“I’ve been to Copper Mountain eight times, and the outer loop’s never been all red,” his scan officer was saying.
“I’ve been here ten times and never seen this many big ships insystem. What’s going on, I wonder?”
“We’re ten minutes out—twenty delay on queries.”
“I don’t think I want to talk to the station. Put us at battle stations, Tony, but don’t light up the weapons.” The alarms rang through the ship; colored lights danced across the various control boards reporting systems in operation. Satir glanced at the sheets of paper in his lap. Trouble. Major trouble.
“Sir, there’s an odd signal coming in—you need to see it now.”
“Odd how?”
“Not the usual frequencies, for one thing. It’s surface propagated, but not a coherent signal—it’s like they didn’t care who picked it up. It’d dissipate to noise within this system, though.”
“And it says?”
“It’s in clear, and it says there’s a mutiny at Copper Mountain, that the mutineers have the orbital station and control of system defenses. It’s begging somebody to get the word out.”
Captain Satir looked at his bridge officers. If this was a hoax, reacting as if it were real could end his career. If it was not a hoax, he had only one chance to get away.
Even as he hesitated, a bank of lights on the scan desks came alight.
“They’re aiming at us,” his scan officer said. “Tracking us—”
“Full ahead, find us a slot and take us to jump,” Satir said. “We’re getting out of here while we can.” Vigor had the speed and the angle; none of the ships insystem could catch them in straight flight, and he was prepared to jump blind if necessary to put more distance between them. The system defenses were preset to defend certain arcs which he could easily avoid. “Make extra copies of all scan data, and try a squirt at the system ansible as we go by—they may have reprogrammed it, but it’s worth a try.”
Four days later, Vigor came in range of an ansible in another system, and transmitted an emergency override command set, followed by the entire load of scan data she’d collected.
Chapter Nineteen
The long room with its high ceiling would have held twenty pairs of fencers, and had before. The walls were pale green above the mirrors, and the gilt beaded molding around the ceiling was echoed by the molding around the mirrors. The east wall, a bank of French windows, let in the natural daylight and overlooked a rose garden. This morning, bars of yellow sunlight lay across the polished wood floor. Only a few roses had opened, the early white single ones like showers of stars, but their perfume entered on the slightest movement of air. Down the middle of the polished parquet floor ran the strip, deep green.
Miranda finished her stretches, and picked up her practice foil. Facing the mirrors, she could see that Pedar, though still stretching, was watching her. She moved through the parries, smoothly but not fast, feeling for the rhythm that would best suit her needs. He finished his stretches, but made no move to pick up his own blade. He stood watching her instead. She met his eyes in the mirror, then turned.
“What? Am I doing something wrong?”
“No, my dear. I was thinking how lovely you are—and how incongruous it always is to see a beautiful woman holding a deadly weapon.”
“This?” Miranda laughed, touching the button, and bending the blade with only a little pressure. “Even if it weren’t so whippy, it could hardly kill anyone.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Pedar said. “And I’ve seen you with stiffer blades.”
Miranda grimaced. “I was younger, then.”
“You were Ladies’ Champion in epee . . . I have never forgotten your grace, that day.”
“I was lucky. Berenice ran out of breath—I’ve always suspected she had a cold. Usually she beat me.”
“But still—if you had live steel in hand, in the old days, I don’t doubt you’d have been a formidable opponent.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Miranda said. “Shall we?”
Still he didn’t move. “I was going to ask a favor.”
“A favor? What?”
“I see you have Bunny’s old collection here—in the hall. I know he never let anyone actually use it, but—do you suppose we could?”
Bait and hook, taken faster than she’d expected. She frowned a little. “The old weapons? But Pedar—they’re old. I don’t even know how old, some of them.”
“If I could just hold them—just feel them.”
“I don’t even know if they’re really mine to lend,” Miranda said. “I mean, they’re here because Bunny brought them along, but they are his family’s heirlooms. You’re the one who said I should be fair to Harlis—”
“Harlis need never know,” Pedar said. “It’s just—the oldest steel I’ve ever held was that antique Georgy has—you know.”
“Oh, that old thing.” Miranda allowed herself a sniff. “It’s not a day over two hundred, whatever he says. These are much older—”
“I know, that’s why I asked. Please?” He cocked his head and put his hands together like a polite child.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Miranda said. “If we’re careful . . .” She could feel her heart speed up, safely hidden under her white jacket, as she led the way back to the hall.
She unlocked the case, and stood back. Pedar reached past her, and took out, as she’d expected, the big saber with the heavy, ornamented hilt. He ran his thumb down the blade, and nodded. “Still—”
“Bunny said they were still usable,” Miranda said. “But he didn’t want to take a chance on breakage. They’re not replaceable.”
“No . . .” Pedar breathed on the blade, then buffed it with his sleeve. “Derrigay work, look at that pattern! And the ring—” He rapped it with his nail, and the blade chimed softly. Miranda shivered, involuntarily. Pedar set the blade back, and took down another. “You have no idea of their age?”
“Bunny always said that one—the epee—was the oldest, and the rapier the next oldest. He said it was just possible those two were from Old Earth from an era when they might have been used.” Used to kill, intentionally. Used as she would use a blade today.
“Amazing.” Pedar put the rapier back, and took the broad, curved blade for which she had no name. “And this?”
“I don’t know. It looks more like a chopper to me—for very large potatoes.”
He chuckled. “Not a blade for artistry, no. An executioner’s weapon, perhaps, from a very bloody period.” His hand reached again, this time for a foil. “So—this is your weight now?” His hand stroked the blade, bent it. “Not so whippy as the one you were using, but—light enough, I’ll warrant.”
“Oh, probably. I still practice with heavier blades now and then.” She had to be fair. She had to be scrupulously fair, and let his own folly put him in danger.
“Let’s fence with these, not the modern ones.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea . . . I don’t know what they would think—”
“They? What ‘they’? Who could possibly dispute with you, now that the judgement has gone your way? What harm could it cause?”
“I don’t know,” Miranda said again. “What if a blade breaks? What if Harlis appeals, and then finds out I’ve destroyed a valuable asset?”
“He needn’t know. He isn’t a fencer; he’s probably never paid attention to them. Besides . . . I’ll explain it was all my idea.” Pedar nodded at the helms. “Look—let’s do it right. Use all the old gear, masks as well. It would be like fancy dress.” He had always liked fancy dress; he had worn it to balls where other men wore conventional clothes.