31
The Vedritor’s bridge was alive with noise and motion. Adler’s chair was empty, but his first officer was firmly ensconced in the adjoining one, her armpad controls angled in front of her. She pushed it aside, started to rise when Mack strode in. He waved her back down. She and Adler would work best together. Mack needed to be mobile. He’d never sat long in the command chair even when he’d been captain. And he never sat still during an attack.
The data on the six unexpected Fav’lhir ships danced on a dozen screens: five Raider-class fighters and one huntership, equal in size to the Vedri. They were thirty-five minutes out from the Vedri’s position. They must have slipped past Cirrus Quadrant’s outer beacons hours earlier, assisted by their cloaking abilities. Simon had warned that the few adjustments he’d been able to make to the beacons might not be enough.
They weren’t. Six new ships here on his vector. Two squadrons—the original attackers Simon had seen—still closing on the beacons. And the gods only knew how many more were out there, coming in from a different axis.
A hand clasped his shoulder. “The chair’s yours if you want it,” Adler said.
“You know I work best right here.”
Adler hesitated only a second. “Good to have you back on board, Mack.”
“Thanks. Let’s get to work.” He turned. Gillie stood near the front of the bridge, staring at the images of the Fav ships on the viewscreen. His heart clenched. He’d failed to make things right with her, thanks to the arrival of the Fav’lhir. And thanks to his own cowardice for not coming out right away and telling her how he felt.
He’d always suspected time was a factor in their relationship. Now he knew it worked against him.
“Admiral. Captain.” Iona Cardiff swiveled in her chair at communications. “The Fav’lhir ship Mogralla is answering our hail.”
Adler pushed himself out of the seat he’d just taken and strode forward. Mack met up with him in the middle of the bridge. “On screen,” he said, and looked at Gillie. She stepped back next to Cardiff, with a slight shake of her head. And no emotion in her face, or her eyes. Captain Gillaine Davré, RSF Division 1, was on duty but not yet ready to make an official appearance.
The screen blanked, flickered, then a trim, white-haired man in a red and gold uniform appeared in the center. Fav’lhir crew dotted the stations around him much as the Vedri’s officers did.
Mack locked his hands behind his waist. “Admiral Rynan Makarian, Khalar Fifth Fleet.” He nodded at the Fav’lhir captain. “State your business, sir.”
“Not much of a fleet. Admiral.” The man smirked.
Mack wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off the Fav’s face with a full complement of ion torpedoes. But there was a protocol to follow, as foolish as it seemed. He knew damned well why the Fav were here. “You’re in Khalaran space. Present your clearances or prepare to be fired upon.”
Something wavered in the recesses of the Fav’lhir bridge. It looked, momentarily, like a cage with a large entity inside, then it winked out.
“They’re probing our shields,” an officer said evenly from the science station on his left. “Unable to identify source.”
“Shields holding,” said another.
“This is your final warning,” Adler said. “Present—”
The Vedritor shimmied, a movement so slight Mack wouldn’t have noticed it had he been seated. But he felt it through the soles of his boots.
At the same time, he heard Gillie utter a low, and now very familiar, curse. “Fielgha.” She moved swiftly toward the viewscreen, her right hand outstretched, her fist clenched. A glow gelled between her fingers.
The Fav’lhir captain appeared startled. “What?”
Gillie faced him. “Captain Gillaine Davré, Raheiran Special Forces, Division One. You unholy son of a bitch!” She opened her hand.
A small pinpoint of light expanded rapidly. A cage, rimmed in fire, hung in the air before her on the Vedri’s bridge. It grew to over six feet tall, shimmered, vibrated, and rocked with the impact of the mogra—by the holy eyes of the gods! A mogra!—futilely slamming itself against the bars.
There was a collective sharp intake of breaths around him. Mack’s fingers closed over the laser pistol holstered to his side.
Then, just as suddenly, the cage was empty, disintegrating. The mogra appeared behind the Fav’lhir captain. The man whirled, shouting something Mack didn’t understand.
Another cage surrounded the mogra. The white-haired man spun back to the screen. “Filthy Raheiran witch!”
“Yes. And there’s more than one of us.” Gillie sounded positively gleeful.
A squadron of Raptor-class crystalships winked out of the starfield, the Serendipity at the lead. They blazed across the Mogralla’s bow. Bright blue laser fire flared against its shields.
Then, in an incredibly graceful and not unfamiliar movement, they arced and blazed back.
The parrots. Mack had listened to Simon and Gillie explain about the parrots and amplifying essences and how they could be used to create false images. But until this very moment, he hadn’t truly believed it would work.
It didn’t matter what he believed. The Fav’lhir saw it as real: a real, attacking squadron of Raheiran crystalships. When in fact there was only one. Assisted by the essences of his avian invaders.
“Lock ion cannons,” Mack ordered the weapons lieutenant. “Fire!”
The Fav ships’ shields were peppered with incoming blasts. Chatter on the Vedritor’s bridge was clipped, serious, as the Mogralla returned fire, but the Fav ships also aimed at the imaginary Raheiran squadron, wasting weaponry and man power.
The diversion created gaps in the Mogralla’s defenses, and the Vedritor took advantage of those gaps, swiftly. Decisively.
Eventually, believing they were outnumbered by a combined Khalaran–Raheiran onslaught, the Fav’lhir cooperated by retreating rapidly. Adler sent the Worthy and one squadron in pursuit of the four remaining fighters. The Mogralla and the last fighter hung lopsided in space, all but destroyed.
“That captain was a wizard,” Gillie told them when the crisis downgraded to a yellow alert. “Not a sorcerer.”
Adler sat in the command chair, listening to Gillie while at the same time monitoring ship’s status and damage reports. “Thank the gods he was only that,” Adler said, then glanced up at Mack on his left. “I understand you and Captain Davré stopped one on station. I have no desire to run up against a sorcerer, or a sorceress, myself. They’re too powerful, or, should I say, power hungry. What they can do . . . well, it makes them . . . unnatural.”
Gillie’s shoulders stiffened slightly at Adler’s unintended rejection. Mack fought the urge to draw her into his arms. She’d probably give him a black eye if he tried.
“We should finish up here within three hours,” Adler was saying. “Then we’ll head for the border at maximum speed so Captain Davré can recalibrate those beacons. There are six more sets after that.” He motioned to Gillie. “Lieutenant Mason is putting together a list of techs for you to train. We’re going to keep you and your team very busy for a while.”
Gillie nodded. “I look forward to it, Captain.”
Would she permit him to be part of that team? She couldn’t stop him, though he didn’t think she’d be happy about it. But it would give him the time he needed to make amends, time with her to make things as right as he possibly could. He still didn’t fully understand her: Raheiran, Kiasidira, RSF captain. Time traveler. Accidental goddess. All in one package she liked to call “just Gillie.” A woman of incredible strengths. And, as Simon had helped him see, a woman very alone and very afraid.
“Have Lieutenant Mason send that list to me in the ready room,” she told Adler.
Mack followed her into the corridor. “Gillaine.”
She palmed the ready-room door open and turned. The bright overhead lights danced silver and gold through her hair. There was no corresponding sparkle in her eyes.
“We still have to talk,” he said.
“I’m only going to teach your people how to calibrate your sensors for cloaking resonances. Not train them in the art of seduction, if that’s your concern, Admiral.”
“It’s not. I never meant—” His comm set pinged. “Gods damn it!” He flipped up the mike with a rough, impatient gesture. “Makarian!”
“Priority trans from Traakhal One.” Adler’s voice was tense. “The chancellor’s ship’s under attack by the Fav’lhir at our Nixaran border. Their escort’s been destroyed.”
Shock jolted Mack’s system. What in Tarkir’s hell was Traakhal One doing transiting the border between Nixara and Cirrus? Coming in on a direct vector from Traakhalus, obviously. But why? Mack could think of only one reason: the prime hostess, sitting on Cirrus One.
“The chancellor’s ship’s been attacked,” he told Gillie, then he spun and bolted back to the bridge.
Adler stood behind Cardiff, his mouth grim. “We had no advance information on his movements.”
“Neither did I,” Mack said, and damned Honora Trelmont, Carlos Halbert, and Blass. Whoever was responsible for sending the chancellor to the Cirrus Quadrant unannounced.
Though obviously the Fav’lhir had known. Blass, then, before he died. Or Rigo. Mack watched the data on the communications officer’s screen. Ten hours separated Cirrus One from the Nixaran border, and the Vedri was now ten more beyond that. Fourth Fleet was twenty hours out. Even at top speeds, they’d never reach the chancellor’s convoy in time.
“Where’s Admiral Lloyd?”
“Third can’t get there for at least thirty-six. Their hunterships were on maneuvers out by the rim.”
“Advise Traakhal One we’re responding immediately, with Fourth as backup.”
“I’ve already plotted in a course, sent an advisory. If they can hang on, we’ll be there in fifteen, maybe less.”
“I can . . . We can get there in an hour.”
Mack hadn’t seen Gillie approach. She stood on Adler’s right, one hand on the back of Cardiff’s chair. The communications officer angled back, giving Gillie a clearer view of the data on her screen.
“One hour,” Gillie repeated. She switched a glance from Mack to Adler, then back to Mack again, her brow furrowed. “Through Riftspace.”
Gillie’s crystalship could travel in ways his own never could. Mack had forgotten that. He pointed to the data from Traakhal One’s distress call. “The Fav have two destroyers. Can the Serendipity handle that kind of firepower?”
“No. But the Serendipity and the Vedritor can.”
“I don’t understand.”
She heaved out a short sigh. “I’ve never done this before. Simon thinks it will work, but it will require some damage control. And your complete trust.”
Mack understood her reference to damage control. Gillie was going to use her abilities as a Kiasidira again, and he had a feeling Adler’s officers would be witnesses. But he didn’t understand how she intended to use the Vedri. “Tell me. Whatever you need, I’ll do.” He meant it.
She closed her eyes briefly. He guessed she was talking with—quite possibly arguing with—Simon. Her expression was unsettled and her eyes, when she opened them, troubled. “Oh, hell, oh, damn,” she said softly, then turned to Adler. “I’m a mageline sorceress.”
Adler’s mouth opened. Then he stammered, obviously regretting his earlier remark. “Captain, I—that is, I didn’t—”
Gillie held up one hand. “It’s not an issue. And the fault is more mine. If we had time, I could explain. We don’t have time. Captain Adler, I need your ship. Admiral Makarian, I need your complete and total faith in me. Lieutenant Cardiff, I need you to take your hands off the communications panel for a moment.”
Mack nodded to Cardiff, whose expression was as surprised as Adler’s. She dropped her hands into her lap.
Gillie pulled a small ward stone from her jacket pocket and placed it on the console. “L’heira Ixari . . .” Crystal flowed, blossomed. Cardiff gasped. Adler cleared his throat.
Mack followed Gillie around the bridge as she placed ward stones at the other stations: navigations, weapons, science, ops, tactical. Crew sat back, hands in their laps, watching. Whisperings were halted by a sharp look from Adler or himself.
Ten minutes later she stood in the middle of the bridge, eyes closed, her folded hands resting against her mouth. Mack waited by Adler’s chair. He’d never seen her so focused, so determined. She looked over her shoulder at him. So afraid.
She held out her hand. “Rynan Khamron Makarian. This is your calling.”
Something washed over him. Something old and powerful and deep. It held echoes of a dark lake, an impregnable castle. An undying love. He knew the castle: Traakhal-armin. He knew the lake: the Khal. The love was legendary: Rylan, the sorcerer, whose magename was Rothal-kiarr. And Khamsin, the first Lady Kiasidira.
But I’m not . . . he started to say, then willfully pushed aside his doubts. What he was, or wasn’t, didn’t matter. Gillie needed him. Gillie believed in him. That was enough.
He crossed to the center of the bridge and took her hand. She touched her forehead, lips, and chest with a ward stone, then did the same to him.
“I cannot move this ship alone,” she said softly. “She’s not part of me, as the Serendipity is. But she is part of you. You supervised her design. You know her every bulkhead.”
He nodded. He did.
“She trusts you. Now you, and she, must trust me.”
He tightened his fingers around hers. “With my life.” Then he added what he knew he had to say now. Before he ran out of time again. “I love you, Gillie.”
Her eyes misted. “I love you too, Mack,” she whispered. Another ward stone appeared in her right hand. She tucked it between his palm and hers, then closed her hand on top. She whispered words he didn’t understand. Purple light cascaded, swirling out from between their fingers.
His hands and arms tingled. His heart raced. A bright circle arced up around them, settling quickly into the bridge floor. It glistened with gemstones. A mage circle. He’d never seen one before, but he knew that’s what it was.
This is your calling. Gillie’s voice rang strongly in his mind. There was no pain this time, no discomfort. Do you accept?
Yes.
Rynan Khamron Rothal Makarian, hear your magename.
He heard it. He wasn’t sure he believed it, nor did he know how someone like him could have one, but he heard it.
Guard it with your life. My vow to you is to do the same. Know its power. My vow to you is to honor that power. Do you understand?
I have much to learn, My Lady, but, yes. I understand.
Gillie touched the crystal stone to her forehead, then to his. The crystal felt cool, soothing, not at all what he’d expected from its brilliant glow.
Then his world, quietly and with the merest whisper of sound, exploded.
He sucked in a quick breath. The stone was gone. Gillie clasped both his hands, steadying him. It felt as if a few thousand suns had gone nova inside his body, yet there was no pain. Only . . . power. A rush of energy so strong, so sweet, so vital, and yet at the same time so incredibly gentle.
The purple glow muted around them. The mage circle winked out. He was aware of the bridge crew transfixed in their seats, but he was more aware of the slight curve of a smile on Gillie’s mouth. It does take some getting used to, she told him wryly. Ready?
Ready.
Simon?
Mack heard, and felt, Simon’s presence. At your command, Lady Gillaine.
Good. She thrust her right hand in the air. Purple light raced from crystal-enhanced console to crystal-enhanced console. The starfield shifted, sliced through by a tubular crystalline pathway. Let’s go kick some Fav’lhir ass.