I plot an escort course for once our shuttle is back aboard, mum?” Broadchurch asked.
“No, we’ve said our goodbyes. Let them head off into the sunset on their own. But Scopes, assign a platform to keep pace with them until they hit the line. Discreetly.”
“Yes, mum.”
“Everyone else, we have reports to write. I want everything ready to download to the skip drone by 1700 so we can get it underway.”
“The analysts are going to have kittens when they see the raw data and vid captures from inside that thing,” Miguel said proudly.
“Kittens? They’re going to have heart attacks. Speaking of heart attacks, has anyone checked in on our CL since I sent him to bed without supper two days ago?”
“Still sulking in his quarters under guard, mum.”
Susan got to her feet and straightened her tunic. “I’d better go let him out of time-out, then.” She nodded to the marine by the hatch and made the short trip down the hall and one ladderwell to the executive quarters on J deck, not four cabins down from her own. A marine guard stood watch outside Nesbit’s door, sidearm strapped to her side.
“You’re dismissed, Private. Take the rest of your watch off.”
“Thank you, mum.” The guard saluted and made her way to the lift. Susan keyed the com next to the hatch.
“Javier, are you busy?”
There was a delay before the light blinked an open circuit. “I’m sorry, Captain, but between brunch and this afternoon’s squash tournament, I just can’t fit you in until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“Just open the door, Nesbit.” Susan leaned on one foot as muffled footsteps approached and the hatch spun open with a creak, then swung inward.
“Captain,” Nesbit said icily.
“CL. May I come in?”
“It’s your ship, isn’t it? I think that’s been made clear. Why bother with the little courtesies?”
“Because the little courtesies keep the crew from throttling each other in their sleep.”
Nesbit scowled, but stepped aside and waved her in. His quarters were only slightly smaller than her own in terms of cubic meters, but the sheer volume of … stuff, made them seem far more claustrophobic. In place of the military-issue furniture, there was a leather chaise longue, a highbacked chair covered in crushed red velvet, and an oak table that nearly took up the entire kitchenette. A bookshelf covered the entire far wall, stacked two-deep with hardcovers, all of which could have fit onto a single tablet with ten thousand more titles to spare. A set of golf clubs sat in an expensive leather bag propped up against a corner, despite the nearest golf course being ten light-years away.
It was enough crap to fill a decent-sized apartment crammed into a space no larger than the average living room. It was like Nesbit had tried to pack his entire life and bring it along with him into his exile out here in the black.
Maybe it was exactly that simple. Needless to say, the total weight of all that clutter far exceeded the mass allotment crewmembers were permitted for personal items, to say nothing of the paper books and wood table, which were a flagrant violation of the prohibitions on flammable materials aboard a warship. Susan thought about calling the marine guard back to help her box it all up and shove
