An emergency alarm from a vessel in distress.
"It's lying ahead and getting closer." Chapman studied his panels. "We'll be in contact before long.
Dumarest leaned closer to the screen. A wasted effort; no naked eye could pick a vessel from the immensity around them. Yet one lay out there, damaged, its field down, drifting and helpless, its radio-beacon calling for help. A forlorn hope. Rescue in space was rare. Here, so close to the Rim, those in distress were hoping for a miracle.
"Twenty!" Niall called the warning from his station. "We're almost on target. Nine! Mark!"
As the Erhaft field vanished and the Geniat ceased its hurtling progress a ship sprang into visibility on the screen. One small, battered, scarred, the markings blurred, the name barely discernible.
"The Evoy," mused Niall. "Too small for a regular commercial. It could be a free trader or a private vessel belonging to a wealthy House or ruler. In that case I'd expect it to be in better condition."
"Any communication?"
"No." The captain adjusted the image. "Schell's been trying ever since we heard the beacon. All we get is the alarm."
Which could mean that the ship was nothing but a drifting coffin. Dumarest studied it as it came closer. The hull was apparently intact so the damage had to be internal. A faulty ventilation system could have poisoned the atmosphere but would not have collapsed the field. Had the generator failed? Had there been some other reason? Mutiny? Murder? Madness? The impact of interstellar forces could give birth to bizarre consequences.
"We'll have to investigate," said Chapman. "Send over a team. Badwasi -"
"Have him scan the area," said Dumarest. "Check for another vessel."
"There could be people in there," protested the captain. "Sick, starving, dying."
"A little longer won't make that much difference. We should be prepared in case others have heard the beacon."
And be coming in to claim what was to be found. Salvage was rare in space and ships were valuable. Fights between rescuers were not unknown and only a fool would neglect to take elementary precautions.
"Nothing," said Chapman after Badwasi had reported. "But I'm having him maintain a watch. Now let's see what we've found."
"I'll attend to it," said Dumarest. "Have Zehava pick a few men. I'll meet them at the loading port. Try and get us closer."
Zehava was ready for space when arrived, suited, line and reaction pistol at her belt, helmet open. "I'm coming with you, Earl. Treibig and Lowish will make up the team." She gestured to where two men, suited, stood at her side. "Any objections?"
"Have they had experience? Have you?"
"Yes, to both questions."
"Then let's get going."
Suited, sealed, Dumarest led the way into the vestibule of the air lock. Lights flashed as, the cycle completed, the outer door opened to expose them to the void. Framed in the portal the Evoy, closer than it had been, still seemed very small and distant. A hard target to hit and one easy to miss.
Treibig's voice came over the radio, thin against the wail of the alarm. "What the hell is a ship like that doing out here?"
"That's what we're going to find out. You go first. We'll follow your line. Try not to miss."
"I won't miss."
Confidence matched by action. Snapping the end of his line to a ringbolt on the hull Treibig stepped from the lock. Magnetic boots held him fast as, tensing, he judged angle and distance. Flexing his knees he jumped into space, the line trailing behind him. For a moment it looked as if he would miss the target then, firing his reaction pistol, he made good his boast.
"You next." Dumarest slapped Lowish on the arm. "Wait where you land. Do nothing until I join you. Go!"
Zehava followed. She stepped back as Dumarest landed close. "What now, Earl?"
"We'll check the hull. Everyone spread out and search for damage. It needn't be major. Report anything you find."
He moved to the rear of the vessel as they obeyed, checking entry ports, the loading area, the door through which the ramp would be lowered after landing. All were intact and secure. Kneeling he ran gloved fingers over the plating. The signs of erosion were clear and he could feel a series of irregularities. Flakes of paint rose beneath his touch to dot his faceplate with a scatter of reflective brilliance. Wiping it clean he rejoined the others.
"Anything to report?"
"Nothing," said Treibig. "All seems as it should be aside from the attrition of the hull." His voice struggled against the noise of the alarm. "We'll have to force an entry and turn off the damned beacon!"
"No!" snapped Dumarest. "I don't want it touched!"
"But-"
"That's an order. If you want to argue report back to the ship!" More softly Dumarest added, "Something happened to this ship and we don't yet know what. Treat it as you would a bomb. The emergency hatch should be operational. Find it and get inside. Touch nothing."
As the two men moved away Zehava touched Dumarest's arm and, as he turned to face her, sliced the edge of her hand across her faceplate in an unmistakable signal.
Switching off his mike he touched helmets.
"Something wrong?"
"You tell me, Earl. Why all this fuss over a wreck?"
One traveling in the same direction as themselves. In a region of space where no ship could be expected. A coincidence he found hard to accept.
"We don't know how long it's been drifting. Those inside could have died of disease. They could even have rigged the ship to blow. Some people don't like to leave anything behind them."
The rich, the selfish, the arrogant. Those who would cling to life until the last then take a belated revenge on rescuers who arrived too late. Something she could understand.
"If this belonged to a wealthy ruler there could be treasure, Earl. The hold stuffed with riches. Valuable cargo. If-"
"Commander!" Treibig's voice cut her short. "Commander? Commander – respond!"
Dumarest activated the mike. "What is it?"
"We've gained entry. The pressure is low but the air is sweet and breathable. From what I can make out the generator failed."
"Don't touch anything! "said Dumarest sharply. "Check for life but do nothing else!"
He followed Zehava through the emergency hatch, Lowish coming towards them as they entered the ship. His helmet was open, his eyes open with excitement. If the air carried lethal bacteria he was already contaminated but the probability was slight and the risk small.
One Dumarest accepted. Treibig had been right about the air. The pressure was about half normal but it held an unexpected freshness.
"I smell something." Zehava sniffed the air as she removed her helmet. "Incense? Perfume? Are there women aboard?" She misunderstood Lowish's hesitation. "Don't be squeamish. I realize they could be dead by now, but did the ship carry women?"
"At least one," he said. "She isn't dead. She's lying in a casket."
Through the transparent lid her hair was a blaze of scarlet glory. Strands of flame wreathing the clear alabaster contours of her face, the long column of her throat. She was nude, the skin of her body almost translucent, unblemished as if she had been a statue carved by a master sculptor from a block of rare and precious marble. A figure he remembered. A face he would never forget.
"Earl!" Zehava was at his side. "What's the matter? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
He had.
Kalin.
Kalin of Solis lying before him as if space and time had no meaning.
"She's beautiful." Zehava drew in her breath as she looked into the casket. "God, but she's lovely!"