The captain patted the sergeant’s shoulder. “If there’s nothing else you can do here, take a break.” She turned back to Erik. “Commander, I’ve got my engineer poking around those computer cores we salvaged. The radiation didn’t do them any good, either, but he thinks he can extract some data. I’m going to go see how he’s doing.” She looked into the bubble and shuddered. It was obvious that she had her own reasons for leaving.
Erik nodded. “I’ll stay here till Brinks comes back. I’ll call for help if I need it.”
Reluctantly he put on the mask and gloves, and zipped himself inside the bubble. The air had the nasty smell of stale vomit and decay. If the man wasn’t a corpse already, he was starting to smell like one. His cracked lips were moving, like he was trying to talk, but he made no sound other than his raspy breathing.
Erik glanced at the IV pumps. The drug canister on one apparently was the all-purpose antiradiation cocktail Brinks had mentioned. The other was Morpidine, a powerful painkiller that was in every combat medical kit. Every soldier knew about it. It was the stuff you administered to comfort the dying, or, through overdose, to end their suffering. There were dozens of oft-circulated jokes about Morpidine, and yet the sight of the stuff made anyone in uniform squirm.
Erik forced himself to lean closer to the doomed pilot. “Can you hear me?”
The man flinched, his blind eyes turned toward Erik’s voice. “Who? Sergi?”
“My name is Erik Sandoval.”
To Erik’s surprise, the man managed a little smile. “Sandoval. I told Sergi you would come. Help us.” He swallowed. “Didn’t believe me. Told him.”
Erik frowned. “Why did you think the Sandovals would help you?”
He smiled, showing his blood-reddened teeth, and Erik averted his eyes. “Wasn’t supposed to know. Lady, hired us to attack. Didn’t say who she worked for, but I knew. Lady…” He seemed to lose focus. He coughed wetly.
“What lady?”
“I—used to be Republic—army. Guarded Duke Sandoval once at—meeting. This lady was with him—all the time. Pretty—Hired us—Told Sergi was Sandoval hired us—Didn’t believe—”
Erik straightened. His gut knotted. Could it be true? The man had no reason to lie, and his description, crude though it was, fit Deena Onan. He remembered their encounter as they’d met at the Tyrannos Rex vehicle bay, and now it all seemed clear. He didn’t know whose betrayal stung him more, the Duke’s or hers.
What now? This information was like a grenade with the pin pulled. One radio call back to Shensi would break the accord, derail the Duke’s plans for a coalition, and perhaps bring his quest for power right down on top of his head. Was that what Erik wanted?
No. Not yet. But if this information was to be of any value to him, he had to control it. Exclusively. This pilot would die, certainly, but perhaps not soon enough.
Erik glanced up at the IV pump. Simple buttons withUP –DOWNarrows controlled the flow rate.
It would be a mercy.
He stared at the pump for what seemed like hours. This man was an enemy. In combat, he would have killed him without hesitation or remorse. Why was this so different?
It just was.
Erik reached up to where the pump hung next to the bag, held it in his hand, and started pressing theUP arrow. He kept pressing, until the numbers reached maximum and stopped.
He looked at the pilot, and realized he’d never learned the man’s name. There was only one name he did know. “Say hello to Sergi for me.”
13
Rampant speculation continues concerning the symbols seen painted in Duke Aaron Sandoval’s flagship as it departed Azha—symbols that are rumored to be associated with the splinter group known as the SwordSworn, a militant faction reportedly loyal to House Davion. Duke Sandoval is Lord Governor of Prefecture IV, and his presence, along with a sizable military force, in Prefecture V is as yet unexplained.
Reports indicate that the symbols were painted on the ship at the Cushman Coating Works facility in Casella shortly before the ship’s departure. Officials at Cushman have declined to comment. The Duke’s forces have had several skirmishes with advancing House Liao forces, and dealt them a major setback on New Aragon. One Senator, who asked not to be identified, is quoted as saying, “I don’t care who he’s loyal to, if he stands between us and the Cappies, he’s a friend of mine.”
–FreeNews Azha
Capital Spaceport, Ningbo
Liampo continent, Ningpo
Prefecture V, The Republic
28 November 3134
It was a landing like Ningpo’s Capital Spaceport had never seen. The huge Excalibur DropShip came out of a north-south polar orbit, rather than the normal west-east orbit. This brought it down across the landmass of the Liampo continent, and nearly over the capital city of Ningbo, rather than across the ocean. This was not only unusual, it was a violation of half a dozen flight rules.
The ship came in steeply, necessitating a hard burn directly over the city that rattled windows well out into the suburbs. Those who came outside to see what the noise was looked up to see a blue sky, dappled with wispy white clouds. Moving from north to south was a huge silver egg, gleaming in the sun, with the blue glare of four mighty fusion thrusters shining from its base.
A diplomatic vessel arriving at the spaceport could be counted on to land in one of the more isolated landing pads, far from prying eyes, but this ship was different. It came in over the pad closest to the crowded terminal so that thousands of eyes were drawn to its glittering, freshly painted beauty.
The ship lined up over the pad and began to lower, tail first. Three hundred meters above the reinforced thermocrete of the pad, it once again did something extraordinary. The ship stopped, and hovered motionless—not only a violation of regulations, but an enormous waste of fuel.
There it paused just long enough for everyone’s attention to focus on the ship. Four thrusters around its midsection began to fire, and the DropShip began to turn gracefully on its axis, like a 16,000-ton ballet dancer. In the terminal, there was a collective gasp, an intake of breath, as they watched the silver egg slowly revolve in front of them, displaying the seventy-meter SwordSworn symbols painted on two sides—an amber disk surrounded by a white circle, representing a dark planet with the burst of a rising sun around it, and in front of it all an upward-pointing sword, its blade overlaid with some mirrorlike material that flashed in the sunlight as the ship turned.
Then, one final flourish. Two of the main thrusters in the base of the great ship, an opposing pair, throttled up. As they did, the two other opposing thrusters throttled down to almost nothing so that there was no net change in thrust and the ship remained perfectly suspended. Then, after a moment, the first two thrusters throttled down, and the other two throttled up to compensate. This continued, back and forth, perfectly timed so that it happened twice per revolution. It was a breathtaking display of piloting skill, which turned the ship into an inverted fountain of dancing fire.
Then, and only then, did the ship settle to the apron, which was now glowing from the sustained heat. Just short of the ground, the mighty landing legs unfolded from its base, just in time to gently kiss the ground.
Those who were there would still talk about it years later, and the holovids would be shown again and again. No one would ever forget they were there the day Tyrannos Rex arrived on Ningpo.
On the bridge, Captain Clancy took his hands off the controls and clapped them together with childish glee. “I always wanted to do that, Duck! Always!” He looked up at Duke Aaron Sandoval, who stood behind him. “Now, you’re sure I’m not gonna get my license yanked for this?”