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The Dark Crusade (excerpt 3)
April 2422
Zor’a System
The High Lord’s rescue of Byar on the Plane of Sleep, along with
the conversation with Laura Ibarra, made Jackie restless; it might have
brought about the dream that came to her a few nights later. However,
she wasn’t willing to completely credit her own internal emotions:
Stone’s people had manipulated dreams before and she had no doubt
that they would do so again.
In the dream she found herself walking along the parapets of Sanctuary,
but it was not the familiar landscape she had seen first in her Dsen’yen’ch’a
and then many times afterward: beyond the walls were rugged mountains
framed by the deep darkness of anGa’e’ren.
As she paused to look at the scene, she felt the sound of wings, and turned
to see a zor landing nearby. It was a figure she knew well and didn’t
expect to ever see again.
“si . . . Th’an’ya?”
She stepped forward and grasped forearms with Th’an’ya, whom
she had last seen walking toward esLi’s Golden Light on
the gyaryu.
“I ask eight thousand pardons in coming to you in this way,”
she said, stepping back. “I hope that I do not disturb you.”
“I didn’t expect to ever see you again,” Jackie answered.
“Didn’t you go to esLi?”
“Servants of esLi can walk here as well as esGa’uYal,”
Th’an’ya answered, placing her wings in a position of honor
to esLi.
“What is this place?” Jackie already thought she knew the
answer.
“This is the Plane of Sleep – and in this place, this echo
of Sanctuary, something is to happen.”
“That’s appropriately vague.”
“I never became completely accustomed to your dry wit,” Th’an’ya
said, letting her wings relax into the Stance of Comradeship. “There
is some event that involves you – and another as well. Someone close
to both of us.”
“If this is my subconscious talking,” Jackie answered, glancing
over her shoulder at the darkness beyond, “then I’d guess
we’d be talking about se Th’an’ya.”
“My daughter,” Th’an’ya said. “She causes
you much disquiet. She is full of anger, but that is not what is troubling
you.”
“I’m afraid of what’s going to happen to her. I think
she’s headed for some shNa’es’ri, and I can’t
foresee the outcome.”
“What has happened?”
Jackie shrugged, not sure why she had to explain the situation to her
own unconscious mind. “I don’t know where she’s gone,”
Jackie said. “And I’m worried about what she might do.”
“You are worried,” Th’an’ya answered, “that
you have no control over what is to come.”
“That’s an oversimplification. I’m not her keeper, and
I can’t direct events. I am in the employ of the High Nest, and
do what they tell me to do.”
“And what are they telling you now?”
“I haven’t received any direction.”
“Are you sure?”
“In twenty-five years at the High Nest, I’ve never been sure
about anything. I expect that at some point, hi Sa’a will
receive a dream –“
“Do you think she is the only one who receives dreams?”
“She’s the only one that receives dreams that guide the Flight
of the People,” Jackie answered. “The only one whose dreams
mean anything.”
“Your first statement is true,” Th’an’ya said.
“But others have dreams that are meaningful . . . this one, for
instance.”
“Are you trying to tell me –”
Th’an’ya raised her wings in a stance that suggested that
she was awaiting a sSurch’a on Jackie’s part.
“What are you trying to tell me? What am I trying to tell myself?
That I can’t stand by while things happen that are out of my control
anyway?” She spread her arms wide. “What should I do –
go after her and bring her back?”
“If there is a decision that she must make, would it not be better
if you were there to advise her?”
“She doesn’t listen to anyone.”
“She listens to you,” Th’an’ya said.
“Even if she often discounts what you say, she respects you as Gyaryu’har
and Qu’uYar.”
“Her favorite word is ‘Pah’.”
“Nonetheless,” Th’an’ya said. “She listens.”
“A wise person once told me ‘that the ear does not hear is
not the fault of the voice.’ Are you telling me that some of what
I say gets through that arrogant skull of hers?”
“I am saying, se Jackie, that the most difficult thing
for any friend to do is to speak when silence is desired. She may say
that her ear does not hear, but I believe otherwise . . . and in any case,
it is not your voice that is at fault.”
“So what you’re telling me is that I need to speak to her,
to tell her what I think –“
“And to hear her voice as well. If you are correct – if there
is indeed a shNa’es’ri ahead for my daughter –
then she may fare better if you are there for her to hear.”
“I’d like to believe that.”
“I think,” Th’an’ya said, “you already do.”
Th’an’ya then lowered her wings in a posture of respect and
turned away, walking and then flying into the mist. Jackie watched her
until she was out of sight, and then the dream drifted away as well.
---
Just before leaving Zor’a, she’d had a brief conversation
with the High Lord at A’alu Spaceport in the High Lord’s private
suite overlooking the main concourse. Jackie had made up her mind to follow
Ch’en’ya, but hi Sa’a wasn’t just there
to see her off: more to argue against the idea of pursuit.
“I appreciate your concern for Younger Sister Ch’en’ya,
se Jackie,” she’d said. “But do you not wish
for intel to do its job?”
“I want to hear the story directly from her.”
“Will it sound more convincing that way?”
“It might.”
“Imperial Intelligence is searching for se Ch’en’ya.
They are concerned –“ the High Lord’s wings shifted
very slightly – “about a security breach. They are unlikely
to be happy with . . . what would it be termed in Standard? ‘Playing
cowboy?’”
“I’m not –“
“You are,” Sa’a interrupted, gently. She placed
her wings in a stance of honor – concerned, perhaps, that she might
offend her Gyaryu’har with her bluntness. “Whether
the Third Deputy Director endorses your actions or merely chooses to avoid
criticizing them, Imperial Intelligence will not find favor with a lone
operative interfering with their investigations.”
“They don’t understand what’s at stake here.”
“I suspect that they do.”
“And in any case, I’m not interfering – I’m
going as a private citizen.”
“With the gyaryu at your belt.”
“I can’t very well leave it behind,” Jackie answered,
placing her hand on the hilt.
“No, I suppose not.” Sa’a turned away and looked through
the one-way glass at zor and humans and occasional rashk, moving from
one place to another. “I . . . understand that you are driven by
dreams. I am familiar with that sensation: is that what placed you on
this flight?”
“I think my mind was already made up beforehand.”
Sa’a did not answer, but merely turned to face Jackie, her wings
placed in a posture of regret.
---
Kensington Starbase
Kensington System
“Hellespont?” The Harbormaster of Kensington Starbase,
a middle-aged ex-navy man named Kendall, took a moment to look at Jackie
when he said the name of the ship. “Yes, I remember.” He flipped
his comp into his hand and said, “Hellespont. Transit details,
format 6,” then walked to a console on one side of the room and
waved the comp over a sensor.
Kensington Starbase had been an important naval base in a war zone a hundred
Standard years ago, but now it was a civilian facility handling the transit
of thousands of vessels every day. They were standing in the base’s
C-and-C, a enormous room four or five times the size of a fleet carrier’s
bridge, located at the very top of the long spindle that pierced the wheel
where the ships docked.
The ship registry data appeared in the air. Thanks to Laura Ibarra she’d
seen the data before; there was still something nagging her about it,
but she hadn’t been able to put her finger on it.
“What was Hellespont’s destination?”
“Right there.” Kendall jabbed a finger at a set of coordinates
halfway down the display. “Crozier System, from the look of it –
outside the Empire. Hellespont is headed for the war zone.”
Kendall was in constant motion: he had a comp on a wrist bracelet that
he flipped into his hand with long-practiced skill, passing orders to
his underlings without even turning aside to look at them.
“Why would a merchanter head for the war zone?”
“You’d be surprised.” Kendall raised an eyebrow, looked
her up and down. “Yes, I expect you would be surprised.
Soldiers buy things too – Crozier’s out of the line of fire,
well, to the extent that anyplace is – and there isn’t an
army or navy in the history of mankind that didn’t have merchanters
and service providers following along like hiaroo nipping at its heels.”
The hiaroo was a little domesticated animal native to Kensington Prime.
“What can you tell me about Crozier System?”
“What do you want to know?”
“I –” she snapped back the first answer that she thought
of. She needed this man’s cooperation if she were to get anywhere;
clearly he was a goldmine of information if she could just ask the right
question. “What’s the most prominent feature?”
“Metals. And lots of them – they’ve got a huge asteroid
belt that’s chock full of resources. So, naturally, it’s got
lots of small shipyards.”
“You mean for merchanters and that sort of thing.”
“That sort of thing,” Kendall agreed. “And other sorts
of things. Scouts, scientific vessels, entrepreneurs –”
“Pirates.”
“I’m sure that wouldn’t be their choice of terms, but
yes, pirates. One byproduct of a quarter century of war: there’s
all sorts of ordnance floating around.”
“I never thought of that.”
“Regular Navy folks never do,” Kendall answered. “Why
would they? One use, throw it away. But scavengers have been picking debris
off the battlefield since men fought with swords and pikes.”
He’s a regular simile machine, isn’t he? she thought.
“So it ends up at places like Crozier System.”
“That’s right. And there’s enough of it scattered around
there that the Imperial Navy has never bothered to go in and clean it
up. Can’t say as I blame them.”
“It’s lawless?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. It has its own law, shall
we say. I doubt whether someone capable of handling . . . unusual situations
would have any trouble. Your reputation precedes you, Ms. Laperriere.”
Kendall leaned on the console and looked back at her, the lines of data
in the air between them like a circus mask. “I wouldn’t think
you’d have any trouble at all.”
---
I wouldn’t think you’d have any trouble at all,
she heard in her head as she stood overlooking the Kensington Station
main concourse, looking through the comp display for a passage headed
for Crozier or somewhere nearby. Yes, she told herself, I
guess I’ve been in a few unusual situations.
Suddenly something jumped out at her from the list of outbound vessels.
Crozier, it said: Outbnd 1830. Rxe E Mhnesr.
Not a zor vessel; clearly not a human one. Not enough apostrophes
to be a rashk name, she thought to herself. One other choice
left.
Now there’s a challenge, she added, noting the
docking location. Taking passage on an otran ship. She’d
met no more than two or three of the feline aliens in her life; those
were the most unusual ones, the diplomats assigned to the High Nest or
the Emperor’s Court. The otran were the least gregarious of the
four alien races within the Solar Empire; they remained almost entirely
on their homeworld. They’d been discovered more than a century ago
and had been brought along slowly and with great care by the Empire.
Sergei had briefed her on them years ago when she was new to the job.
Brought along slowly indeed, she thought to herself, remembering
it now: best way to handle high explosives.
The otran had one basic problem in their alien psyche: they simply couldn’t
walk away from a fight. Over time, their culture had developed a rather
varied set of beliefs and every otran adult was expected to pick the ones
that he – or she – believed in. If one otran met another,
and there were differences of opinion but both had acceptable beliefs
– something about forty-eight aspects of the Deity, she remembered
– all well and good. But if one of them had an unrecognized belief
there was a fight - to the death in some cases, she reminded
herself: their wars were largely proxy affairs, a sort of Olympics with
casualties – but there wasn’t any way for two otran, or groups
of otran, or nations of otran to “agree to disagree”. They
considered that idea insane.
They also considered representative government insane, at least when it
came to decisions where one side didn’t completely convince the
others. At least at the end of an otran proxy war the survivors slapped
each other on the back and got drunk.
No wonder most of them stuck to the homeworld.
Well, clearly Rxe E Mhnesr wasn’t sticking to the homeworld.
Jackie was looking for some kind of cover, especially now that she’d
gotten some intel on Crozier System; an otran merchanter would probably
do the trick.
---
To the human eye otran are feline. Heavy-set with whiskered faces, bipedal,
with seven-fingered hands: four long gripping fingers and three short,
delicate ones. They didn’t purr or meow – their language was
clicks and pops, but a voder on the lapel translated that into Standard.
One of Rxe E Mhnesr’s officers was standing at the loading
bay ordering crew around as she approached. For one terrible moment, Jackie
had a overwhelming feeling of déjà vu – she remembered
another merchanter, another time and place – Cle’eru, and
Sultan Sabah getting Fair Damsel ready for jump.
She reminded herself that the universe was a different place now; Ch’k’te
had gone to esLi. All she had left was his angry daughter, some
jumps ahead of her, headed for esLi knew what.
The officer stopped and looked at her, intertwining his fingers in front
of him. Means he’s being friendly, the gyaryu
told her; he can’t attack you if his hands are linked like that.
Jackie looked at the strength in the arms and shoulders and doubted it,
but took the gesture for what it was.
“How may this one be of service?” the otran’s voder
said for him.
“Greetings,” Jackie answered, bowing. “I am –”
“Your identity is known,” the alien replied. “I am Nel
E Showan, and you are the Gu, Gry, Gyary –”
“Gyaryu’har,” Jackie said. “It took me
a while to learn to say it as well. Peace and prosperity to you, Nel E
Showan,” she managed, inclining her head and offering the greeting
that the gyaryu thoughtfully supplied.
“Gyaryu’har. Yes. I thank you, but I find it curious
that you are unaccompanied, and choose to have speech with this one. Have
I offended?”
“Not in the least. I – would speak with your captain. I wish
passage aboard your vessel to Crozier System, which is your next destination.”
“Passage, is it.” A group of four or five otran had stopped
working to listen to the exchange. Nel E Showan turned to them and erupted
in the otran native tongue; they scurried back to do whatever they should
have been doing. “Pardons, eight thousand is the correct number
I believe. Laziness and idle curiosity must be dealt with despite the
need for courtesy to a high dignitary.”
“I completely understand.” She smiled and inclined her head.
“You aren’t outbound for nearly three Standard hours; if I
could return at a more opportune time –”
“No, no, by no means,” Nel E Showan said. “Discourteous
would it be, as your time is no doubt valuable. Please permit me to escort
you to the captain’s presence.” He shouted something else
in the otran language without turning around; a younger and physically
smaller crewman came running out of the hold and took the comp that Nel
E Showan handed him without looking. “If Gyaryu’har-person
would follow this one.”
“Thank you.” She walked up the ramp with the otran, who had
turned to enter the ship. She found her contact-lenses adjusting automatically
as she walked across the hold and into a ship’s corridor; the lighting
was a sort of harsh pinkish color. The odor was different, neither reminiscent
of zor nor human habitations - but it was not unpleasant: a sort of musky,
spicy scent. The public-address comm was a constant background of otran
speech, all clicks and barks and pops – her comp could translate
if she gave it the task, but the meaning was clear: probably something
like, get that cargo stowed or it’ll come out of your pay
– officer so-and-so to cargo bay such-and-such –
where’s that crate of widgets, it was supposed to be on board
two hours ago! – all interspersed with colorful epithets, of
course. The last few hours before jump was where a merchanter made or
lost its money.
After a series of turns and ramps and three decks up in a lift, Nel E
Showan showed her into a large sitting room, bowed, and left her alone.
Another older looking otran was examining a display hovering in midair
above a console. It was changing by the second.
He turned to face her. “This is an honor, madam. Welcome aboard
Rxe E Mhnesr. I am Captain Showan – Kot E Showan.”
“A pleasure,” Jackie said. “Peace and prosperity, Captain.”
“Fine things to wish for. Let us hope that they come to us both.
How may I be of service to the High Nest?”
“Not precisely to the High Nest, Captain. I would like to take passage
on your excellent vessel to its next port.”
“Hrr,” he answered. The voder didn’t manage any sort
of translation. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but guessed that
it was neither ‘yes’ nor ‘no’. “This is
a rather unusual request, a human seeking passage on one of our vessels.
Why choose Rxe E Mhnesr? Surely you could command a berth on
any ship you wish.”
“You are traveling to Crozier System.”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, madam,” the captain answered,
“but many ships travel to Crozier System. Indeed, many ships go
there from Kensington System every Standard day.”
“Yours is the soonest departure.”
“In a hurry? Rxe E Mhnesr is a fine and noble ship, se
Gyaryu’har, but not the swiftest. We are no less than four
Standard days’ travel from dock at Crozier Terminus, including realspace
navigation. I am certain that a military vessel could reach it sooner.
Ah,” he said, gesturing toward a pair of large, well-padded chairs
on one side of the room, “but politeness is forgotten. Please sit.
Would you desire refreshment?”
The abrupt change of tack caught Jackie a bit by surprise; she walked
with Kot E Showan to the chairs and they both sat. “No, no thank
you, Captain. Indeed, I would not wish to distract you from –”
she gestured to the constantly-updating display.
“Hrr,” Kot E Showan repeated. “It is my cousin Nel’s
problem to make sure it is all done and done correctly. The brain governs,
the hands direct, the back strains – but if the brain turns its
attention elsewhere, hands and back must still continue their work. It
would be a sad thing indeed if the master of Rxe E Mhnesr could
not turn his attention aside for a few Standard minutes.
“Now.” He extended his hands toward each other so that the
long gripping fingers touched. “Rxe E Mhnesr would be honored
to have you travel with us to Crozier System – but one is still
moved to ask why. It is curiosity, is it not?”
“I confess that it is some of that,” she said. “But
. . . I think it is also camouflage.”
“Forgive me for not taking your meaning.”
“I am following someone.”
“I see.” The long fingers pushed each other apart, then touched
again. “No, I do not see. How can traveling on our vessel,
slower than many, without the power of the High Nest behind it, help you
pursue your quarry?”
“The person isn’t a quarry precisely. This is investigative,
not predatory . . . well, I’m following her path. I want
to know where she went and I’m not keen that she know I’m
doing it. If she knew, she might vanish completely.”
“A ‘tail,’ I believe the term is.”
“Just so.”
“Camouflage. I understand now. Do you place my ship in danger by
this tailing?”
“I should hope not.”
“You are unsure,” the otran captain said.
“I cannot give you an ironclad guarantee of your ship’s safety,
Captain – but if you wanted to be safe, you wouldn’t be going
to Crozier System, would you?”
“Hrr. Just so. . . very well, se Gyaryu’har.”
He cocked his head from side to side, and then extended his left hand
palm up. “Welcome aboard.”
Coming in August, 2005 from Tor Books
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