Lupo secured the comm, grim. "That was Shike. It's not over. He found the Directors all shot to death when he got home. Five, Six, you go. Take forensic people. Find me something."
He was angry and depressed. He did not have time for this. Why couldn't Blessed have waited?
— 120 —
Delicate Harmony let go its last hold on station. Station reciprocated. The mixed bridge gang backed off on steering jets, turned, sought the beacon range. Comm chattered with station, with two ships already in the range, with four that would come out behind Delicate Harmony.
Turtle's flag squadron was off to war.
Despite his circumstances, he was content. The restless warrior had sword in hand and a perspective too narrow to worry about anything but the dance toward battle with the dragon.
The wizard was not asleep. It rode observer, sardonically amused. This flagship was so bizarrely crewed. Turtle had his own followers, Ku and soldiers of four other species. He had six methane breathers in a sealed and pressurized environment at the heart of the ship. He had two hundred twelve Outsider humans, half of whom would have little to do unless he launched his two riders and four fighters. He had Blessed, Midnight, the Valerena, Provik and his woman, none of whom could contribute much but were, at least, where he had some chance to shape their destinies.
He'd had no trouble keeping them. The decision-makers over there believed their compliment could control him and his twenty-four soldiers. They did not count the hostages as anything else.
Turtle was counting on them heavily.
His Outsiders laid the ship into the range the way they did everything, with humorless precision, keeping exact station on the ship ahead, a twin of Delicate Harmony. All the squadron were identical, drawn from a litter of thirty reserved for a debut during the operation.
Turtle looked at those Outsiders. They and the Guardship people would feel at home with each other. But for their ideals they were much alike.
His command. His first since the Dire Radiant. No fantasy now. Was he up to the task? Had everyone made too much of the legend?
His command. And every Outsider on three hundred ships would jump if he barked—so long as his methane breathers remained satisfied.
He went to his combat command center, which abutted the pressure hull of methane country. He scanned a display revealing last known dispositions of forces friendly and otherwise. The display was static now, several days behind realtime. Locations for the Guardships were guesswork. But that would change.
From the viewpoint of the Godspeakers, that simulated starscape had to be disheartening. There were just twelve worlds left where their kind held on. The number of subject worlds had begun to dwindle, too, as Guardships searched for forces they believed ought to be resisting them. At Turtle's suggestion those worlds were not defending themselves. Their mobile strength had been drawn off for his ever more complex operation.
Let them surrender, become a burden upon the enemy, and wait till they could be reclaimed.
The communication personas of the Godspeakers were susceptible to persuasion. Like their human aides, they believed what they wanted to be true.
The Outsiders were possessed of more strength than Turtle had expected. More than the Guardships suspected. So the grand plan had been expanded, his aims growing with his confidence in his power to manipulate those who wanted him to be their redeemer.
He would launch blows at both heads of the dragon. Capitola Primagenia would sustain the first strike.
Everyone went to stations as Delicate Harmony approached the tag end. In moments the Web would rattle with instructions for and communications from units throughout the Outsider empire and Canon. In moments the clock of the grand design would begin to run.
— 121 —
The Pioyugov crew grew more sullen and fearful daily. Months had passed. They were sure they'd never get home. Jo was not sure she did not agree.
It was hard to sustain an allegiance to Seeker's obsessive search for a Guardship that was never there when they reached its last reported destination.
The Pioyugovs had come near rebelling twice. Seeker had charmed them. Signs were the storm was gathering again. Charm would not work a third time.
Jo told AnyKaat, "I've got to talk him into heading for Starbase. Any bright ideas?"
"Lay it out and pound on the facts."
"Big help. We're going to run out of luck. We've had more than our share already. They know there's a Traveler loose out here. These Pioyugovs are sneaky, but nobody's good enough to get away from a whole fleet."
"Tell him."
Amber Soul answered her knock. She laid a finger to her mouth, a surprisingly human gesture. He is listening. They have ended their silence.
There was an undercurrent of excitement here. Whatever Seeker sensed, it was significant.
I will let him know you are here when the moment is opportune. Unless I will serve. He will want to inform you.
"We need to talk to him."
Amber Soul went to hover over Seeker, who had installed himself in a reclining chair of primitive manufacture. It was entirely mechanical.
Seeker distracted the eye from the chair, though. He was doing nothing to conceal his appearance. That, while bifurcate and bilateral, was as far from human as Jo could imagine. He looked like a snake that had tried to turn into a man and had gone down a blind alley toward albino, fishy horror built on birdlike feet. In places he was semitransparent.
Jo was not sure she ought to believe her eyes even now.
She turned her back so she could keep her mind on business. AnyKaat copied her. They spent twenty minutes rubbing water out of her eyes and wishing they were somewhere else.
Lieutenant Jo?
She turned. Seeker had on his public face. "Amber Soul says you've been listening in on the Outsiders."
The Web is awash with their communications. So heavily it is impossible to follow everything. I will have to use Amber Soul as well if we are to keep abreast, if the deluge continues.
"What's happened?"
They have begun their counterattack, starting with great confidence that they will cause Canon and the Guardships much grief and force the Guardships to withdraw.
"They won't do that. The Guardships don't defend Canon, they exterminate Canon's enemies. There's a difference."
Their mission of vengeance is... different.
Their command force came onto the Web not long ago. It sent the order to begin, working against a count approximating one hundred of your days. There are many forces involved. One seems headed for Capitola Primagenia.
"Shit! That would be a kick in the balls." Capitola Primagenia! That would set Canon's Rims afire. They might burn for centuries.
Of interest to us is that ships have been sent to follow and report on Guardships. They may find VII Gemina for us. And a ship has been assigned to track us down.
"That's about why I'm here. If we don't light out pretty soon the crew will kill us. They're too scared to reason with."
Instruct the Chief Operating Officer to move toward friendly space. He is not to follow the direct strand. The hunter is coming that way. Go. We are in a race. Minutes may be critical. It is a long run to an anchor point where we can present the pursuit with more options than it can follow.
Jo went, boggled and baffled, found the Pioyugov Chief, told him he could head for home and cautioned him that a hunter might be on their track.
Jo was in the galley when she felt Seeker's compelling summons. She dropped what she was doing and went. As Amber Soul beckoned her into the suite alarms sounded. "Proximity!" Jo cursed. "That sonofabitch took the direct strand."