“You make that title sound positively dirty,” Xochitl jested weakly, trying to summon even a spark of his usual ebullience. The anger had already faded from him, leaving only a pensive weariness. He groped for a chair, found a low-cut Nakashima fiddleback, and collapsed into the elegant seat. “How many men did you lose, Yakka?”
“Nearly a hundred. I welcome the replacements you brought.”
“Huh!” The Prince’s laugh-to his own ear-was a tired bark from an exhausted dog.
“You still owe me ninety-three more.”
In the darkness of the medbay, Green Hummingbird frowned, watching the Prince and the captain stare at each other in weary silence. He blinked, switching the feed to another of his dorei infesting the shipnet.
This v-cam showed the armored alien who’d come aboard with the Prince. The creature was cowering in the corner of a well-appointed cabin with its long tapering head hidden in his hands. A constant muttering wail issued forth from the helmet, which was loud enough for the room security camera to pick up and relay to the nauallis. The sounds were unintelligible, though the Mexica had a more than passing knowledge of the Hjo trade language used in Imperial space.
What a pitiful creature, the old man thought, and subvocalized a series of commands into his throatmike. A pity the zhongdu didn’t send someone more… aware. Still, one uses what tools are to hand.
“How are we going to get out of here?” Xochitl paced back and forth across the bamboo-parquet flooring of the Chu-sa ’s private office. His boots ground into the sealant layer protecting the light-grained panels, leaving tiny gritty black marks. “How did you navigate through the Barrier? Can you get us back out?”
“Don’t you wonder,” Kosho said, in a musing tone, “if the Khaid knew our full strength when that pack made transit… or do they habitually hunt Imperial scouts with such numbers? It seems very odd their Kabil Rezei would go loping around in this wasteland with a fleet.”
The Prince glared at her. “You are still just as annoying as in school.”
Kosho shrugged, meeting his eyes with a calm, direct gaze. “They were hunting for you, Sayu. They jumped in hot, right on top of us in this cursed murk, and they came loaded for capital ships… so tell me this, is it safe to take my ship back into Imperial space with you aboard?” Her expression flattened. “Are you running from someone, Lord Prince? We’ve been out of comm contact for weeks-is your father dead? Is there some new Emperor on the Quetzal throne? One that finds you displeasing?”
“What do-” Xochitl stopped, his expression suddenly frozen. “Yakka, that is a cold, cold thought.”
“The Princes of the Mexica are notoriously cruel, my Lord. Particularly when they war upon one another.”
“My father sent me himself,” Xochitl allowed confidently, but felt his jaw twitch as he gave the words life. Susan shook her head minutely in disbelief, her eyes filling with pity. Suddenly, he felt naive. “He… no one else knew my destination or intent. No one. We left Anahuac under complete blackout and emissions control; my own ship, my own picked men. He… couldn’t send anyone else…” The Prince’s voice trailed off and his vision grew dark with growing fury.
Now I know how sensei felt at Jagan, Susan thought, abruptly gripped by despair. The fate-cursed retainers of a doomed Prince, conveniently sent into a wilderness from which they will not return…
“No,” Xochitl said slowly as he tried to rally his wits. “No, I will not believe that, not yet. Many hands touched the planning of the Mirror expedition-or the Khaid may have been snooping here already-anyone might have…” A thought occurred to him and his face lightened with relief. “The embassy! Someone had informed the-” He stopped abruptly, blinking as an overlay appeared in his field of vision.
«Security Warning! Kosho, Susan, Chu-sa in command of IMN BC-268, does not hold ring-zero clearance!»
Susan looked at him expectantly. Xochitl felt suddenly, terribly alone.
I can’t tell her. She’s not cleared to know such things. How “There is another explanation,” he said coldly, rising and going to the door. “Which is a privy matter. Expedite your repairs, Chu-sa. We will need to be underway as soon as possible. As soon as it is safe to move, begin looking for a way out of this… place. And send all current telemetry to the secondary bridge for my review.”
Susan watched him leave with a frown. Now what did he almost say? What “embassy” was involved with this?
Down in Medical, Hummingbird’s impassive face showed the faint ghost of a smile. In his other Eye, the z-suited alien had removed his helmet and was stuffing a long-snouted face with fried dumplings, a veritable buffet table of freshly delivered food laid out before him. Beside the table, a trolley cart had been provided, filled with gleaming glass bottles of liquor.
Now our feet are on the proper road.
Hadeishi stepped onto the bridge-such as it was-of the little freighter, with a light heart. The search pattern laid down by De Molay had let them recover no less than five evacuation capsules from a variety of Imperial ships. In each case the capsule had been maneuvered into one of the cargo bays with the Wilful ’s z-g loading cranes and clamped down. Gunner’s mate Tadohao and Nitto-hei Cajeme had grown quite proficient in the art of undogging the capsule hatches and sorting out the dazed, wounded, and confused men inside. Nearly every Sho-i and Thai-i they’d rescued had protested the command structure, complained vehemently, threatened mutiny, and finally settled down after a thorough reading of Mitsuharu’s papers.
Hadeishi found it quite interesting-more so with each conversation-that none of the Fleet officers seemed to find it strange or unusual to be rescued by a tramp freighter commanded by a reserve Chu-sa in the uttermost wilderness. But then, he remembered, this was a Smoking Mirror operation, which means every man and woman of them came expecting the strange, the untoward and the downright peculiar to happen.
Mitsuharu stepped to the captain’s chair, seeing that De Molay was dozing at her station, still wrapped in a variety of blankets and now wearing a hand-knit shepherd’s cap. He was about to sit when he noticed the shockchair had been reduced to nothing but the bare frame, without even the cracked leather seat he’d grown used to.
“What have you done to my chair?” He gave the old woman a questioning look.
“Hm? Oh, the cushions?” De Molay yawned elaborately, stretching both skinny old arms. “All of your lost children needed something for their heads; these floors are quite cold if you’ve not even a blanket.”
“Yes… that is true.” He fingered the hexacarbon framing and eyed the recessed bolts in the seat.
The old woman scratched at the half-healed wound on her cheek. “So-how is our new crew adjusting to their reduced circumstances?”
“Some of the wounded won’t last, but their spirits are good.” Hadeishi sat, his good mood evaporating. “We’ll lose nearly ten, I think, if we can’t find better medical facilities for them.”
De Molay nodded, watching him closely. “My apologies, but I cannot offer anything better…”
“That you-that we-are here has already given them a priceless gift.” Hadeishi’s eyes narrowed, thinking of the hidden compartments he knew existed downdeck. “Now, Sencho, is that really true? This is a ship of many surprises! I’ve not gone through every centimeter of the holds-have you a whole medbay down there? Along with this”-he indicated the hull with a wave of his hand-“very interesting shipskin and heat exchanger?”
In response, she frowned, jutting her chin forward. “So far the rescue campaign is going well, you would say?”