Part 18 (1/2)

D'Trelna opened the commlink. ”Commander K'Raoda.” K'Raoda's face filled the small desk screen. ”Commodore?”

”Copy these coordinates and read back.” He held the paper up to the scan.

K'Raoda touched the complink. ”Print screen, my commlink,” he ordered.

”Commander.” It was K'Lana's voice, from somewhere off scan.

K'Raoda turned.

”Automatic transmission on Fleet distress channel. Lifepod Thirty-six,” she reported.

”Zahava!” John almost leaped from the chair. ”Where?” he called, hovering over D'Trelna's shoulder.

K'Raoda took the nav figures from a yeoman, then frowned, looking down at something outside the pickup. ”Here,” he said, holding up the commslip from K'Lana and the printout from D'Trelna. The figures were the same.

”How long?” asked D'Trelna.

K'Raoda did some quick calculations. ”About a week,” he said. ”Give or take a jump.”

”Plot and execute,” said the commodore, switching off.

L'Wrona and Harrison excused themselves and left for the bridge.

”You know,” said R'Gal after a moment, ”you really ought to give Egg a medal-posthumously, of course.”

D'Trelna's acerbic reply was drowned out by the jump klaxon echoing from the corridor.

The small bit of Blue Nine that had held three s.h.i.+ps was empty again.

13.

”Alert! Alert! Alert!”

The voice p.r.i.c.ked her mind, rousing her from the coils of a gray-white sleep.

”Alert! Alert! Alert!”

Zahava sat up.

”Your urgent attention is directed to the tacscan,” said the voice. Computer, she thought. The universe was a blur, half-visible through tearing eyes. Rubbing the tears away, Zahava saw she was in the center flight chair of the lifepod's command tier. Above her the main screen held a tri-dee tactical scan: asteroid-ringed moon circling a green planet, the planet itself orbited by eleven silver blips. As she watched, two of the blips detached themselves and began closing on a single yellow dot that sped toward the planet. A tactical summary flowed across the bottom of the screen. It would have meant something to a K'Ronarin Fleet officer.

”Those silver blips-are they s.h.i.+ps?” asked Zahava. She was shocked at how dry and hoa.r.s.e she sounded.

”Yes,” said the as.e.xual voice. ”Identified as deep-s.p.a.ce exploration vessels of a K'Ronarin industrial combine.”

”Which combine?”

”Combine T'Lan,” said the computer.

”Armed?”

”Heavily armed. They have answered our automatic distress signal. We are instructed to dock with the lead s.h.i.+p now approaching.”

The silver blips were halfway to the lifepod.

”Disregard,” said Zahava. ”Vessels are hostile. Take evasive action.”

”Evading. We will have to land on the planet. It would be impossible to escape both the hostile vessels and the planet's gravitational field.”

”What planet is that?” she asked, dialing up a cup of water from the chairarm.

”It is the planet D'Lin,” said the computer. ”Former capital of Imperial Quadrant Blue Nine. Charts and all other regional data have not been updated since the Fall.”

On the screen the yellow blip of the lifepod was now accelerating away from the combine s.h.i.+ps-and away from D'Lin. ”You're going to miss the planet!” said Zahava.

”No,” said the computer. ”We'll draw them off, loop back, land on the nightside.”

”Can we outdistance them?” she asked, dubiously eyeing the tacscan. The lead combine s.h.i.+ps were turning in pursuit, with three more breaking orbit to join the chase.

”Long enough. But there will be a missile salvo.”

”Can you show me D'Lin?” she asked.

Shrinking, the tacscan moved screen-right. Screen-left now showed a world of green-blue oceans and swirling clouds. A string of brown spread north and south from the equator.

”Archipelago,” said Zahava.

”Yes. D'Lin's mostly water,” said the computer. ”I'll put the stats on your comm screen.”

”Don't bother,” she said, looking at the screen-left. ”I won't have time to read them.”

Silver needles were spanning the gap between the lifepod and the combine s.h.i.+ps.

Faster than the machine spoke them, Zahava read the flame-red letters beneath the tacscan: .

NUCLEAR ORDNANCE LAUNCHED.

TARGET: THIS VESSEL-INTERCEPT PROBABILITY 93.4 PERCENT.

Cursing, arms flailing, Zahava fell backward as her flight chair dropped into crash position, water spilling across her chest. Then she forgot about it as the flight chair became a white coc.o.o.n, its sides sweeping up, expanding to enfold her in a thick-padded crash sh.e.l.l. Suddenly giddy, she found herself rising, b.u.t.ting into the soft quilting of the coc.o.o.n.

”Broaching atmosphere at max speed, full evasive pattern,” the computer whispered near her ear. ”N-gravs going off-line until landing-missiles home on it at final approach,”

The sudden shock of G-plus gravity pressed her deep into the coc.o.o.n, fighting for breath. From outside, the hull screamed as the pod knifed into atmosphere, plunging toward the charted location of the old quadrant capital. The computer thought it odd that most of the area scanned as rain forest, but committed to its pattern, missiles closing, it said nothing.

What was left of the 103rd Border Battalion lay hidden in the ruins, hoping the thick, old stone and the night would keep death away.