Eric Flint's Blog, page 219

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 36

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 36

“This ship…” Adele said, highlighting the largest vessel, “is the Mezentian Gate, a three-thousand ton freighter out of Rosecrans, carrying a rolling mill to Peltry where she was captured in orbit. She is owned by her captain and in the past has carried a total of fifteen crew.”

She moved the highlight to the pair of small ships near the captive. “Neither of these ships has a name,” she said, “but one has the legend 16 painted on both sides of its bow. They are two of the ships which were loitering above Peltry. Captain Vesey — ” as she was while in command of the Princess Cecile ” — informs me that they are 600 ton general purpose craft configured to tow cargoes in the Matrix. Normally that means asteroids, but they towed a freighter full of water to the Peltry system. And this –”

Adele shifted the imagery to the other village and the vessel there. “This is the Roebuck, an eighteen-hundred ton freighter,” she said. “The third pirate vessel. The Roebuck mounts a basket of eight bombardment rockets and is the only armed pirate.”

“The Mezentian Gate was waiting for landing clearance and was taken unawares,” Daniel said, answering a question that Adele hadn’t thought to ask. “A rocket hit near the bow, starting seams. Captain Chidsey had the choice of landing a damaged ship without ground control, or surrendering to the pirates. The pirates put a crew aboard and brought the prize to Benjamin, over.”

“I have no evidence of where the crew of the captive is being kept,” Adele said. “I would be able to pick up radio signals at this distance, but I don’t find any evidence of such signals. Though both villages have smelters, neither seems to be using its fusion bottle to power electric lights. The residents are subsisting at a very low cultural level.”

She cleared her throat. “I believe that’s all I have to say,” Adele said. “Captain Leary, I’m turning the briefing over to you.”

“Spacers of the Nabis Contingent,” Daniel said. Adele noticed again his way of sounding both friendly and in charge. “I’m going to keep this short, because we’ll sort out the attack details on the ground. We’ll be setting down initially a hundred miles west of our targets. If we’re noticed there by locals, it won’t matter since planetary communication on Benjamin is at the smoke-signal level.”

He paused, his image on Adele’s display looking to right and left. Daniel had miniatures of the assembled crews on his screen, almost 400 faces. That was too many people to see as individuals, but the same would have been true if they were on a parade ground in front of him.

“When we go in, it’ll be hard and fast,” Daniel said. “In the best traditions of the Nabis Contingent. For now, dismissed!”

On the Sissie’s command channel, Vesey said, “Ship, prepare for insertion. We’ll extract in Benjamin orbit. Out.”

Benjamin

The Captain’s Great Cabin on the Katchaturian embarrassed Daniel because it was, well, great. It wasn’t just that the destroyer was almost twice the size of a corvette like the Princess Cecile. The Katchaturian had been built on Novy Sverdlovsk, where the distinctions between commissioned officers and everybody else were extreme. A Cinnabar-built destroyer would have applied half this cabin’s volume to crew accommodations.

Daniel looked around the table at his officers and smiled. Reforming the social structure of Novy Sverdlovsk was no part of his duties to either Cinnabar or the Tarbell Stars, and the cabin was extremely useful for Daniel to address all his officers in privacy and comfort.

“Fellow Sissies,” Daniel said, and his grin softened: everyone in the cabin now was former RCN. “We’ll be attacking the two villages simultaneously. The ships will lift from here, take curving courses and keep low, then land a mile from their targets. The Katchaturian will take the village we’re calling Alpha where the captured ship is, the Sissie’s party will take Beta. The locals themselves don’t have names for the villages, as best Officer Mundy can tell.”

“Which means the locals don’t have names for them,” Cory said. Daniel joined in the chorus of chuckles around the table.

Adele was the only RCN officer not present in the flesh. She had said she could join in if needed through the cabin’s display and that she didn’t want to leave her console on the Sissie’s bridge. Daniel had deferred to her opinion, though it would have led to a short discussion if anybody else had said that to him. Nabis officers provided the anchor watches and were assembling the combined crews on the ground between the two ships.

“Six?” said Woetjans, her forehead wrinkled with the effort of getting her mind around a concept. “Why so far out? I mean, I don’t mind a hike, but you and Vesey could drop right in the middle of the places, right? Or a hundred feet out so we don’t burn ’em up, anyway.”

“We don’t want to burn the huts up, that’s true,” Daniel said, “because we don’t know where the prisoners are being kept. We’re all spacers, and the worst these poor bastards from Rosecrans did was sign on with a captain who was more concerned with making port than he was of being ambushed by pirates.”

Nods and grunts of agreement greeted the partial explanation, but Cory and Hale remained still-faced. They clearly realized there was more to come.

“The mile is a compromise,” Daniel continued. “It’s far enough out, especially if we stay low, that it probably won’t alarm the locals, but it’s close enough for the assault parties to hoof it without being too winded by the time they get into position. Remember, we’re landing on sand over rock, not water. Our exhaust will heat the ground molten. It’ll be a good half hour before we can disembark.”

Everybody nodded this time. Cory and Hale wore broad grins besides.

“The assault parties will include all our Nabis personnel and all the Sissies except an anchor watch,” Daniel said. “I’ll be leading Alpha Party, Cory will lead Beta. We’ll –”

“Sir, why you?” said Cory. “I mean, we all know you’re not afraid, but I think I speak for everybody –”

“You bloody well do!” from Dasi; nods and murmurs of agreement around the table.

“– when I say that if some drunken wog gets lucky and blows your brains out, this whole cluster wouldn’t be a fair exchange.”

“Thank you, Master Cory,” Daniel said, “but you’re missing the point. Our current task is to train the Nabis Contingent, particularly the officers. That means demonstrating what leadership means. I’m confident that there are already sufficient officers in the Tarbell Stars who can demonstrate sitting on their butts and sending other people out to die.”

“Sorry, sir,” Cory muttered, jerking bolt-upright and meeting Daniel’s eyes. “Very sorry, sir.”

As well you should be, Daniel thought, but he forced his lips into a smile and as usual his mind followed after a moment. He wanted his people to be cocky and sure that they were the best in the world, but bragging couldn’t get in the way of doing the job. When you parsed out what Cory had said, he was bragging.

“Six,” said Vesey. “I should lead Beta Party.”

Bloody hell, she’s right.

Vesey was seated to Daniel’s immediate right; he stared at her without expression. She didn’t flinch, which showed — Daniel’s smile was internal — that she had guts. That hadn’t been in doubt.

“Yes, you’re right,” Daniel said. “Cory –”

Across the table from Vesey.

“– you’ll still transfer to the Sissie, but you’ll remain in command of her. I want somebody experienced there, because Officer Mundy is our communications and intelligence base.”

“Sir, may I request to accompany Beta Party?” Cazelet said. “I know I’ve had problems pulling the trigger in the past, but I’ll be carrying a length of pipe this time instead of a gun.”

Somebody chuckled. Woetjans glowered and said, “Bloody useful piece of kit, a pipe.”

 

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 11

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 11

One of those virtues, Caitlin reminded herself, was that the Narvo won most of their battles.

She smiled herself, then. She wished she could have mentioned that to Gabe Tully. He might find it a bit of a comfort at the moment.

Probably not, though.

****

“Crazy fucking Jao,” muttered Gabe Tully. The mutter was loud enough that several of the Jao assault troops gathered in the small assembly chamber assumed postures of amusement, some of them combined with feigned-indignation.

The postures were crude, of course. These were rifle carriers from lower rank kochan, not sophisticated scions of Pluthrak, Narvo, or Hij. Many of them were from Krant kochan, which made them the Jao equivalent of hillbillies. The rest were now part of Terra taif, but had their origins mostly in the lesser kochans affiliated with Narvo or Dano.

Tully ignored them as First Sergeant Luff and a couple of senior Jao turned postures to the troops that squelched the mirth. Even though Luff was not Jao and didn’t pretend to know any of what he considered the effete body-language of the upper echelon Jao, none of the troops had trouble reading the angles of his body. Tully wondered what the Jao equivalent for make-my-day was.

He turned to Lt. Vikram Bannerji. His newly assigned intelligence officer was looking alert and raring to go. Tully wasn’t surprised. He’d already come to the conclusion that Bannerji was a geek in uniform, and like all geeks he’d ever known, had bizarre enthusiasms. The sort of people who looked forward eagerly to playing games that sane and normal people would find either boring or incomprehensible

In Bannerji’s case, the bizarre enthusiasm was for all things Ekhat. Where someone like Tully himself–sane, normal–saw only crazed killers, someone like Bannerji saw fascinating subtleties and complexities. Of course, Gabe had thought to himself, Bannerji was also someone who thought all the cultural ins and outs of Hindu society, including the remnants of the caste system, were logical, coherent, and sensible. Go figure.

Bannerji was an upper-crust Indian, born in Mumbai, educated in Oxford. If it weren’t that the lieutenant’s voice carried just a touch of the melodious tones of his native land, Tully could have closed his eyes and almost believed he was listening to the poshest of posh Brits.

“So what can you tell me, Lieutenant?” Tully asked. He nodded toward the big screen at the far end of the assembly chamber, which depicted the same images that were coming into the control rooms of the Lexington and the Ban Chao and every other warship in the fleet. You could say this in favor of the Jao–they weren’t given to stupid security fetishes the way human officials so often were. They saw no reason that the soldiers who’d be doing the fighting shouldn’t get all the information they might need.

“Which faction are we going to be dealing with? Can you tell yet? And if so, what difference is it likely to make in tactical terms? If any?”

Bannerji got that look on his face that Tully was coming to dread. God forbid a geek should give a simple answer to a simple question.

“Well… Until we get a better look at the ships, I can’t tell anything for sure, Colonel. But once I can–”

Gabe cocked a skeptical eyebrow. Bannerji shook his head. “Oh, sure, Colonel, all the factions have their own variations on ship design. Major factions, anyway. Not all of the sub-factions and splinter groups do, though.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Sub-factions. Splinter groups. How do you parse the difference with a pack of homicidal maniacs?”

Bannerji grinned, white teeth contrasting sharply with his dark face. He turned his head and gestured at a Lleix standing a few meters away. “We ought to bring Ramt into this.”

The Lleix was rather young, gauging by her height. Ramt glided forward with the sort of ease and grace that Tully had come to recognize as a sign that she was affiliated with one of the long-established elian. He was a little surprised. As a rule, the Lleix who’d been willing to join the expedition came from the newer elian created by dochaya members.

“Ramt’s from Ehkatlore,” Bannerji explained. He got a wry little smile on his face. “The only one I could sweet-talk into coming along. She’s okay, though, for a nob.”

Nob was a slang term for those Lleix who belonged to the elite elian, as the Lleix themselves ranked these things. Only humans used the expression, though.

Bannerji repeated the question. Thankfully, he didn’t do it in Lleix, as he often did. Trying to improve my command of the language, he’d say. Never mind that the Lleix were a hundred times better linguists than humans or Jao would ever be. As far as Tully was concerned, for a human to take the time and effort to learn Lleix was just pointless. Well… being fair, there was no other way to read Lleix texts.

If you were so inclined. Which Tully certainly was not.

After she heard the question, Ramt turned to face Tully and said: “For our purposes, Colonel, it will make a big difference if you want to capture slaves.”

“How so?” Tully asked

“There are four main factions of the Ekhat: Interdict, Melody, True Harmony, and Complete Harmony, all of which are committed to the purpose of the creation or attainment of something called the Melody. They all believe that the Melody must be, can only be, created by Ekhat.”

Ramt held up a digit, in mimicry of human fingers. “The Interdict believes that work cannot even begin on the Melody until the universe has been purified of all other life forms. They use no slaves of any kind.”

She spoke in fluent, accentless English–with just a slight touch of a drawl. If you were listening to a recording of her voice, about the only way you might be able to guess the speaker wasn’t a native born-and-bred Oklahoman or Texan was because the diction was formal rather than colloquial. That wasn’t because Lleix couldn’t speak idiomatic and slang English; it was because such informality was foreign to their nature.

Another digit was raised. “The Melody faction believes that the work can begin before the purification is complete, but that only the Ekhat can do anything even remotely connected to the work. Very few of the Melody sub-factions use slaves, and the ones that do only use borderline sentient species for very specific tasks.”

The digit count was now three. “True Harmony faction goes beyond the Melody in believing that slaves can be used for any task for which they are of use, except for anything that involves directly crafting the Melody. They harvest many species in their campaigns.”

Ramt raised the fourth and final digit. “The Complete Harmony faction stands at the opposite end of the Ekhat spectrum from the Interdict. They are beyond even the True Harmony in their belief that not only can the Melody be created now, but that even non-Ekhat species can assist in its creation. And Jao records,” she said as her aureole elevated, “as well as surviving Lleix records, indicate just how well they can move their slaves to adopt the Ekhat goals and beliefs. The Jao were their product, after all.”

Ramt lowered and joined her hands before her. “If we are facing the Interdict or Melody factions–any of their many branches, it makes no difference in this regard–I would recommend that you make no attempt to board one of their craft. The chances of finding slaves are slim. And even though the Melody do use slave species, they kill their slaves so quickly than none of them will know much of anything beyond their own narrow specialization. It would be a lot of risk for no benefit.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, as I once heard someone say,” Tully responded. “Thanks.”

Tully headed for the nearest lift to the command deck. He needed to share this with Vanta-Captain Ginta. As for Ramt’s advice… Tully snorted. He would be delighted to recommend to Fleet Commander Dannet that they forego boarding an Ekhat ship if it turned out to be Interdict or Melody. Fat lot of good it would do him. She pretty much set the standard for crazy fucking Jao, as far as he was concerned.

****

Caitlin shrank back in her chair. The view in the display changed as the Lexington pulled back behind the curtains of plasma, edges starting to fuzz out as the ions swirled around the ship. But it looked as if the blips representing the Ekhat ships were actually growing larger. Six of them, rushing after the Lexington into a trap framed by her three sister ships.

She had been along for the ride when Dannet had captained this same ship in a solo action that had ended up destroying five ships from the Melody faction. She wasn’t particularly afraid now; the odds, after all, were noticeably better this time around. But it was still battle, and she couldn’t help remembering the quote Ed had recited after she tried to describe the events of that first combat: “Battle is an orgy of disorder.” He credited it to someone named Patton. One of these days she’d need to read up on him.

He’d told her one other maxim in that same conversation: “No plan of battle survives contact with the enemy. That’s why he’s called the enemy.”

So Caitlin pulled her knees up to her chest in the Jao-sized seat and wrapped her arms around them, closing her teeth on the questions she wanted to ask. Now was not the time to be distracting any of the command center personnel.

She could see Wrot out of the corner of her eye, standing in a relaxed waiting-for-an-expected-conclusion posture. Well, that was almost what it was. His whiskers were just a bit too forward in position, adding a hint of boredom to the picture.

Caitlin smiled, and relaxed a bit more.

 

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 35

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 35

There were several alerts on the command display — Barnes was ready to open the main hatch, Vesey was bringing the Princess Cecile down, and Pasternak had a detailed report on the propulsion systems. They could all wait until Daniel had sorted out Cazelet’s report.

“Sir, Harbor Control reported that it was the pirates from Benjamin that we saw before,” Cazelet said. “They’re probably right, but I won’t be able to confirm that until I’ve checked their records. Ah, sir? Do you suppose Officer Mundy might know, Over?”

“I’ll never bet against what Officer Mundy knows,” Daniel said with a broad grin. “But I think we can go with common sense for now. Break. Lieutenant Cory, do we have two weeks’ stores aboard, over?”

“Six, we’ve got thirty days of everything but dairy and fresh fruit,” Cory replied. “Is there anything in particular you’re worried about, over?”

“Negative,” said Daniel. “Break. Ship, this is Six. I expected to give you all a day’s liberty. That’s not going to happen after all.”

He was using the general channel, so everyone aboard the Katchaturian heard him. Though the Nabis personnel would be upset, Daniel suspected that the announcement made the Sissies within the crew hopeful, because they had a notion of what would come next.

“Instead, all the Nabis personnel are released for six hours,” Daniel said. “Former Sissies get three hours, port watch first. Starboard acts as anchor watch, then switch. When the crew has reported back aboard, we’re going to see some action. Probably not a lot of action, but we’ll be earning our pay.”

The general push was locked in send-only mode so nobody could interrupt Daniel over the intercom, but cheers echoed from the destroyer’s compartments. He continued to smile.

“Now, some of you may wonder what happens if some of you don’t show up after liberty,” Daniel said. “That’s easy: you’re off the ship. I don’t come looking for you. I don’t need spacers who don’t have the balls for a fight, because if you serve with me there’s going to be fighting. Ask the nearest Sissie if you don’t believe me. Six out.”

Daniel took a deep breath, then said, “Ship, I’m opening the main hatch. Barnes, get the gangplank out.”

He pressed Execute. The dogs withdrew from their sockets and the hatch began to pivot down.

There were now a dozen desperate messages on Daniel’s display, but there was another call he needed to make before he talked to any of his officers. “Cazelet,” he said. “I want to talk to Officer Mundy. Can you –”

“Six,” Cazelet interrupted, “you’re connected. Signals out.”

“Adele?” Daniel said. Cazelet was showing off.

“Yes,” Adele said. “I’m looking at the report of the attack which Rene sent me. Can you track the pirates?”

Cazelet has a right to show off.

“No,” said Daniel, “not through the Matrix with that much of a head start. But we’re pretty sure they’re heading for Benjamin with their loot. I think with your help we’ll be able to locate them on the planet.”

Or even without. Adele’s identifications through electronic signatures were valuable, but Daniel’s own Mark 1 Eyeball ought to be good enough to spot the captured freighter among the ships the locals used in their asteroid belt — and for piracy.

“Are you up to join a live-fire exercise against pirates?” he said.

The destroyer rocked as the Sissie landed in the next slip, her thrusters thrashing the surface like eight miniature volcanoes. Daniel would make sure that Cazelet had sent the full report to Vesey, but he didn’t interrupt his discussion with Adele to make the order explicit.

“Yes,” said Adele. “Tovera and I will be with you in half an hour. Sooner, I suppose, if you need us.”

“I’ve given the crew six hours liberty,” Daniel said. “And I want to check the rig, though I don’t expect any real deficiencies. You’ve got plenty of time.”

“Daniel, my specialist equipment is aboard the Princess Cecile,” Adele said. “I can work from the Katchaturian, but it will be more efficient if I’m aboard the Sissie.”

“That’s fine,” Daniel said. “The ships will be operating together. Ah — will this be a problem for your other duties?”

“I’ll lock the doors of the Residency when we leave,” Adele said. “The flowers may suffer, but other than that the operation here will be as productive as it was when Mistress Mignouri was in charge. Doing a favor for the 5th Bureau doesn’t take precedence over my duties to the RCN. And to you.”

“I look forward to seeing you shortly,” Daniel said. He broke the connection, smiling even more broadly.

One light minute above Benjamin

“Benjamin is a mining world,” Adele said, speaking to both the Princess Cecile and by laser link to the Katchaturian, which hung in space next to the corvette. She wasn’t sure how good the destroyer’s commo suite was, but Cazelet and Cory were both aboard her. They would make something work so that the whole crew got the briefing.

“I suppose I should say that Benjamin is a metal processing world,” Adele said. “The residents haul metallic asteroids to the planet’s surface and process them with fusion plants. The work is easier for low-skill personnel to do in normal gravity and atmosphere, and they aren’t concerned about waste products because Benjamin is largely a desert with oases in which most residents live.”

“The residents live like rats in brush hovels,” said Daniel, the only person whom Adele had permitted to comment; all other helmets and consoles were locked out. “That’s another reason they don’t worry about wastes, over.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Adele said. She knew that she worried more about precise details than most listeners did; certainly she worried more than an audience of common spacers on a warship. In her heart though, Adele knew she was right and they were wrong, which made it very difficult for her to restrain the tendency.

She displayed a real-time image of the surface of Benjamin. Normally the necessary level of enhancement at this distance would have washed out details, despite the Sissie’s excellent optics. That wasn’t a problem with Benjamin, because there were no details.

The surface of the planet was of a generally tawny color flecked with gray wedges downwind of smelter flues. No standing water was visible, though Adele knew that greater magnification would have picked up ponds at low points. The watercourses were underground, and only a light dusting of ice glittered at the poles.

“You’ll notice the bright smears at various locations,” Adele said, focusing down on one which was catching sunlight at an angle to display its metallic sheen. “The sharp end of each is a smelter. Ordinarily the settlement will be upwind of the smelter, though I have found exceptions.”

Daniel’s comments about rats living in hovels was unjust to rats. All rats would have moved out of the path of sulfurous fumes.

“That isn’t a concern with the two villages we’re interested in,” Adele said, shifting the display to place the adjacent sites — they were fifteen miles apart — in the same frame. Huts were merely irregularities at this magnification, but the ships were brightly visible: one large and two small ones at the village on the left and a medium-sized ship on the right.

“The nickel-iron which the smelters produce must be transported to other systems for use,” Adele continued. “It pays for basic food stuffs, generally processed algae. Higher value trace minerals are exchanged for luxuries from the small trading vessels which make periodic visits to Benjamin. All in all, it’s a pretty miserable existence, so it’s not really surprising that some miners have turned to piracy in neighboring systems.”

Under other circumstances, Adele might have hesitated before she used a laser communicator to link the two ships, since it was important that they avoid notice from the planet below. Passive observation of ships a light minute out would have been difficult from the surface even of a developed world, but when they were using active emitters detection became an order of magnitude easier.

That said, on Benjamin an order of magnitude didn’t raise the risk to the level of real danger. The only laser receptor on the planet was the one on the freighter whose capture had brought the Nabis Contingent here.

 

Through Fire – Snippet 11

Through Fire – Snippet 11

The young man sneered at me, and made a comment — fast and in archaic French — at Alexis, who looked startled then said, “Eh,” and shrugged. “She is a pretty one, but not that kind of girl.”

I thought he’d seen enough of me to think I looked too pretty. We’d aroused suspicion. From the other side, far away on the left, was the sound of a burner zapping, and then an explosion and screams. Our inspector barely lifted his head. “Stupid,” he said. “But they will try to escape, those improved ones.”

I realized my heart was pounding. Pounding so fast I was afraid he’d hear it.

He looked at us again. “Where in Shangri-la does your mother live?”

Where do our decisions come from?

I’d never even been in a fire fight before. I had fought duels — most people in Eden do, growing up — but they had been bare hands or, on one memorable occasion, daggers. I won’t say I’d never thought of killing someone. I had. When I thought my life was in danger. But I’d never actually pulled the trigger. Except the once, with Len. But that had been different.

Now, there was no time to think — no time to run through the consequences of my actions. I saw the young man reach for a com at his belt, and I moved with the super speed that had been originally engineered into the man whose genes I carried. I took out the burner, set it on cutting beam, leaned past Alexis. I ran the beam clear through our questioner’s heart before he could react. I punched the take off button on the flyer on the way to leaning back in my seat.

I still don’t know why we weren’t shot out of the air. Unless it were because we were up in the air and flying fast by the time the young man in the liberty cap even fell. Plus, I’d used the cutting feature, not the fire one, so they might not even know he was dead, until they got close enough to him to see the blood. And by then we were well away, up in the air.

My last view of Liberte seacity as we took off was a smoldering ruin where the wedding cake-topper palace had been. It looked charred and black, like the skeleton of an ancient beast rising out of the dimatough base of the seacity.

We were slammed against the seat by the force of the takeoff. Burner rays spent themselves in our wake. Alexis got pushed back in his seat with a wide-eyed look in his eyes.

I felt like I had an elephant on my chest. But being stronger than normal people has its uses. I reached over and pressed the leveling button. Then I brought up the map, blindly, and punched remembered coordinates in. Olympus. As Alexis had said, Simon had friends there. Simon and I had helped them when they needed, and now was their turn. And I would see they followed through, if need be.

Alexis took a deep breath. He looked at me. I had shot a man in front of him, with very little provocation. I expected horror in his eyes, but there was only a sort of wondering look. “They will follow us,” he said.

“It will take them time to get in flyers and find us,” I said. “And they might not want to leave the seacity. By now word of what is going on out there must be on the coms. They’ll fear reprisals.”

Alexis took a large handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “Reprisals from whom?”

Again, where do our certainties and our actions come from? I hadn’t thought before I shot, but now I knew why I’d shot, and also why we hadn’t been killed yet. And I knew where the danger would come from for those running riot in Liberte. “Everyone, I should think,” I said. “Including the old Good Men, or do you think they’ll welcome a repeat of the Turmoils?”

Alexis nodded. “Why did you shoot him?” He didn’t ask me how I’d known the coordinates to set a course for Olympus, nor did he change it. Instead, he checked my settings, and made minor alterations. I realized he was changing it so we didn’t pass over areas currently controlled by the Good Man regime, and mostly kept us over Usaian-controlled areas. The question about the shooting was asked in a curious tone, too. I thought that most people — not that I understood much about most people, of course — would be shocked, or worried, or perhaps outraged at my killing someone. Instead, his question was wondering… like the question someone would ask in a classroom. Interested, not immediately pressing.

“He was suspicious,” I said. “And he was reaching for the com at his waist. He’d have called Shangri-la, and probably given the alarm before he did. We’d have been surrounded and watched while he called to confirm our story. I figured if I killed him before he gave alarm…”

He raised an eyebrow, gave me another sidelong glance, and then was quiet. After a while, flying over the ocean, he said, “Was this the first person you killed?”

I shook my head, not wanting to explain about Len. I suppose it wasn’t that hard to explain. We’d got attacked while trying to harvest powerpods in Earth’s orbit, and he’d got a full shot of radiation. We didn’t have anything aboard to cure radiation poisoning, not that extensive. So I’d given him the coup de grace, and limped back to Eden. But there were complications to the events.

Later I’d learned that, in the same situation, Kit — whom I suppose I could call my brother, the man made from the same genes that had created me — had instead taken his radiation-poisoned wife to Earth, and got her treated.

I knew the situations were not the same. Athena Hera Sinistra, Kit’s wife, was, like me, the female clone of a Mule. But her “father” was the Good Man of Syracuse on Earth, and his willingness to do anything to recover her had made her treatment a foregone conclusion. Even then, escaping afterwards had been almost impossible. Len and I had no one on Earth. Even getting someone’s attention would have taken longer than that, and chances were we’d both have gotten killed out of hand. And I might have been captured and tortured for the location of Eden. But what if? What if instead of killing him, I’d refused to concede? What if I’d done the crazy thing and flown to Earth? Would he still be alive today? I closed my eyes.

“Uh,” my companion said.

I opened my eyes. “And you?” I said. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

He lifted his hand to his square face, and smoothed it down over the myriad little wrinkles as though of frowns past. He looked very tired. “Dozens of people.”

Which I suppose made sense, right? He’d been head of security. It would involve neutralizing threats to the Good Man, right?

So why did his answer make me feel uneasy? Surely I hadn’t taken him for an innocent lamb? What use would an innocent lamb be to me right now?

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Alexis, for given values of trusting him. Simon had flung me into his arms with instructions to keep me safe. And he had. So far. And I didn’t think he was going to break his oath to Simon. Not really. And Simon might be slippery, but he did like me, and had been kind to me.

But Alexis had killed dozens of people. Really?

At any rate, soon I’d be in Olympus seacity and safe.

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 26

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 26

****

Around noon the lecture broke up for lunch and a chance to warm up — the private anatomy theater being quite cold, because the low temperature helped slow the decomposition of the bodies.

“Did you see Dr. Laurent’s face when Dr. Gribbleflotz took over his lecture?” Martin Stoler asked the two students he was walking with.

“I thought he was going to have an apoplexy,” Georg Plannter said with a snigger. “He certainly didn’t expect Dr. Gribbleflotz to take him up on his challenge.

“And serve him right, too,” Daniel Schreyber said. “Dr. Gribbleflotz sure showed him how an amputation should be done. And the way he described what he was doing and why was almost as good as Professor Bauhin.”

“I wonder if he gives lessons,” Georg said.

“It’d be wonderful if he did,” Martin said. “He certainly appeared to know more about what he was doing than Dr. Laurent.”

“How do you think he learned to take off a limb that quickly?” Daniel asked as they stepped into a local inn.

“He said he served as a military surgeon,” Martin said. “No doubt he got plenty of practice.” He looked around, searching for a free table, and discovered the man who’d made such an impression in Dr. Laurent’s lecture sitting at a table. He gestured in Phillip’s direction. “Why don’t we ask if he gives lessons?”

Daniel looked in the direction Martin was gesturing, and froze on the spot. “But we can’t just walk up to him, he’s a doctor.”

“Of course we can,” Georg said as he started towards Phillip. “What’s the worst he can do, say no?”

Martin and Daniel hurried to catch up with Georg and the three of them arrived at Phillip’s table at the same time. Martin, as the eldest of the three, assumed responsibility for disturbing the doctor. “Herr Dr. Gribbleflotz, could we have a word with you?” he asked.

****

Phillip looked up from the book he was reading. He was momentarily confused by the honorific, but for now he let that slide. “How can I help you?”

Georg gestured to his two companions. “We were in Dr. Laurent’s anatomy class when you took over the amputation demonstration.”

“You were fantastic,” Daniel said. “Where did you learn to give a demonstration like that?”

“Ouch!” Daniel glared at Martin. “That hurt,” he said as he rubbed the spot Georg’s elbow had struck.

“It was supposed to,” Martin muttered as he raised his eyes heavenward.

Phillip managed to smother a grin. He now knew why the man had addressed him as Dr. Gribbleflotz. He’d heard Dr. Laurent granting him that honorific, and no doubt believed he was truly a doctor. He was surprised at how good being addressed as Dr. Gribbleflotz made him feel. If things had been different, and Professor Casseri hadn’t died so inconveniently, he would have graduated from Padua with an M.D. years ago.

Georg glared at Daniel and Martin before turning back to Phillip. “Daniel is right though. You were fantastic. You knew exactly what you were doing and your explanation as you did it was fascinating. Where did you learn to give a demonstration like that?”

“I learned at the feet of the great Professor Casseri,” Phillip said. He didn’t mention Padua, because everyone should know Professor Casseri had taught at Padua.

“Professor Casseri,” Martin mumbled in awe. “He was one of the greatest teachers ever. I’ve read the reports of that anatomy course he gave in Padua’s public anatomy theater just before he died.”

“I was there,” Phillip said.

Martin’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really,” Phillip agreed. “I stood just behind Professor Casseri on the first tier and saw and heard everything.”

“Herr Dr. Gribbleflotz, could you teach us to do surgery like you do?”

Phillip straightened. It was all he could do not to preen at being called Dr. Gribbleflotz again. He really should tell them that he wasn’t a doctor, but maybe not yet. “It took me years of practice to get as good as I am.”

“We understand that, Dr. Gribbleflotz,” Martin said. “But until Professor Bauhin gives his annual anatomy course we’re dependent on what people like Dr. Laurent can teach us.”

“Which isn’t much,” Phillip muttered.

“Exactly,” Daniel said. “So we were wondering if you were planning on putting on a proper teaching demonstration, where we might actually learn how to do surgery.”

Phillip licked his lips. That sounded like an interesting idea. He would certainly be better than that bumbling fool, Dr. Laurent. “I wasn’t planning to, but having seen Dr. Laurent at work, maybe I should consider it. Do you know where I might find a suitable place to hold a demonstration?”

“The theater Dr. Laurent is using will be free at the end of the week,” Daniel said.

Phillip thought back to the small anatomy theater erected in a warehouse that Dr. Laurent had been using. “If I was to charge the same fee as Dr. Laurent and attract the same number of people, I could afford to give a week long course,” he suggested. “Of course, I’d first have to secure a supply of suitable cadavers.”

Martin’s head jerked up. “You think you could get real cadavers?”

“Of course,” Phillip said. “It’s a bit difficult to teach anatomy without suitable bodies.”

“Dr. Laurent only has dogs,” Daniel said.

“Yes, well, Dr. Laurent hasn’t exactly impressed me,” Philip said. “Suitable cadavers are more expensive than animals. I wouldn’t be surprised if his failure to secure cadavers was merely him trying to maximize his income.”

“You really think you can get cadavers?” Martin asked.

Phillip nodded. “It’s the right time of year.” He smiled at the blank looks of the young students. “Winter is when a lot of the poor die, and Basel’s climate is even less forgiving than Padua’s, where I helped secure cadavers for Professor Casseri’s dissections. How about you check that there are enough people interested in a private anatomy course while I check to see if I can get the cadavers and a suitable place to hold the demonstration?”

Martin got to his feet. “Thank you, Herr Dr. Gribbleflotz. We’ll get onto that right away.” He dragged Georg and Daniel to their feet. “How will we get in touch with you,” he asked.

“I have a place near the St Alban cloister,” Phillip said as he wrote the address on a scrap of paper and offered it to Martin.

“Out by the paper mill?” Daniel screwed up his nose. “Why would you want to stay there? It stinks.”

“I dabble in alchemy and the apothecary’s arts,” Phillip said. “And I have managed to lease a laboratory out that way.”

Martin carefully folded the scrap of paper and put it away in his belt purse. “Thank you, Herr Dr. Gribbleflotz. You won’t regret this.”

“If I do decide to present a short course on anatomy, I’ll need some assistants. Would you three be interested?”

“Oh, yes,” Daniel answered. Martin and Georg quickly added their agreement.

“Then I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

Phillip smiled as he watched the three students leave. The money from giving a course on anatomy would certainly be welcome. But that was secondary to the glow he’d felt when they called him Dr. Gribbleflotz. He was going to have to see about arranging to teach a course on anatomy. That raised a smile. Doctor was Latin for teacher. He’d be teaching, so he’d be fully entitled to call himself a doctor.

With the smile still on his face Phillip rose from his seat and walked over to the innkeeper. He needed information, and innkeepers were usually a good source of that.

****

Later that afternoon Phillip was at a bit of a loose end. By the time he got back to his laboratory it had been too late to start up the distillation furnace, so he couldn’t distill anything. He’d cleared his schedule so that he could attend Dr. Laurent’s series of lectures, so none of his regulars were going to expect him to be in his laboratory. That meant there was little likelihood that anybody would drop by for any reason. And it was going to take a couple of days at least before the man the innkeeper recommended to him was free. All in all, he was going to have a boring afternoon.

He was gloomily staring at the report he’d written on Professor Casseri’s last anatomy course, trying to generate the enthusiasm to reread it, when he heard the rapid beat of someone running on cobblestones. He closed the report and concentrated on the sound. It sounded like wood on cobblestones. Most of the people living or working in this part of Basel wore wooden clogs, but few of them would choose to run in them except in an emergency. Phillip started to feel hopeful. An emergency could mean someone needed his services. He laid down the report and got to his feet. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but . . . Phillip’s musings were interrupted by someone hammering on his door. He smiled. Maybe he wasn’t being so wishful after all.

“Dr. Gribbleflotz, are you in?” a breathless voice called. “There’s been an accident at the Aeschen-tor and Sergeant Schweitzer says can you please come.”

 

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 10

The Span Of Empire – Snippet 10

Chapter 3

Caitlin leaned over to Vaughan. “Are those what I think they are?” The large vision screen was now set to distance imaging, and the images on the screen were not direct visualizations of whatever objects the ship’s detection devices were focusing on. They bore a closer resemblance to old-fashioned radar blips, although they were the product of equipment that was much more sensitive and complex. Still, from past experience–even more, from the obvious tension of the human and Jao crewmen on the command deck–Caitlin was pretty sure she was looking at Ekhat warships.

Quite a few Ekhat warships.

“Yes,” Vaughan said grimly. “That’s an Ekhat fleet. Six ships, at a minimum.”

As if to add emphasis to his words, a loud signal started blaring. That was Battle stations–or the Jao equivalent, rather, which more properly translated as Prepare to fight the enemy. In this as in all things, the Jao tended to be literalists. When humans might say, To arms! the Jao would say Take up weapons! Given a choice between poetry and prose, the Jao would pick prose every time.

Vaughan was looking elsewhere on the detector screen, however, at some sort of largish blobby thing in the corner that Caitlin didn’t remember having ever seen before. He pointed at it.

“See that? I’m not a sensor specialist, but that indicates an inhabited planet. Inhabited and technologically very active. Which means that for the first time in my experience–or any human’s experience, so far as I know–we’ve stumbled onto an Ekhat world.”

Dannet was suddenly standing next to them. “You are correct. This is not something many Jao have ever seen, either. Or at least, survived to tell about it.”

“This just gets better and better,” Caitlin muttered. From the corner of her eye, she could see Wrot shifting position to accepting-reality. She hadn’t intended for anyone to hear that, but Wrot missed very little. She knew he took some pride in that, as well. He twitched his whiskers again. She’d have to find out from him what that particular fillip of body-speech meant.

Wrot didn’t say anything, though. He just turned his head to track Fleet Commander Dannet. The big Jao was back to moving around the command deck much like a restless panther.

That was a pretty good analogy, in fact. Caitlin had learned in the battle of Valeron that Dannet was nothing if not a fighter–and was a firm believer in the old human adage that the best defense is a good offense.

Abstractly, Caitlin figured, that was a splendid quality to have in a naval commander. It could get pretty hair-raising, though, when–to use another old human expression–the shit hit the fan.

Sure enough. Caitlin was an expert in reading Jao body language, and was particularly fluent in the Narvo dialect of that complex quasi-tongue. Dannet’s posture was one she’d never seen before but was not at all difficult to interpret despite being a tripartite posture. Not knowing the formal designation, Caitlin settled on eager-but-held-in-check-anticipation-of-triumph. No doubt the Jao had a more economical way of putting that, but the expression captured the gist of it.

Dannet wasn’t even considering the possibility of fleeing from the scene. She wanted a battle, and despite the odds seemed to feel she had a good chance of winning it.

Caitlin had no idea why the fleet commander would feel that way. She herself, were she not strictly maintaining a posture of resolution-in-the-face-of-peril, would probably be showing the human equivalent of looking-for-a-way-out. She thought of trying for a more difficult tripartite position, but she didn’t think she could keep her hands still enough to add a convincing adamant to what she was already displaying.

“Have the Ekhat detected us?” Dannet asked one of the technical officers. Caitlin didn’t know the Jao’s name, but from his console’s position on the command deck she presumed he was in charge of sensors and detection.

“Almost certainly, Fleet Commander,” he replied. “But we won’t know for certain until–” He broke off for a moment, looking at something on one of the screens that Caitlin couldn’t interpret from a distance–and probably couldn’t have interpreted even if she’d been standing right in front of the screen herself.

“That makes it definite, Fleet Commander. The enemy has spotted us and…”

Again, he paused for a moment, studying another screen. “And now they’re heading toward us.”

What he really meant was “and now they’ve begun an approach which, presuming various intricate maneuvers in response to this solar system’s gravitational constraints and our own actions, will eventually result in their intersecting our course.” But Jao had no patience for such pointless crossing of t’s and dotting of i’s.

Lieutenant Vaughan was pushing control pads on his console and muttering into the boom microphone he was wearing. Caitlin tried to ignore him, and dropped back into her seat and fastened her harness. Things looked like they were about to get interesting, and she had no desire to emulate a ping-pong ball in the command deck.

Dannet turned away from the tech officer and toward Terra-Captain Uldra. “Reverse course back into the photosphere.” Over her shoulder, she said to the com officer: “Order the other battleships to prepare for an ambush. Tactical variant Gamma Bravo is most likely, but variant Delta Delta is also possible. Light attack craft should take station Gamma Rho and wait for opportunities.”

There was a faintly distasteful tinge to her body posture that almost made Caitlin laugh. Those Greek-derivated tactical terms were completely human and not something any Jao–much less a Narvo–would have taken to readily. But the expedition’s personnel was more than seventy percent human, and even the purely naval personnel was only one-third Jao. So, whether the Jao liked it or not, compromises had been made everywhere, including in tactical doctrine and parlance.

Being fair to Dannet, while she sometimes could not quite restrain her irritation from showing, she did accept the political realities–and sometimes displayed an acute ability to use the resulting hybrids to good effect.

Vaughan pushed more pads and muttered into his microphone some more.

The fleet commander continued giving orders to the com officer. “Instruct the supply ships and personnel ships to remain in the photosphere as long as possible. If any of their shielding begins to look seriously compromised, they have permission to retreat back to the framepoint of origin. But tell them that I would much prefer it if they remained with the fleet.”

“Yes, Fleet Commander.”

“Tell the Ban Chao to prepare for a boarding operation.”

Caitlin had to keep her jaw from openly dropping. The Ban Chao was the expedition’s troop transport. It might be better to say, armored assault ship, since the Ban Chao was designed to survive battles within a star’s photosphere.

Only Jao–only damned Jao lunatics, was the way Gabe Tully had put it–would have designed a ship like the Ban Chao. It probably took a Jao to even conceive of such a ship.

The Ban Chao had been designed and built to withstand ramming impacts that would have crushed the hulls of even Lexington-class battleships. And the ship’s crew and the troops held within its massive frame could take positions in complex harnesses which had been designed and built to keep them alive no matter how great the impact, so long as the hull itself wasn’t breached. The Ban Chao’s engines were the most powerful yet designed and built, and those engines powered shields that were strong enough that Ban Chao could keep a shattered Ekhat ship within her own protective bubble after she rammed it. Otherwise the Ekhat ship would simply be consumed in the hellish environment of a solar photosphere.

In short, the Ban Chao had been designed for the express purpose of boarding Ekhat warships in mid-battle, even within the plasma of a star, which is where most experts expected it to be used. (Only the most visionary (i.e., wild-eyed optimists) considered a ram could be done in open space, given speeds available.) And the reason it had been so designed was because humans insisted on something that would not have been conceived by a Jao–to wit, that their military intelligence was sadly lacking in data concerning not only the Ekhat but, most importantly, the many slave species that the Ekhat used for most of the tasks of crewing their ships. They’d already tried to interrogate an Ekhat captured at the battle of Valeron a couple of years ago, with signal lack of success. The lack of intelligence needed to be made up; the only way to do that was to capture some slaves; and the only way anyone could think to do that was in the middle of a battle.

So, the Ban Chao. But it would not have occurred to Caitlin until now that the assault ship would be used in a battle where the Jao-human-Lleix forces were so obviously outnumbered. And Tully was over there, because that’s where the majority of his troops were, and he had determined that if this very circumstance came about, however low the probabilities might be, he was going to be with the assault group.

Wrot leaned over. “We’re in space, so it is the Fleet Commander’s call, as you humans would put it. But if you didn’t want an aggressive fleet commander, you probably shouldn’t have selected Dannet.” He straightened back up with a touch of what Caitlin decided was smug-repose.

That should have called for a retort, but there wasn’t much she could say to that. Her former mentor Professor Jonathan Kinsey had once commented that, while the analogy had its limits, there were a lot of ways in which the two greatest of the Jao kochan–Pluthrak and Narvo–were analogous to the two greatest city-states of ancient Greece. The Pluthrak being the Athenians, of course, and the Narvo being the Spartans.

The analogy was something of a stretch, especially the one between the Pluthrak and the Athenians. The Spartan analogy, on the other hand . . . was probably much less so. The Narvo were indeed the great warrior kochan of the Jao species, known and respected as such by all the other kochan. They had all the traditional Spartan virtues as well as many of the traditional Spartan limitations.

 

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 34

Death’s Bright Day – Snippet 34

CHAPTER 13

Above Peltry

“Braking in five seconds,” Daniel announced over the ship channel, piping his voice through every commo helmet and every PA speaker on the Katchaturian. He watched the countdown clock and said, “Braking — now.”

He pressed the Execute button, which on this Sverdlovsk-built destroyer was a real button instead of being virtual like that of the Sissie. The twelve plasma thrusters roared in unison.

The ship shuddered — of course — but with a little more violence than Daniel thought was proper. He eyed the readouts, then used the vernier scale to adjust the attitude of both bow nozzles on the port outrigger. The vibration smoothed noticeably.

He grinned. Noticeably to him, at least.

“Power,” Daniel said, keying a two-way link to Chief Engineer Pasternak. The 2 g braking thrust would be uncomfortable to walk in, but it didn’t seriously affect anyone’s ability to speak. “Chief, I think you solved the problems when you blew out Tank Three. “Good call, over.”

When Daniel moved to the Katchaturian, he had brought the Sissie’s chief engineer with him. The corvette’s propulsion systems were in blue-print condition, but he hadn’t been confident that the same would be true for the destroyer.

In fact neither the thruster nozzles nor the High Drive motors of the Katchaturian had excessive hours on them. On the voyage out to 5L13TTF — the uninhabited world Daniel had chosen for training — there had been niggling stumbles in both systems, however.

Pasternak had finally decided that the problem wasn’t in the power units themselves but rather was debris in one of the destroyer’s reaction mass tanks. The Power Room crew had blown out the tank and the lines it fed while Daniel and his officers conducted training either on the ground or on the Princess Cecile.

“Six, I don’t think that tank had been drained in years,” Pasternak replied. “That bloody Riddle –” the Katchaturian’s chief engineer when Daniel took over the Nabis Contingent; Pasternak had cashiered him on his first inspection of the destroyer’s Power Room “– was a lazy scut besides being a drunk, which was why I fired him. The ship made only short hops, and Riddle didn’t rotate the draw so that they all got used. Over.”

“Six out,” Daniel said, smiling faintly.

The stutter in the thrusters as he brought the Katchaturian down on a rocky shoreline on 5L13TTF for the first time had been unnerving. The problem could have been in the ship’s electronics — or worse, the wiring harness. The notion that trash in the reaction mass lines was randomly starving the thrusters of fuel hadn’t occurred to him, because it was so easy to prevent.

Atmospheric buffeting began when the destroyer braked into Peltry’s stratosphere. It grew worse as she dropped lower.

A starship couldn’t be streamlined. Even with the antennas and yards telescoped and lashed firmly to the hull, a ship was a mass of irregular protrusions. At the speeds a starship entered the atmosphere, you could only hang on and hope that nothing — well, as little as possible — carried away.

The Sissie and Katchaturian had proceeded to their destination in a series of hops through the Matrix rather than the single insertion which was all that so short a distance really required. Daniel was not only giving the new personnel as much experience as possible, he wanted his Sissies to get a feel for people who would revert to being officers if they worked out.

Most of the Nabis officers had done pretty well, or anyway well enough. An infantry captain — formally, the ground troops had been the Capital Regiment on Nabis — was probably a decent officer in his original slot, but he had proven unwilling to take orders from warrant officers or from women. Minister Robin might well have a use for him; Daniel Leary did not.

The Katchaturian handled well on reentry; better than the Princess Cecile if the truth were told, though Daniel didn’t think he would ever say that aloud. They were actually slanting in short of his intended path to Newtown Harbor, so he angled the thrusters to emphasize lift over braking. The buffeting increased, but not seriously.

5L13TTF had a breathable atmosphere and a temperate climate at the equator. It had never been settled because there was no soil and plenty of more suitable worlds in this region, but it was a perfect place for firearms training.

“Marksmanship training” would have been overstating the process, because at the end of it most of the spacers — Sissies as well as the Nabis recruits — still couldn’t be expected to hit a man-sized target much farther than they could have thrown the weapon.

They were less likely to be afraid of an impeller, however, and they were probably less likely to shoot things by accident. A technician had blown off his own big toe, but spacers regularly lost digits and even limbs. Daniel thought the fellow would be all right in the Katchaturian’s Power Room once he’d healed.

He halted the destroyer in a hover, then slid her sideways into position a hundred feet above her slip in the naval harbor. Flaring the thruster nozzles manually, Daniel set her down. Just above the surface their descent slowed. The ship wallowed for a moment, cushioned by steam licked upward by plasma exhaust. When the outriggers touched the water, Daniel chopped the throttles.

It had been a good landing, though a slight drift to port suggested that either thruster alignment or the sphincter balance wasn’t as good as it could be. He and Pasternak with all the original Nabis officers would go over the propulsion systems in the next day or two.

It was also true that the Katchaturian’s greater length to breadth ratio than a corvette emphasized Daniel’s sloppiness. Schnitker — the Nabis and later Tarbell captain, now Daniel’s striker — would have said that the landing had been perfect.

Daniel grinned. When I start judging my performance by the standards of an officer from Novy Sverdlovsk, now working in the back of beyond, it will be time to retire. Though in fairness, Schnitker was a decent astrogator and a better shiphandler than most recent Academy graduates.

The Katchaturian pinged and crackled as she cooled. The pumps in her stern throbbed, sucking harbor water to replenish the ship’s reaction mass through fat hoses. For human use the water would be distilled, but inlet filtering was sufficient for the thrusters and High Drives. Any working fluid was adequate for the propulsion systems, but using water had benefits for the crews.

Daniel checked his read-outs and found no red lights. Barnes, the bosun, and his crew wouldn’t be able to check the rigging until the ship had cooled considerably, but at least they hadn’t lost a whole antenna. The hull’s integrity was as good as you could expect of a ship which had seen more than twenty years service, and only one of the High Drive motors was showing excessive wear. In all, a very satisfactory —

Cazelet was the Katchaturian’s acting signals officer. The slot was ordinarily that of a junior warrant officer, but Daniel had become used to having a signals officer who did more than pass messages.

Neither Cory nor Cazelet were the equal of Adele, but she had trained them to do many of the things she did — and more important, to think the way she did. When Cazelet sent an alert message to the command console, Daniel opened it immediately and scanned the contents.

“Cazelet,” he said, opening a link. “What has the government reaction been, over?”

“Sir, there hasn’t been one,” Cazelet said. “Not to mention, I mean. Port Control alerted the Alfonso, the destroyer on standby, but the captain queried the Ministry of War and the Ministry hasn’t responded. That was five hours ago, over.”

“Do we know who the pirates were?” Daniel said. He called up the recordings of Katchaturian’s Plot Position Indicator when they extracted above Peltry an hour ago. The hulk which held reaction mass for the pirates remained where it had been, a million miles above the surface, but the three smaller vessels had vanished.

 

Through Fire – Snippet 10

Through Fire – Snippet 10

Who Goes There?

Alexis knew exactly where the transport was, and it must have been very carefully procured because it looked nothing like an official vehicle.

It certainly didn’t look like anything that the Good Man would own. Parked in a narrow, deserted street, the flyer was gray, battered, with cracks showing on its ceramite finish. It was the sort of vehicle a very young man or a very poor one could own. It opened at the touch of Alexis’ finger in the genlock. We’d come to the street through a network of back streets, past bars and diners, past repair shops and used clothing stores.

Through it all, I kept my ears open and stayed alert, not because I didn’t trust Alexis, but because I didn’t trust anyone, because I had need of making sure he hadn’t lied to me simply to remove me from the seacity; because I had to make sure he wasn’t betraying me, or, worse, betraying Simon.

What I heard confirmed Alexis’ scouting of the situation. First of all, there was the smell. Have you ever smelled large-scale burning? I hadn’t. I came from a colony world. Eden existed inside a hollowed-out asteroid. If we burned anything much, it would play havoc with the atmosphere scrubbers. And yet, I knew when I smelled burning that it wasn’t the normal burning of a log in the fireplace or a campfire like the one that Simon had built on his land to show me what it looked like. No. This was a… the only way to describe it is “dirty smell” compounded of chemicals and seared flesh and other things not meant to be burned.

And then there were the sounds. Echoes of singing, that even at this distance, with no words audible, sounded angry. Explosions. The occasional scream. And laughter. The laughter was the worst.

So I tried to help Alexis pass, to make us go unnoticed, to help us escape. I’d put my arm through Alexis’ and tried to babble about what we were passing. I wasn’t sure this was right. Len and I hadn’t talked much in the end because, like all navigators and pilots from Eden, we had a bioengineered mind link to each other. And it was probably not the normal talk. He knew what I was and so did I. And we had mind-to-mind communication, a handy thing engineered into nav and cat pairs. So there had been no need for much talk.

But I leaned into Alexis and tried looking affectionate. Would a couple out for a day together talk about the disturbing events around them, or not? I didn’t. I talked of the dress and the weather, and an advertisement moving murkily on a shop window.

The scary thing about these streets was how quiet they were. Sounds came from other areas, but not here. I’d been here before, on normal evenings, and they’d been full of people. People on their way to work, people looking for a meal, people out with lovers or friends or relatives.

Now the streets spread out, empty, with closed shops on either side shining forlorn lights from the windows and their signs onto the pitted dimatough pavement. Even the eating establishments were closed. I wondered how many of the owners, how many of the residents in this unglamorous part of Liberte seacity were actually home, hiding behind their closed doors and their shuttered windows. And how many were elsewhere in the seacity? How many had been part of the mob that had taken over the palace.

Explosions illuminated our surroundings in sudden orange bursts. But, as far as I could tell, the explosions, the action were all at other levels in the seacity, above or below, accessible only by stairways and the public elevators, if those were still running.

We found the battered gray flyer, and Alexis opened it without a word. Inside, it was very clean and smelled vaguely of lemon, but the seats were cracked, and the controls looked shopworn.

Instead of taking off directly from parking, he flew just a little above the surface down the network of streets, as though the flyer were a ground vehicle. He caught my puzzled glance and said, “If we take off, we will be shot down. The word is out that there is an area from which we can take off. The revolutionary guard is vetting everyone allowed off the seacity. Not that they …” He shrugged. “They want to be sure, you know, that no one escapes.”

The thought came through that he might just be intending to turn me in, to have me killed as the price of his escape. Still, I remembered Simon more or less throwing me at Alexis, and directing Alexis to keep me safe, the desperate note but also the absolute trust in Simon’s voice. Sometimes the best you can do is trust that others know what they’re doing.

We flew at near ground level all the way to an area that might have been a parking lot in happier days. Now, there were some charred hulls of flyers, obviously set on fire. I wondered what had happened to the occupants, and refused to look too closely, just in case they were still there.

There were also other flyers, like ours, with people inside them, forming an irregular line. Down each side of the line came young men armed with burners. They were wearing red Frisian caps. I didn’t wonder at it. It had been part of the paraphernalia of the Sans Culottes, and Simon himself had worn one when he declared his own reign over and the transition to the tenth republic initiated. But there was something to the way these young men wore it that implied they were more serious — or at least less careless — of all that those caps implied. Liberty caps. I knew from Eden the history of the revolution they were associated with. Not in detail. It was ancient history, after all and I was not an historian. But enough to know that it had become a blood bath. I clutched my hands on either side of my seat and held on.

One of the young man came to our window and bent to look through it at us– dark brown hair, gray eyes, a face that looked as though it had been smudged in an explosion, with a sort of sneer that might mean pride or fear. Or both. “What business do you have flying out?” he asked. His voice was raspy. “And who are you?”

“I’m Alexandre,” Alexis said. “Alexandre Borde. This is my friend, Madeleine Fabron. We’re– That is–” He looked equal parts confused, scared, and perhaps embarrassed. “My mother is scared. In Shangri-la. She was on the com to me, and she’s scared. We’re flying back to stay with her.”

The young man’s lip curled upward. “You’re from Shangri-la?”

“Yeah,” Alexis said. “I work there, at the Debussy café. I’m the cook.”

The young man looked over at me. “Madeleine is the waitress there,” Alexis said. I realized that the light over the passenger seat was broken and wondered if he’d meant it that way. Then I told myself of course he meant it that way. I was not in the hands of a casual conspirator. His words I was on death row for revolutionary activities came back to me, and I wondered what those activities had been. Had he tried to overthrow the government of the Good Men? Had it all been propaganda and the distribution of pamphlets against their rule? Or had it been something more material? I had heard it was possible to get killed simply for disagreeing with them, but I didn’t know if that was true.

 

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 25

1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz – Snippet 25

Chapter 4

Dr. Gribbleflotz I Presume

July 1622, Basel

Phillip was footsore and sweaty as he made his way up to the main gate on the north eastern wall of the city of Basel. He stopped short of the moat and stared at the walls. They were impressive, and this was only the bit of the city protecting the bridge across the Rhine.

A tug on the lead he was holding brought him back to his need to get into the city before they shut the gates. “Come on, Dapple. Let’s get a move on,” he told his pack-donkey. This wasn’t the same donkey he’d had in Dalmatia. He’d sold that Dapple before he left the country, but he liked the name.

With a gentle tug on the lead rope Dapple reluctantly gave up on snatching at any grass that was within reach and fell in beside Phillip. Ahead of them was the Riehen-tor, and standing waiting for them, and any other travelers, were the gate guards.

As they got close one of the guards stepped out in front of Phillip holding up his hand. “Halt. Who are you, and what is your business in the city of Basel?” Hans Keisser asked.

Phillip had expected to be challenged, so he pulled out his papers and offered them to the guard. “I am Philip Gribbleflotz, and I am a physician and surgeon.”

Hans passed Phillip’s papers to the other guard, who was either of higher rank, or more able to read. That man skimmed the documents Phillip had handed over.

“You served as a physician and surgeon in the army of Count Wilhelm of Nassau-Siegen for four years?” Sergeant Niklaus Heffelfinger asked.

Philip nodded. It was after all, what the documents said.

Niklaus handed the papers back to Phillip. “Where have you been since you left the Count’s service?”

“I stopped over in Leiden to attend some lectures at the medical school there.” Phillip shuddered at the memory. It hadn’t been a good idea. “Leiden was full of Galenists, while I’m a Paracelsian We had a few disagreements on medical theory, so I decided to head here, to Basel.”

“What are Galenists and Paracelsians?” Hans asked.

“Galen was a famous Classical Roman physician, while Paracelsus died less than a hundred years ago . . .” Phillip warmed to his subject and spent the next ten minutes explaining the differences between the two medical movements to Hans and Niklaus without them even hinting that they wanted him to stop.

“So what makes you think the professors at the university here in Basel will be any more likely to accept the ideas of the Paracelsian movement?” Niklaus asked when Phillip finished his explanation.

“But didn’t I say?” Phillip asked, shocked that he might have missed out such an important piece of information. “Many years ago the University of Basel gave the great Paracelsus the Chair of Medicine, and surely they would only do that if they were amenable to the ideas of the Paracelsian movement.’

The guards conceded the point. “You may find it difficult setting up a medical practice in Basel,” Niklaus said.

“I know,” Phillip said. “Any city with a medical school usually has a surplus of physicians. However, I’m more interested in setting up a laboratory to continue my studies in iatrochemistry than creating a practice.”

“If you’re not planning on setting up a practice, how do you intend earning a living?” Niklaus asked.

“I expect to make alchemical and apothecary supplies. Would you have any idea where I might secure a suitable laboratory?”

Niklaus and Hans stepped back from Phillip and a conversation involving a lot of arm waving and pointed took place. A couple of minutes later Niklaus provided Phillip with directions to somewhere that might be suitable. Phillip gave them a gratuity for their help, and entered the city.

December 1622

Phillip wanted to keep up with the latest medical developments, so he had cleared his schedule so he could attend a private dissection. Unfortunately, the course he bought a place in was being presented by Dr. Ambrosius Laurent.

Over the last hour Phillip had been grinding his teeth at the atrocious medical advice Dr. Laurent was giving. He’d managed to hold his tongue, if only barely, all that time, but when Dr. Laurent went on to describe how he thought an amputation should be performed Phillip lost it. His comment wasn’t very loud, but the voice he’d developed over the years of reading aloud in inns and barns easily carried throughout the dissection theater.

Dr. Laurent turned a baleful glare onto Phillip. “The peacock dares suggest I don’t know what I’m doing?” he said to his companion in a carrying voice.

The slur was aimed at Phillip’s taste for colorful clothes. It was obviously envy, Phillip decided. “I wear colors because they feed the essence of my spirit. I could wear black, but people who wear black are usually intent on showing off how much money they can waste on their clothes. He looked Dr. Laurent up and down. “And then there are those people who can’t quite afford real black, who instead settle for a merely good dark blue.” Phillip added a smile, just to ensure Dr. Laurent knew he’d been insulted.

There were hastily muffled twitters around the theater and Dr. Laurent’s face grew fiery red as he stroked the fine cloth of his merely good dark blue jacket. He glared angrily at Phillip. “If you think you’re so good, why don’t you come down here and take over?”

Phillip thought about it. The problem was, any surgery could get blood or gore on his fine clothes. Of course the dog being dissected had been well bleed, so . . .

Dr. Laurent must have taken Phillip’s hesitation to mean he lacked conviction in his ability, because he said something to the man beside him and they both started laughing. That was the last straw for Phillip. Any gore or blood on his clothes would be a small price to pay for putting Dr. Laurent in his place. He swung down from the gallery onto the stage and walked towards the dissection table where the carcass of a dog was substituting for the cadaver Dr. Laurent had failed to provide.

“What do you think you’re doing? Dr. Laurent demanded as Phillip paused beside the table where surgical instruments were laid out.

“You asked me to take over,” Phillip said as he selected the instruments he knew he would need for an amputation.

“I most certainly did not,” Dr. Laurent insisted.

Phillip ignored Dr. Laurent, which he knew would really annoy the older man, and turned to face the now very interested audience. “You really need to witness an amputation on a living beast to truly understand the difficulties involved,” he explained. “There is a lot of difference between an amputation on a dead animal and a live one,” he said. “For a start, the live ones feel pain.” He cracked a smile. “They tend to wriggle when you start to cut.” With that Philip started to demonstrate on the front right leg of the dog how to perform an amputation.

It took him less than a minute to take the leg off. He could have done it faster, he explained, but he was demonstrating the process, not his speed. He went on to demonstrate the proper way to close an amputation. That too could have been done faster, but he let the audience closest to the dissection table help him.

When he finished Phillip stepped back from the dog and waved his hands. “And that is how an amputation should be done,” he announced to the students who’d followed his every move.

There was a resounding round of applause, to which Phillip bowed, before climbing back to his spot in the galleries. Behind him Dr. Laurent was seething. “I don’t know who you think you are, or what gives you the right to try and make a fool of me, but I will not stand for it!”

Phillip stared straight back. “I am Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz, and I don’t have to try to make a fool of you, you’re doing a more than adequate job of that yourself, which is more than I can say for your demonstration so far.” That sally was received with roars of laughter, which didn’t go down well with Dr. Laurent.

“As for what gives me the right?” Phillip continued. “I studied at Padua under the great Professor Casseri. After I left the university I gained real world experience as a military physician and surgeon in the service of the counts of Nassau-Siegen.” Phillip stared right into Dr. Laurent’s eyes. “How many real amputations have you ever performed?” he challenged.

Dr. Laurent’s face was red. He pointed a trembling finger at Phillip. “I want you out of my theater, now!”

Phillip stood his ground. “I’m not leaving,” he said. “I’ve paid to attend a series of lectures, and even though I’m not particularly impressed by what I’ve seen and heard so far, I insist on getting my money’s worth.”

Dr. Laurent turned to one of his assistants. “Repay Dr. Gribbleflotz’ entry fee and see that he is not allowed back in.”

A few minutes later Phillip was back outside the building, his purse recharged with the refunded entry fee. A rumbling stomach and coin in his purse decided for him where he would go next.

 

Through Fire – Snippet 09

Through Fire – Snippet 09

“How do they know?”

He made a gesture, like it was all up. “The Usaians,” he said, referring to the messianic cult that had modeled their revelations on the principles of the long-vanished country which used to occupy vast portions of North America, the same cult that was now firmly in control of Olympus seacity and its dependencies. “They broadcast — Their propaganda station– They broadcast the truth about the Good Men.”

I looked blankly at him for a moment. It had been part of the regime of the Good Men to prevent wide broadcasting and news reporting except by those licensed to do so. The technological stop for such activity was in Circum Terra. Simon and I had been part of an invading party that had taken control of the station and removed those controls.

“But how can that be in their interest?” I said. “Lucius Keeva, in Olympus, is as much of Mule stock as the rest of them, and he’s the face of the Usaian revolution.”

“Oh, they’ve convinced everyone he is different. He saved one of their own. Some act of heroism or other, all conveniently filmed.” He made a face, then a dismissive hand gesture. “The thing is, we have nothing like it. And it’s different, anyway. The Usaians want only equality under the law, but our movement was supposed to make everyone equal. Really equal.” He sounded almost desperate. “The law can’t make you really equal.”

A sarcastic voice at the back of my mind asked how they intended to perform this miracle, but I didn’t say it. He went on, “So, when they found out what Good Man St. Cyr was, he wasn’t an acceptable Protector. Some hotheads got to talking, out in Shangri-la, likely in some tavern or bar or diner, and they decided that he was just doing what they’d done before, the Mules becoming Good Men and some people, not quite hotheads, who had been plotting this for a long time, found the opportunity they needed to ignite a revolution only they have the power to control. A revolution far more destructive than we anticipated. The Good Man is caught in it, and–”

“And?”

He bowed his head. “We’ll need help. Don’t tell me you’re enhanced. The Mules were enhanced. But they fled or laid low until the madness of the crowds passed.”

“We can’t wait that long. Did they capture Simon?”

Alexis frowned. He looked puzzled or perhaps upset. When someone has a face that doesn’t owe much to beauty and which time has etched with wrinkles clearly due to frowning a lot, it’s hard to tell if they’re frowning or merely thinking. “Yes,” he said. “Or at least the word is that they’re trying to trade him to the Good Men, in exchange for a promise not to invade and not to pursue their vengeance against the revolutionaries. The revolutionaries hope to establish their own fiefdom here, with no interference. They’d rather reign in a tiny place than get in an enormous war they’d be sure to lose.” He took a deep breath. “The other people–The people at the palace… Most of them. Not all, but most of them…” He made a gesture with his hand. “Heads on stakes.”

There was a suppressed emotion. I thought the words were compromise words for what he’d really like to say. For “people at the palace” he most likely meant, “my friends, my subordinates, everyone I knew.” For “Heads on stakes”, “They were all killed.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“We must go outside the seacity to find friends to the Patrician,” he said. “The people in Olympus owe him.” He stopped as though it had occurred to him such debts are often hard to collect and said, on a down note, “The Remys like him. They were children together. Or at least they were young together. Same broomers’ lair.”

This much was probably true. The Remys, retainers to the Good Man of Olympus, seemed to include Simon in their adventures and they had indeed been part of an illegal broomers’ lair together.

“But you said it’s turmoils against bioed people. It can’t be. There are no bioed people anymore. There haven’t been since the late twenty-first, right?”

“From my looks no one would ever suspect me of being bioed, right?” He shrugged. “But people knew me by sight, and someone might recognize me.” He looked up at me. “And you– Well, if they see you! I mean, you did a good job, but anyone who looks at you too intently…” He shrugged. “Bioed people escaped back in the Turmoils and a lot of those who served or serve the Good Men… the hereditary families, are bio-improved in some way. At least people say it’s obvious, looking at them. And their existence is an affront to equality. No one can be equal if some people were designed not to be.”

“But no one can be equal,” I said, and refrained from pointing out that if my readings of history were right, there had been enough variation before bioing. “How can they enforce everyone being equal? People are born different, too.”

He shrugged again. “Yes, but it’s not so obvious, or at least it’s not deliberate. It’s an act of God or fate or providence. Allons, that’s what they say, and so, anyone who worked for the Good Men, particularly those in hereditary positions, but even the others, too, were considered… suspect. And so… We must go. You and I can’t save anyone alone. Not against a whole seacity. If we try we’ll just end up dead. And we can’t find others, if there are still others, not without going back to the palace or chancing capture ourselves. And then the Good– the Protector will die for sure. But if we get help, we’ll have a chance.”

I hesitated. A chance. Just that. I wanted to say I could take on the whole seacity with my hands tied behind my back. But while I might be faster than any one person, stronger than any three people, I knew I was no match against five hundred thousand. “And so, what do we do? You got us in these outfits, and I agree we will pass at least cursory glance. So, we’re a not-very-well-off couple out for a night on the town, right?”

He bit his lower lip. “I have arranged for a car. Enfin, my service has … had resources. It is my hope,” he said, “that we leave the seacity and … go to the Good Man’s friends. Olympus. Olympus would work. They would know how to help me free him. And how to protect you.”

I understood without being told that it wasn’t even a matter of loyalty or of doing as he was told. No. Alexis was holding on to these orders as the one thing still giving structure to his life in a world gone suddenly insane. I didn’t say that having people working on protecting me made me feel like a coward.

“Once we’re out of the hotel — can we get out of this seacity?”

“If we look like them, if we say we’re going to Shangri-la, or … or something, to see my mother, yes, we can. I think. From what I saw and heard, at least, it won’t be easy, but it shouldn’t be impossible.”

“Your mother lives in Shangri-la?”

He shook his head, and who was I to ask him questions? After all, he might not want me to know where his family was. Why would he trust me? I was a stranger tossed into his lap. More or less literally.

“Once we’re out of the seacity, you’ll have discharged your duty.” I said. “I’m sure there is no large scale hunting of those who might be bioed going on elsewhere. I’ll be safe. And then I might come back with the rescuing party.”