The evacuation of New Sonora was finally underway.
Susan found it hard not to be impressed at how quickly the Wayfarers moved when properly motivated. It had taken little effort for the Wayfarers to seize control of the Concord; they had virtually been running things already by the time they escorted the protesting Directorate officers to a shuttle bound for the Compass. The little ship continued to shadow the carrier, however, as if the Keeper and the Directorate officers aboard the craft hoped to see some opportunity to retake what belonged to them.
In the meantime, the Speaker held a conference of his followers, transmitting a speech. She had not listened to his words, but they must have been quite persuasive indeed. Within the hour of the end of his explanation of the situation and the plans he had set in motion, shuttles were lifting from New Sonora to bring people and belongings to the passenger ships in orbit. Personal craft, supply ships, and even industrial haulers were being converted into transports for the growing evacuation fleet. Below, on the surface of Eris, New Sonora was rapidly turning into a ghost town as the Wayfarers abandoned their last worldly home.
As she began to pack her own belongings for a much different type of evacuation, Susan shook her head. The Wayfarers had displayed an incredible amount of discipline and organization as they moved into space; in fact, she wondered if that same order had supplied her with an advantage as she had trained their fleet. She supposed their history of running from place of persecution to place of persecution could account for their developed habits. They certainly seemed motivated enough to accomplish everything in good order, with their misguided faith in their treacherous prophet to spur them onward.
The thought gave her pause, and Susan sat back on her bed with a sigh. She did not resent Elder Miller; he had been placed in a difficult situation, and by all rights he had the burden of caring for millions on his shoulders. It was not her place to criticize his decisions any more than a raw recruit could critique the command decisions of a veteran officer. In a spirit of honesty, the true source of her disappointment and bitterness lay in a much more unexpected direction.
She still did not understand why Gabriel’s words had bit so harshly that day in the conference room. The plan he had proposed had been so abhorrent to her that it had set her back on her heels in dismay. Was that truly the measure of the man she had come to rely on in battle? Had she been so blind as to miss the dishonesty in his heart? His hypocritical stance had only angered her further, as had the barbs he had directed at her in response to her challenges. The wounds of the dead onboard Defiance and Relentless, as well as those rig pilots who had died while she remained frozen in indecision, stung far too much to endure him slinging them in her face every time they disagreed.
So she was leaving. Her time with the Wayfarer fleet had come to an end, and she was moving on, yet again, into the Known Worlds on her own. The prospect did not cheer her—few could be excited at the resumption of the roaming existence she had borne before she came to New Sonora, and she certainly had not missed the uncertainty and loneliness of it all—but anything would be better than staying with these Wayfarer pilgrims. Especially Gabriel.
Yet even as she resumed her packing, she could not help the treacherous feeling that the one person she was truly going to miss more than anyone else was the one she kept telling herself she wanted to leave behind. Susan shunted the premonition aside and continued her work. She wanted to be gone before the whole thing went to pieces, and given Gabriel’s history, that could be very, very soon.
“Sir, we have a problem.”
Gabe groaned inwardly as he turned to face the junior officer. More crew members had been scrounged from the civilians on the surface, and they had been mixed in with the regular crew. Unfortunately, he had been assigned to the Concord as a temporary captain until someone more suitable could be found. He could only hope that someone like Colonel Mccalister decided he wanted the job; the newer officers in the fleet had made it a near-constant habit to pester him with even the most trivial of problems, as if by only the power of his personal attention he could heal all wounds and still all troubled waters. Wondering what had gone wrong this time, he nodded to the officer. “Go ahead, Lieutenant. What’s wrong?”
The young man shook his head. “It’s the resonance key, sir. There’s some sort of override program built into the system, and we can’t get around it without wiping the data banks feeding into it.”
He frowned. “So perform the wipe. Problem solved.”
With admirable patience, the lieutenant stood his ground. “Sir, if we wipe the banks, we lose the ability to make the key work. There exist no copies of that data outside approved Directorate intelligence centers and warships, and they aren’t in the mood to share at the moment. Since that data helps calibrate the key’s effect on the resonance sequence, without it we might as well overload our annihilation cores ourselves. The process would be quicker and less painful.”
Somewhat put off by the blunt wording, Gabe tilted his head to the side. “So how do we solve the problem then, Lieutenant? Is there any other way to make it work without the code?”
“No, sir. We need the code.” The officer paused. “I did wonder if Admiral Delacourt would have access to that sort of information, sir.”
Gabe grunted. The mention of the admiral was almost as painful as a physical blow. How had she managed to be so grating in person and worse when she was gone? The woman had to break some kind of universal law to achieve that effect, and the Lord help him if he ever attempted to understand how she managed it. “I somehow doubt that she would.” Of course, even if she did, he doubted she would share it, but the junior crew members did not need to know that fact.
The lieutenant sighed. “Then the only way I know, sir, is to communicate with the Directorate crew on the Compass. They must be shadowing us because they are aware of the restrictions, and are waiting for us to offer some kind of negotiation for the codes.”
“You’re right.” The sheer audacity of the move stunned Gabe, but it felt like something the Keeper would do. He was probably too proud to brag about the limitation, and was just sitting out there waiting for the Wayfarers to acknowledge that they needed his help. Gabe tried not to grind his teeth in frustration. “We’ll have to see what they want, then. Contact my father and see if he has any ideas on what we can offer.” He waited for the officer to leave, but the man stayed in place, as if he was expecting something. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
In response, the man shifted his feet. “Perhaps the admiral might need to know this information as well, sir? Maybe she could help talk some sense into the people from the Directorate?”
Gabe studied the officer a bit. It occurred to him that Delacourt had inspired a bit more faith than he had previously realized. He shook his head. “I guess you should probably tell her about the meeting at the very least. Once you have the thing set up, let her know so she can make a decision about it.”
“Yes, sir!” The officer saluted and retreated from the bridge, obviously eager to be about his work. Gabe watched him go and wondered why he suddenly felt uneasy. He did not think Delacourt would sabotage their efforts to leave, but he had a hard time imagining her helping the negotiations along of her own free will. Of course, time would probably tell in the end, and the Lord had already surprised him with what He had prepared for the fleet.
Yet as he continued to try to set his worries aside, the feeling lingered, and more than once he checked the sensors to make sure that no catastrophe was approaching. It always paid to make sure.
Susan walked down the corridor, still dressed in the uniform of the Wayfarer fleet. She was escorted by four Wayfarer officers led by a larger man who seemed to strain the limits of his uniform. Supposedly they were her honor guard, but she wondered why Gabriel had thought she would need them. Even though the master of the Compass was not entirely friendly, Susan did not believe that he would harm a representative of the Wayfarers, and certainly not while the Keeper’s ship was still under the guns of the fleet and he was a guest aboard Concord. How they had convinced the Keeper to come back aboard the Concord in the first place, she would never know, but if Gabriel needed her help to resolve things peacefully, she would do her best.
After the situation with the resonance key had been explained, she could understand Gabriel’s worry. After all, the whole reason for their theft had been to escape destruction; taking the ship and then remaining stranded was a death sentence. Surely Gabriel would want the negotiations to go well, which was why he had sent the officer to ask for her assistance. Loathe though she was to entangle herself further in the disaster, she did have a responsibility to see that the path of least bloodshed prevailed, and if anything happened here, she could see far too easily that shooting would start.
She turned again and found herself approaching the conference room. Two men in Directorate grays stood on one side of the doorway, while two in Wayaferer black and gold stood on the other. All four were armed with pistols and rifles, and all four watched her guards warily as she approached. Susan tried to ignore the subtle tension in the air as she drew close, but then the big guard with the Wayfarer uniform gave her guards a nod, and all eight soldiers relaxed. It was odd that such a simple gesture could dissolve the air of hostility between them, but she did suppose that a little respect went a long way.
The opposite was also true, as she was reminded when she entered the room. The Keeper was present, as was Commander Mesic. They were both across the table from Elder Miller, and regarded the Speaker with frosty glares. Elder Miller, for his part, seemed simply weary, as if he had been running a marathon without stopping. They looked up together as she entered. Commander Mesic’s face grew harder, his eyebrows drawing together. “Ah. So you believe that this paper admiral will convince us, Speaker? I highly doubt that the words of someone who has forgotten her oaths will persuade me to surrender the codes, and I am surprised you would think that she would.”
The Keeper scowled at her as well. “You know that his petty delusions have tainted his reasoning, Commander. He must truly believe us simple enough to fall for this ruse. I have had enough of your games, Clark, and I will not tolerate further delays. Surrender the Concord and you fleet to the proper authorities, and your pathetic cult can survive another length of time. Otherwise, you will reap the harvest of your many sins today!”
Elder Miller did not seem to pay them any attention. He frowned and studied her earnestly. “Susan, why did you come? I thought you had decided to take your own path after our earlier discussions.”
Mesic glanced sharply at the Speaker, and Schreiber looked back and forth between them suspiciously. Susan shook her head. “There is no honor in stealing the Concord, Elder Miller. I have already expressed that to you in clear words. That does not mean that I would abandon my duty—my responsibility—to protect your people. Perhaps you are simply losing your way under the assaults you have endured, but if there is a peaceful resolution to this problem, I will try to help you find it.” She looked at Commander Mesic. “I have not forgotten my loyalty to the Directorate, and I will always serve the greater interests of the Known Worlds. Help me find a better solution here, one that may benefit both sides rather than sacrificing the needs of one party or the other.”
The Keeper snorted in derision, but Commander Mesic nodded. The hostility on his face lessened, and he motioned to the seat next to Elder Miller without a word. She had taken a step in that direction when the door hissed open behind her. Surprised, she turned to find the guards filing into the room. They were led by the large man in the Wayfarer uniform, and all had guns in their hands.
Commander Mesic frowned. “Corporal, this meeting is private. I will ask you to remain outside with the others until our business here is concluded.”
“I’m afraid you are mistaken, Commander.” The big man smiled. “My rank is captain, not corporal. For that matter, my name is Richard Heinrichs, something I hope you remember well once we are done here.” The other guards raised their weapons and trained them on Susan and the others. Heinrichs turned to Elder Miller, and his smile broadened. “Hello, Clark Miller. Bennett Securities sends its regards.”
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The name drove a cold spike of fear into Susan’s stomach, and as the men started forward, she stepped back. Her mind frantically ran through her options, which weren’t many. There had supposedly been no need for her pistol; it remained in her quarters. She had some training in hand-to-hand combat, but these were six armed, well-trained mercenaries. Every other move, from signaling for help to running past them, would end in disaster and death. For some reason she thought of Gabriel, but there was no way he could possibly help them now.
Heinrichs motioned his men forward, and they closed in with awful grins.
Gabe walked down the hallway flanked by two escorts from the ground forces. They didn’t seem particularly necessary, but his sense of unease had grown ever since his conversation with the officer on the bridge. He had gone from feeling merely uncertain to slightly paranoid when he realized that both his father and Admiral Delacourt had gone out of contact in order to conduct the meeting with the Directorate representatives in one of Concord’s conference rooms.
Everything about the situation smelled wrong. The fact that the Directorate officer and the Keeper had been so willing to come aboard was suspicious. Shouldn’t they have suspected some kind of deception? He hadn’t liked the idea of involving his father directly, and was having trouble tracking down the person whose idea it had been. Every detail he heard increased his concerns.
The minute he’d heard that Delacourt had left her quarters to attend, however, he knew he had to be there. She was not going to help the process. If anything, the woman would ruin things simply to help her Directorate friends, and Gabe could not permit her to make things any worse for them. They had faced too much to be brought down by her determination to devote herself to the military of the Known Worlds.
They turned down the corridor that led to the conference room where the meeting was being held. Gabe frowned in confusion when he saw the two bodies lying in front of the door. They wore the uniforms and insignia of Directorate officers, probably the bodyguard of the Keeper and Commander Mesic. Pools of red spread underneath them, and their sightless eyes stared upwards. When the smell of blood hit his nostrils, he came to an abrupt halt.
He barely had time to stare at the scene in shock when the door hissed open. Two men wearing Wayfarer uniforms stepped out. They looked up, saw Gabe with his escort, and froze. Shock screaming in his mind, Gabe drew his pistol. Their surprise allowed him to settle his sights dead center on one man’s chest before they could react. Yet before he could fire, he hesitated. They wore Wayfarer uniforms. A hundred questions ran through his mind—had there been a hijacking attempt by the Directorate, were they traitors or merely overly zealous Wayfarers, should he give them the chance to surrender—and all the while, he held his fire. Then the men at the end of the hallway solved the problem for him. They brought their rifles up and pulled the triggers.
Plasma bursts filled the hallway, and one of the men beside him took a shot in the face. He crumpled without a sound, while the second escort yelled in pain when another shot struck him in the shoulder. Gabe felt a burst tear by his leg, scorching some of the flesh. He grabbed the fallen man’s rifle and ducked behind the corner.
When he fell in beside the escort, he found his heart beating hard. “Who are those guys?”
The escort shook his head, looking stunned. “I don’t know. Never seen ‘em before. Maybe they’re Outriders?”
A second volley of shots scorched down the hallway, and Gabe heard a cry of pain from the conference room. He grunted as he realized that both his father and Susan were inside. The Outriders had them, and he doubted they would make it out alive without help. Gabe stuck his head out enough to see the false guards approaching down the corridor, rifles ready. Both fired, and he barely got his head back behind the wall before a wave of plasma shot through where it had been.
His remaining escort cursed. “They’ve got the Keeper and the Commander in there, too. How are we going to get them back?” Gabe shook his head, the rifle unfamiliar in his hands. Were they in a rig, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take them all out. This was no rig fight in zero gravity, however. His enemies had the training, the firepower, and hostages on their side. It wasn’t going to be long before they were all dead.
Susan flinched as the guards in the hallway fired another burst. Whoever had happened onto the scene at this point obviously had poor luck—one of them was already down and likely dead. The others were probably going to join him soon.
Commander Mesic was on the floor, bleeding from the temple. He had tried to draw his pistol, but one of the Outriders clubbed him in the head with the butt of a rifle for his trouble. The Directorate officer was now unconscious, and Susan had one less person she could count on if she tried something herself.
Not that such an attempt was a possibility at the moment. For now, she could only watch as Heinrichs inspected his prizes. “So this is the Keeper Schreiber. It is nice to meet you, sir, though I wish the circumstances could be more civilized.” The nod Heinrichs gave the Keeper was almost respectful. Schreiber, for his part, gave the man a wide-eyed stare. Heinrichs then turned to her, and his grin grew feral.
“And here is the wonderful Admiral Delacourt, hero of the Wayfarers.” He leaned in close, whispering in her ear as he stalked past her. “Your interference in this matter brought us to this. Had you simply allowed us to fulfill our mission, you would not have been treated in such a manner, but the blood of our men is now on your hands.” Heinrichs paused. “Your end, I’m afraid, will be painful.” As if to emphasize his words, the other three Outriders directed predatory looks in her direction, and her heart pounded with fear.
“Last but not least, the Speaker! The prophet of the Lord! He who speaks with God and shares His holy word with those less fortunate here below!” The words dripped with venom, and Heinrichs came to a halt in front of the Speaker. “Stand up.”
Slowly, Elder Miller stood. His face was somber, but unafraid. Heinrichs looked him up and down and smiled. “So, Speaker. Tell me. What has the Lord told you about us?”
Elder Miller remained silent. The big man’s smile grew harder, more vicious. He struck Elder Miller with the back of his hand. Miller stumbled, but kept his feet. Heinrichs’ voice took on a pitying tone. “I’m sorry—I suppose He should have told you about that. Perhaps you and He are not on as good terms as you thought.” A second backhand twisted Miller’s head to the other side. “Could it be that you have some hidden sins we don’t know about, Miller? Or maybe you just aren’t important enough to talk to God? Maybe it’s the entirety of the Known Worlds He cares for, and not you.”
Heinrichs closed in. “Let me tell you something then, Elder Miller, Speaker for God. A prophecy, you could call it if you like.” The mercenary captain smiled. “In a short while, your precious city will be in flames. The buildings will be but shattered ruins for the corpses of your fellow cultists. We will slaughter them like the sheep they are, and from the heavens we will strike the remnant down. Your people, as those beasts are so inaccurately called, will be hunted, cast down, and destroyed. But first, Elder Miller, prophet of falsehoods, first I will kill you.”
“No.” The word was curiously calm. Elder Miller did not shout, but the angry tirade was suddenly cut short. Heinrichs looked at him in surprise, and Susan felt a tingle of shock as Miller brought his head back around. His mellow blue eyes were startlingly firm; power seemed to shine through them, strength beyond his middle-aged form. “No, you will not, Captain Heinrichs.”
Gabe crouched against the wall. The footsteps continued to advance down the corridor, the constant, measured tread of hunters closing on their prey. He grunted and started to shift the rifle into a better position. A glance showed that the escort was rapidly turning pale; the wound in the man’s shoulder smoked and steamed. It was obvious that he was not going to be able to hold off anyone. “You should get out of here. I’ll try to do what I can.”
The soldier cursed again and tried to sit up straighter. “What are you going to do, riggie? They’ll take you apart. This isn’t some zero-g dance like you’re used to.”
Truth rang in those words, backed up by another aborted volley from the men in the corridor. Fragments of the walls chipped away and fell to the floor, fumes trailing from the flakes. The man was right—he wasn’t going to last long. Then inspiration struck, and he smiled. Sending a prayer of thanks to the Lord, he turned to the escort. “You need to get out of here, but before you go, this is what I need you to tell the bridge.”
Susan watched as Elder Miller stepped closer to the giant mercenary. His cheeks were reddened by the marks of Heinrichs’ hands, and a slight cut showed where the skin had torn over his left cheekbone. His eyes showed none of that, nor the fear he should have felt. He spoke in that same calm, deliberate voice, one so unlike the cheerful tone he typically used.
“Captain Heinrichs, the Lord has spoken concerning you and your companions. If you do not turn from your course, your fleet of warships will be visited with complete and utter destruction. You will be broken in battle. Your ships will be driven by your enemies, and each will be hunted as you would have hunted others. Your repentance may cost you dear, but to continue as you are will condemn you to destruction and slavery. And I testify, with my Lord and Savior as my witness, that you will not kill anyone else this day, and that if you should try, the Lord will strike you down by the hand of His angels. In His name, and by His will, amen.”
Utter silence followed the pronouncement, and Susan felt frozen in place. It should have seemed impossible, insane even, to challenge the mercenary so boldly. Yet her heart soared with those words; for a moment, she felt tempted to shout with the courage and faith he showed. With an effort she restrained herself, and she felt her hands clench as she watched the Speaker meet the mercenary’s eyes and stand firm.
“I do not plan to kill you, Speaker Miller.” The words gave her a sudden, unreasoning burst of hope. Heinrichs’ other mercenaries shifted uneasily as he continued with a smile. “That simply would not do, but I have a favor to ask. Surely a man of God such as yourself would be charitable enough to indulge me in a game of tee-ball.”
A chuckle ran through the others, and before anyone else could react, Heinrichs drew his pistol and fired a shot through Miller’s left kneecap. Elder Miller gave a short, pained cry and half-collapsed to the floor. He barely managed to brace himself with a hand on one of the chairs. Heinrichs reached for a bat another Outrider extended to him and gave the Keeper a faint smile. “Keeper, come here if you will. You can have the honor of preparing our game.”
Schreiber, his face now pale, shook his head. “I will not be a part of this. Never.”
Heinrichs shrugged, though disappointment showed on his features. “Too bad. Perhaps your courage died with your father.” He turned and faced the crippled prophet. “Well, I suppose the first swing is once again mine.” The bat rose, and Susan turned away. She was shocked to find tears running down her face.
Tears which suddenly drifted up in front of her instead of falling to the floor.
She blinked in surprise as every person in the room floated upwards. Barks of alarm from the mercenaries competed with shouts from the corridor. Then the roar of plasma fire overrode them all, and silence was all that remained when it was finished.
Awkwardly, Susan tried to orient herself toward the door. She found it hard to do until she managed to bump the table and spin herself in the appropriate direction. The door hissed open as she moved, prompting the nearest two mercenaries to point their weapons in the direction of the opening. They found no target waiting for them; the lights in the corridor had gone dark, and the light provided by the conference room only extended a short distance into the hall. There was a moment’s pause as they strained to see, and Susan heard an odd step echoing down the length of the corridor.
Then another burst of plasma fire zipped out of the darkness toward them. One of the mercenaries cried out as a bolt of superheated gas slammed home in his torso. As the man curled up around the wound, another bolt clipped the second mercenary in the arm, sending his rifle spinning away as the man screamed a curse. Heinrichs and the other mercenary had turned around in time to see the burst of plasma cut short, leaving them with no target.
Again, silence and stillness in the darkness of the corridor. Susan thought she heard steps, but only one at a time and widely separated. She had just enough time to wonder what was causing them when a figure burst into the light, hurtling through the doorway at head height. The mercenaries had time for one startled burst that passed below the figure before the rifle in the newcomer’s hands let out a fusillade of shots.
The wounded mercenary had drawn a pistol; as a reward, he was hit with two more shots that left him drifting and motionless. As the newcomer landed on the edge of the table, he pushed up and past Susan. She realized with a shock that it was Gabriel, firing on the mercenary near the Keeper. One shot took the man in the throat, and his final wet gasp was accompanied by a few spasmodic jerks before he, too, floated still and silent.
Heinrichs, however, still lived, and he turned his rifle on Gabriel. As his shots roared toward the rig pilot, Gabriel bounded off the table and returned fire. Bursts of plasma tore at Heinrichs’ shirtfront, exposing some kind of armor beneath it. Other bolts of superheated gas nearly chased Gabriel down, but the rig pilot bounced off a wall at an odd angle. It wasn’t much, but it served as enough to throw off the mercenary’s aim.
Plasma bursts filled the distance between the two men as Heinrichs tried to track Gabriel down and the rig pilot responded in kind. Susan watched in horror, knowing how little she could do to dodge while suspended in midair. The comparison between the two was stark. Gabriel dodged back and forth, hopping from walls, bouncing off the table, navigating the crowded room with ease while Heinrichs sweated and cursed in his armor.
Then a pistol, let go by a dead mercenary, drifted into Susan’s reach and she snatched at it. The movement attracted Heinrichs’ attention. He turned to face her, pushing against a chair for leverage. She desperately brought her pistol in line with him. Her finger pulled the trigger before his. Her shot seared the wall behind him; he snarled.
A second plasma bolt, brighter than her own, slammed into his face just above the right eye. He jerked to the side, his finger twitching and sending one last splash of plasma across the room, and then he floated back against the wall and bumped there softly. Susan looked down at the pistol and realized her hand was shaking. She lowered the weapon and looked at the source of the shot to find Gabriel.
He was looking back at her, an unreadable expression on his face. The rig pilot drifted to a halt against the table, rifle still in his hands. They stared at each other for a heartbeat, and then Elder Miller groaned. Gabriel jerked his gaze from hers and saw his father, still wounded, clinging to the edge of the table. With a gentle push, he crossed the distance while he activating his phone. “Gabriel to bridge, restore gravity and send medical teams. We have wounded who need urgent care. Repeat, send medical teams now!”