“… would intercept it, find it but moodestly difficult to decrypt, and perhaps woonder if his first is playing a traitor’s game. Young harper, I like the way you think.”
Méarana touched her forefinger to the tip of her nose. “Confusion to the enemy.”
“And perplexity upon our foes.”
“I wonder,” said Méarana, “why Mashdasan tried to warn you. It’s not as though he was on your side.”
“Perhaps he had something to prove to himself. Dawshoo humiliate him last year. Two such affronts he would not accept. Fool. But sometimes fools do brave things.”
“Are we going to make it?” The harper tried to ask with an air of nonchalance.
“All in hands of Fate. Tell me this, harper. Your mother taught you a thing or two. But did she teach you three?”
Space Traffic Control watched the monoship emerge from the detection-shadow of Asteroid Laatmui 27 and make a dash for the ships in the impound orbit. Grabbing space, she moved in quantum jerks, building velocity. STC noted, too, from the shell design that the ship was Peripheral built. This information spread across the surveillance web, downloaded into cognizant systems, was picked up picoseconds later by Midsystem Sector Defense. The field control officer noted the orbit and checked against the fire order sent from Siling Bo Henrietta. Burn the vessel matching orbit with the designated reference. Obvious now, the reason: an attempt by Peripheral agents to hijack a Fleet vessel. An earlier search had flagged the reference vessel as one promised to the Lion’s Mouth, and the officer shuddered to contemplate the consequence if he allowed it to be stolen. After verifying that no other ships were matching orbits with the reference vessel, he sent the release-to-fire message to the wave cannon Stout Defender, which was best positioned to take it out.
The range officer of Stout Defender pinged the target, obtained range and velocity, and computed azimuth and bearings and fed this to the gunner.
“Charging,” the gunner’s mate called from the bowels of the capacitor banks. “Flux nominal.” Then, “Charged ninety-five percent.”
“Locked on,” said the gunner. He studied the data on the monoship, decided it was unarmored, and computed the kill burst. Then he doubled that just for luck, what gunners called the “200% Kill” level. “One-bar-nine,” he ordered.
“One-bar-nine,” the gunner’s mate concurred, having carried out an alternative computation.
“Burn it.”
There was, of course, no bright streak of light of the sort entertainments liked to pretend. Nor was there anything so dramatic as a fireball when the target absorbed the gravity wave. But the monoship began to break up.
“Debris field confirmed,” the range officer announced. “Spreading. Talker, alert Range Safety Office at STC. Parameters follow. The pings show multiple large fragments following the original orbit, a few others tumbling off to the sides on daughter orbits.” Some were approaching the craft promised to the Deadly Ones. She hoped they wouldn’t hole the vessel. Shadows could be quite prickly when it came to their rides.
“Scratch one,” said the gunner.
The range officer continued to monitor the debris field while the gunner’s mate wound down systems and toggled them to safety mode. “I hope,” said the gunner, “this wasn’t just another drill.”
III. Unleashed
“Invisibility cloaks?” rumbled Grimpen. “The Seven Vestiges?”
“The Vestiges appear to be a sort of trove,” Bridget ban said, “that their Tech Control Ministry, the Gayshot Bo, sequesters and manages.”
“Vestiges…,” wondered Greystroke. “‘Leftovers.’ Old Commonwealth tech? The Confederation inherited most of the Terran Commonwealth of Suns.”
“What else could it be?” said Obligado.
“Prehuman,” suggested Little Hugh, “like the Ourobouros Circuit.”
“Seven Vestiges,” said Cŵn Annwn. “You’ve named the cloak and the quondam leap.”
“Leaping from world to world,” said Black Shuck, “sounds impossible.”
Matilda of the Night somehow caught their attention without saying a single word or making the smallest gesture. A secretive smile played across the scarlet of her lips. “Keep in mind,” she said, “that one ‘widow’ might birth more than one daughter. It is premature to tally them. The Gayshot Bo broods upon many wonders.”
“Why do they do that,” wondered Little Hugh, “when they could use them in the Long Game? It seems contrary to their own interests.”
Matilda smiled more broadly, “Darling, have you ever been Across?”
“But, Briddy, ’tis all hearsay,” Black Shuck reminded them. “It’s what Ravn told you, or what she told you that Domino Tight told her—or what she told you that Tight told her that the Technical Name told him. Hearsay, double and triple hearsay.”
Bridget ban leaned back in her chair. “And yet…”
“And yet,” Top Dog acknowledged, “why tell that tale and not another? Yes, it would slide down smooth should the Little One be willing to swallow. It is worth the sniffing out. But, Briddy…” His arm swept and encompassed the remaining Hounds at the table. “Had you mentioned these Vestiges before, the others might have stayed.”
But Bridget ban shook her head. “If they would nae stay for Méarana,” she said, “they should nae stay for tarnhelm.”
Black Shuck nodded, as if she had confirmed a matter already known. “Aye, you dangle these baubles to sweeten the Kennel’s disposition so that you may take a pack to rescue your daughter. You see? I understand your seductions. But it also changes the complexion of the quest. This is not a mere swoop-and-snatch off Terra, a feat difficult enough. These ‘Vestiges’ are held by the Names themselves, and to seize them wants penetration of the Secret City.”
“The rebels are planning an attack within the Secret City,” Bridget ban reminded him. “They intend to finish the Shadow War with a single bold stroke. In that confusion, a small band might slip into the Gayshot Bo and, while all eyes lie elsewhere, record the treasures.”
She gathered the eyes of all those present. “Are ye with me?” And this gathered the ayes of all those present. All but Black Shuck.
“And where do you stand, darlin’?” warbled Cŵn Annwn.
“Yes,” said Matilda of the Night, “are you with us?”
“It would mean a great deal if you would come,” Bridget ban urged him.
Black Shuck moved away from the doorjamb on which he had been leaning and, in straightening, seemed to grow taller. He thrust his hands into his coverall pockets and lowered his head. The tink of glasses stilled to form a silence into which his words might fall.
“I’ve been hounding most my lifetime,” he said quietly. “Valency, Orsini’s World, Foreganger, Gehpari. A litany of crimes and disasters. But I like to think there were small, mean people—killers, tyrants, thieves—who watched nervously over their shoulders for thought of me; and refugees, prisoners unjust, and the helpless caught between two fires who knew some ray of hope when my name was whispered among them. I have fed the hungry when famines struck, clothed the naked after earthquake or flood, led the distressed to safety, and removed hobnailed boots from unnumbered faces; and never, I hope to tell myself at the end of days, did I do any mean or unworthy thing. But, Briddy ban, I am seven-score years, and my youth is behind me. I have been three times across the Rift, and from a fourth such journey I would not return.”