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ii. warhammer: galcen nearspace
rsf fezrisond: infabede sector

WARHAMMER’s HYPERSPACE transit to Galcen ended up taking close to two Standard weeks. Jessan stood watch-and-watch with Beka the whole time. He barely saw the captain, except for the few minutes every four hours when she came forward to the cockpit for another stint of pushing the hyperspace engines to their limit and a shade beyond. Then Jessan would make his way aft through the common room to their darkened quarters, seal himself into the zero-g sleepsack, and fall into a thick, dreamless slumber. Four hours later the alarm on the far bulkhead would bring him awake with a jerk, and he’d head back to the cockpit for another watch.

With the galley off-line as nonessential, the ’Hammer’s crew had to subsist on uncooked space rations, chewing up the dried bricks of unreconstituted food and washing the powdery mouthfuls down with cold-water instant cha’a. Ship’s laundry and the sonic shower had also gone by the board in the flame of speed. It didn’t really matter; Jessan and the captain slept in their dirtside clothes for lack of time to change them, and cleanliness, like uninterrupted rest, became nothing but a fading memory.

On the fourteenth day of the run, Jessan was off-watch and asleep in the captain’s cabin—the deep, unmoving sleep of someone whose exhaustion has penetrated clear to the bone. Then, without warning, he was awake, snapping back to consciousness and pulling himself out of the sleep-sack so quickly that he floated across the cabin and into the far bulkhead before he could recover.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

Something was wrong. He couldn’t hear any alarms or warning signals, but he knew that the ship was in trouble just the same. He made his way to the door, then worked his way handhold by handhold through the common room, nearly colliding with Ignaceu LeSoit on his way toward the cockpit.

“What’s up?” asked the gunman. He was pulling himself hand-over-hand along one bulkhead like an experienced free-spacer.

Jessan didn’t stop moving forward. “Damned if I know. But I sure as hell don’t like it.”

The two of them reached the pilot’s compartment together, with Jessan a little in the lead. What he saw didn’t do much to ease his feeling of disaster. Beka had the cover off part of the console, revealing the diagnostic readouts beneath, and there were stars outside the cockpit view-screens. That, he realized, was what had jolted him awake from a dead sleep: the dropout from hyper.

He cleared his throat. “Beka?”

“Imbalance in drive number one,” she said without looking up. “Don’t know how bad yet.”

“Damn.” Jessan pulled himself forward to the copilot’s position. “I’d like to check our comms and get a navigational fix. Permission to put nonessentials back on-line?”

“Go ahead. Do it.”

Jessan started flipping switches. The copilot’s seat gave a little beneath him as the gravity eased back on, and for the first time in two weeks he was able to sit there properly instead of just occupying a position in space a millimeter or so above the padded surface. A faint thud behind him suggested that LeSoit had let go his handhold and dropped onto the deck.

“I’ll be right back,” the gunman said.

Beka only nodded. Jessan brought up the rest of the non-essential systems and set the ship’s navicomps to working on a proper fix. Finally the captain straightened up from the diagnostic screens and put the cover back onto the console.

The long hyperspace run had left its mark: her hair was dingy and unkempt, and dark smudges shadowed the skin around her eyes. She pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead and sighed.

“Hell and damnation,” she said. “Nyls, have you got anything from hi-comms or the navicomps?”

“No, and, unfortunately, yes.”

“Damnation,” she said again. “How bad is it?”

The cockpit doors slid open before Jessan could answer, and LeSoit’s footsteps sounded on the deck. The rich, bitter-sharp aroma of fresh-brewed cha’a struck Jessan’s nostrils, and Beka smiled faintly.

“Bless you, Ignac’,” she said, reaching out to take the mug LeSoit handed her. “I may live after all.”

“Rule one of the spacer’s trade.” The gunman passed another mug to Jessan and kept the third for himself. “No problem is so bad that cha’a can’t help it.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Beka said. She drank off almost half of the mug’s contents without stopping, heedless of the near-scalding temperature, and turned back to Jessan. “What were you going to say about the navicomps?”

Jessan had both hands wrapped around his mug of cha’a for warmth. Two weeks without temperature control had chilled the ship almost to freezing. “Well, I have good news and bad news.”

“I don’t have time for jokes.”

Jessan shook his head. “No joke. The bad news is that hi-comms are down hard in this sector, too. The good news is that we’re only twelve light-days out of Galcen.”

Beka scowled. “What the hell kind of good news is that? We might as well still be on Eraasi.”

“I’ll admit that it’s a little too far to walk,” he said, “but Space Force patrols this far out. There’s a chance we can find someone who’ll pass the word along.”

“We’d better,” she said. “Ignac’, you stay up here and start broadcasting ‘mechanical breakdown’ on the distress frequency. Nyls, you and I have got some work to do.”

“How long will it take?” LeSoit asked.

Beka shook her head. “I won’t know until we can make a visual inspection of the hyperdrives. After they cool we’ll have to realign them at least. Maybe reset the reference coordinates. Maybe more. Damn piece-of-junk Gyfferan engines.”

Warhammer’s outsized power plant had been Beka’s pride and joy for as long as Jessan had known her.

“Was it that bad?” he asked quietly.

“Bad?” She drained the rest of her cha’a, and Jessan saw for the first time that her hands were shaking in the backwash of an adrenaline reaction. “Bad? We almost went nova.”


Being the head of a department on a flagship, Ari had discovered, required endless administration—or, as his sister Beka would have put it, hell’s own supply of paperwork. He was sitting in his office aboard RSF Fezrisond, trying to project the next quarter’s consumption of lint-free wipes and disposable bandages, when the buzzer sounded at his door.

“Yes?” he said, still working. “Can I help you?”

The door slid open. A tall lieutenant (junior grade) from the Operations department stood on the threshold, looking uncertain. “Can we talk privately?”

“Sure. Close the door.”

Ari placed a small bet with himself. Either the fellow had caught some kind of venereal disease at a port call, or else his wife back home on Wherever was going to have a baby and he wanted to know what the process entailed.

“Well, it’s a little embarrassing,” the JG said as the door slid shut behind him. “Maybe you could take a look at this rash I’ve got . . . ”

Port call, Ari told himself, mentally paying off his bet.

He had already reached into the storage cabinet behind him for the appropriate medication—the problem was a common one, even here on the admiral’s flagship—when he saw that the JG was holding a folded piece of paper in one hand. Ari looked at it and raised his eyebrows. The JG unfolded the slip of paper and laid it on Ari’s desk.

Ari picked up the note and read it while the JG continued to babble nervously of rashes and other embarrassing symptoms.

“This compartment is wired for sound,” the note read. “We need to talk in a secure space. Meet me at the starboard sensor nacelle in twenty minutes.”

Ari crumpled the note and stuffed it into his trouser pocket for later disposal—in some other compartment, since the eavesdroppers, whoever they are, could have gotten to the trash recycler.

“Well,” he said, “that certainly is an interesting rash, but I don’t think it’s anything serious. Keeping the area clean and dry for two weeks should do the trick.”

The JG nodded. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Think nothing of it,” Ari said. “See you later.”

“Thank you,” the JG said, and left.

Ari checked his chronometer. Twenty minutes! Well, why not? He straightened up his desk, punched the Send button on the work he’d done, and walked out.

It was quiet on the big ship, midway through the forenoon watch. He made his way quickly to the sensor nacelle, after first stopping by his cabin to pick up a Berthing and Workspace Sanitary Inspection Module for his clipboard. He was going to have to do those inspections this week anyway; if anyone asked him why he was wandering around, he’d have a legitimate excuse.

What am I thinking of? he wondered. I’m a lieutenant commander, on board the ship where I’m assigned, carrying out the duties of my position. Why should I have to explain anything to anyone!

Just the same, he found himself wishing—and not for the first time, either—that Llannat Hyfid could have come with him to the Fezzy. The Adept had a knack for sensing these things; maybe she could have told him what was wrong.

Because there sure as hell is something going on, and it’s so rotten that I’m even beginning to smell it.


Twelve light-days out from Galcen, Warhammer drifted in vacuum. Tethered to the ship’s hull by lifelines, two pressure-suited figures worked over the external hyperdrive components.

“Test pad one,” Beka said over the link.

“Test one, aye,” Jessan replied. He pushed the button.

“Test pad one stet,” Beka said. The voicelink from her suit’s helmet picked up the sound of her breath along with the words. “Test pad two.”

“Third-party modifications screw up everything,” Jessan muttered. “You should be able to do voyage repairs without having to suit up and go out in vacuum.”

“Save your philosophy of design for later,” said Beka. “Test pad two.”

“Test two, aye,” Jessan responded, and pressed the next button.

LeSoit’s voice broke in over the link from the cockpit. “Captain, Doc—I just picked up a response on lightspeed comms. Looks like Space Force is out here.”

“Great,” Jessan said. “Respond to them. And say these words, exactly; ‘Cosmic daylight break authenticate one five echo.’ Repeat it back to me.”

“ ‘Cosmic daylight break authenticate one five echo.’ ”

“You got it,” Jessan said. “Now transmit and let me know how they respond.”

“What was that?” Beka asked.

“Remember I told you that getting through the Net wouldn’t be a problem? Assuming the skipper of whoever’s out here has the clearance, what I just told him should bounce him right out of bed.”

“Fine,” said Beka. “Now test pad three.”

“Test pad three, aye.”


Ari reached the starboard sensor nacelle exactly twenty Standard minutes, by his chronometer, from the time his unexpected visitor had passed him the cryptic note.

He wasn’t particularly surprised to meet the same JG coming down the passageway from the opposite direction. The young officer nodded to Ari without speaking and gestured to him to follow. In silence, they made their way back along the outboard passage into “fighter country,” the part of the Fezzy that was reserved for the fighter detachment.

They halted at the door of the pilots’ ready room. Ari palmed the lockplate, but nothing happened. He looked at the JG. The younger officer reached past him and touched the lockplate. The door slid open, and Ari followed the JG inside before it could close again.

In theory, as head of the Fezzy’s medical department, Ari should have had his ID scan on file in ship’s memory with override access to all spaces—but in theory, the head medic’s office shouldn’t have had snoop-buttons planted in it, and junior officers shouldn’t be inviting him to mysterious private meetings.

Somebody jury-rigged a new ID filter on that lockplate, Ari thought as the door slid shut behind him. I hope they remember to switch it back before the next time one of them needs a medic in a hurry.

The ready room was packed with what looked like all of the pilots and other ranks from the fighter detachment, crammed in so tightly that the ventilation systems were having trouble clearing the air. The senior officer of the det, another lieutenant commander, stood by the forward bulkhead.

“That’s it,” he said. “I believe that’s everyone. All doors secure?”

“Secure, aye,” said another one of the fighter pilots.

“Listening device disabled?”

“Disabled.”

“Great.” He turned to Ari. “Whatever you decide to do, Commander, please don’t do anything foolish. You won’t leave this space without my permission.”

Ari nodded, slowly. “I can see that. Do you mind telling me what this is all about?”

“We’re having a mutiny, and you’re part of it,” the lieutenant commander replied. “You’ll have a chance to join us; but be assured that you won’t be allowed to hinder us.”

Ari forced himself to relax. He was too far away from the lieutenant commander, the JG, and the door to get to any one of them in a single stride; better to wait until he knew who was involved and how they were armed. Judging by the growls and muttered exclamations that arose from the rest of the group, he wasn’t the only one hearing the news for the first time.

The JG who’d slipped him the note spoke next, addressing not just Ari but the room in general. “It is my belief that Admiral Valiant is in open rebellion against the Republic.”

More exclamations and noises of disbelief came from the crowd, but the JG kept on talking.

“At the moment, we are underway for an unknown location—but getting underway at this time is entirely against the mission of this vessel. Further, Admiral Valiant has placed personal friends or those who owe him favors in command of every vessel in this sector. In addition, hi-comms are down, and I have reason to believe that Valiant knew in advance that they would be. The bulkheads to senior-officer country are sealed, and no one other than Valiant’s handpicked few are in the engine room, in Combat, or on the bridge.”

The JG paused for a moment. When the general buzz of comment died down, he went on.

“We had been ordered to deliver messages, hardcopy, across the fleet. As it happens, I know what those messages contained: ultimata for every planet in this sector, directing them to swear loyalty to Valiant personally or face destruction by his fleet. The ultimata are being delivered at this time. Also at this time, Lieutenant Commander Rosselin-Metadi was to be arrested and held as hostage against the actions of his father, the Commanding General.”

“And that,” said the commander of the fighter det, turning to address Ari directly, “is why we arrested you. If you’re going to be a bargaining chip, we’d like you to be ours.”

“Believe me, I understand your position,” said Ari. He could tell from the way the JG and the det commander were watching him that they had expected something far more explosive by way of response. Fine, he thought. Let them stay confused until I figure out what’s really up. “But what happens if I don’t want to be a bargaining chip at all?”

The det commander looked regretful. “I’m afraid you don’t have much choice.”

It’s a good thing Beka didn’t join the service, Ari thought. Telling her that she doesn’t have a choice is a quick way to get blood all over the deckplates. Bee never did know how to wait for anything.

But Ari had learned about patience and subtlety a long time ago, when Ferrdacorr gave him hunting lessons in the forests of Maraghai. He was not going to get drawn into a fight now, when he was outnumbered—and when he didn’t know for certain where his true enemies lay.

“I suppose I’ll have to believe you,” he said aloud. “You know more about the situation than I do at the moment. How many people are aligned with you . . . I mean, with us?”

“Enough, I hope,” said the det commander, looking distinctly relieved that Ari had not chosen to put up a violent resistance. “For the moment, though—I’m sorry, but we’ll have to put you under guard.”


Two hours after Warhammer’s initial contact with the Space Force vessel, a ship dropped out of hyperspace near the outer edge of the ’Hammer’s sensor range. Beka made it to the cockpit in time to see the comm panel start blinking.

She glanced over at her copilot. “Nyls?”

“Transmitting Space Force identifiers,” he said. “Looks like our rescuers are here.”

“I don’t want a rescue,” she said. “I can rescue myself just fine, thank you. I want somebody who can carry the news back to Galcen.”

She put on the earphone link for the comms. A quick check of lightspeed communications and the relay stations showed nothing on the frequencies except noise and, far away, a program of dance music from somewhere in Galcen Prime. Over on hi-comms there was still nothing.

“Direct hyperspace communications are still down,” she said. “Whatever the Mages are doing, they’re doing it here, too. I can’t believe people aren’t running around screaming and panicking.”

“Planetary hi-comms may not have been down this whole time,” Jessan pointed out. “Just the transmissions from the Net. That’s how I’d do it, with an agent in place to pass along fake reports from the Magezone saying that everything is just fine and dandy and how’s the weather back home.”

“Say something to cheer me up, why don’t you?” said Beka. “We already know the Mageworlders have somebody on our side working for them. And if hi-comms just now went out in Galcen space—”

“Then the Magefleet can’t be all that far behind us.”

“Oh, wonderful. And here we are, drifting like a rock. Time to start talking, I think.”

Beka slid aside an access plate on the top surface of the comm panel. Using her fingernails, she teased the datachip bearing Pride of Mandeyn’s ID data out of its socket and laid it aside. Then she pulled a second, older chip from its hiding place in the panel’s inner recesses and slotted it back in.

“No more disguises,” she said.

She switched over to lightspeed comms, fed as much power to the output as she could without burning out the plate, and began to broadcast. “Space Force vessel, Space Force vessel, this is Reserve Merchant Vessel Warhammer, comm check, over.”

She paused for a response, then repeated the call.

“They’re eight light-minutes out,” she said after the second broadcast. “It’ll take a while to hear back from them. But I wouldn’t be surprised by a rather confused welcome.”

“Absolutely nothing surprises me anymore,” said Jessan. “Satisfy my curiosity, though—why are we using the old call sign? With you and the ’Hammer both officially dead, anyone with that ID is going to get listed as a fake right away.”

“Maybe,” Beka said. “But I’ll bet the report gets sent straight on to Dadda anyhow. He knows I’m still alive, and using his call sign is one way to get his personal attention.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“So do I.” Beka picked up the link again. “Space Force vessel, Space Force vessel, this is RMV Warhammer. Comm check, over.”

Again there was no response. Beka checked the navicomps and the chronometer. Then she glanced at the sensor readouts. “Too slow.”

A short while later, the comm link picked up a voice signal. She put it onto the cockpit speakers so that Jessan wouldn’t have to wonder what was going on.

“Unknown vessel, unknown vessel,” the voice was saying. “This is Republic warship one-zero-niner-seven. Request you identify yourself.”

Beka took a deep breath. “Here we go,” she muttered, and keyed on the link.

“This is Space Force Reserve vessel Warhammer,” she told the voice. “Request secure link, captain-to-captain.”

The lightspeed comms beeped twice as the crypto synchronized. Beka opened the link again.

“One-zero-niner-seven,” she said, “this is Warhammer. Request you pass to commander, Space Defense Command: attack of Galcen by Mageworlds warfleet imminent, over.”

There was a several-second transmission lag as Beka’s lightspeed signal crossed the distance between the two ships and the warship’s reply came back again.

“This is one-zero-niner-seven actual; who am I talking to?”

She straightened her shoulders. “This is Captain Beka Rosselin-Metadi speaking. The Inner Net is down; the status of the Outer Net is unknown. I need you to patch me directly through to the Commanding General.”

Again the transmission lag and then the voice. “Come dead in space, Warhammer, and zero your guns. I intend to board you.”

Beka drew in her breath between her teeth. “I do not intend to be boarded. Read my ID signal. This is a Republic warship, and I need to report to the Commanding General.”

Another, briefer pause—the gap between the two vessels was steadily closing and then the other ship’s captain replied. “Your ID is not listed. Warhammer crashed. Rosselin-Metadi is dead. If you attempt to enter Galcen space you will be destroyed. Come dead in space. Do it now.”

“Oh, dear,” said Jessan. “This isn’t working well at all.”

“They’ve got idiots in the Home Fleet,” she said under her breath. “Idiots. What happened with your secret security message? Why doesn’t he believe us?”

“Well . . . not everybody has your family’s, ah, casual attitude toward the formalities. He could be one of those captains who believes in doing everything strictly by the book. He’s being cautious, is all. For all he knows, the codes were broken and this is a Mage trick to get control of his ship.”

“Going by the book’ll kill you every time,” she said. “You’re Space Force, Nyls—what’s next?”

The Khesatan looked thoughtful. “What’s wrong with allowing them to board?”

“I don’t like—”

“These are the good guys, remember? Talk with them, show them around—let them get a look at your face, for heaven’s sake! Anybody who ever saw a flatpic of your mother is going to think twice about calling you a liar then.”

“We haven’t got the time for all this nonsense . . . but you’re probably right.”

She put Warhammer into a skew-flip and began to decelerate under main power. Then she unstrapped and stood up.

“You’ve got the conn,” she told Jessan. “Bring LeSoit up here to fill the other seat, and tell your pals we’re ready to receive a boarding party.”

“Where will you be?”

“In my cabin getting dressed,” she said. “If I have to talk us in on the strength of a family resemblance, I’m going to have to look better than this.”



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