Ceremony (25 page)

“They want to know what we are doing, Marika.”

“Express our regrets. Tell them we have decided that we made a mistake in pursuing this contact. Tell them we do not wish to become embroiled in the affairs of an embattled race. Tell them we are going home. Then get aboard and strap down.” She passed the bowl to him, let him sip, then consumed what remained and took her station at the tip of the dagger. Strap securely, she sent to the bath.

Bagnel concluded his final note, passed it over, and climbed to his place at the axis. The aliens did not understand until Marika lifted the darkship.

They began shouting and running around and making threatening gestures.

Marika ignored them.

There were a few wild shots from handheld beamer weapons. They came nowhere near.

Marika took the darkship up fast.

She could not climb nearly as swiftly as the alien aircraft. A flight overtook her before she reached fifty thousand feet. She was in no mood to play. She sent ghosts to still their engines. They fell toward the surface. Their pilots eventually left the craft to float toward the ground on parachutes.

Rockets leaped up. Marika was prepared for them. She stopped them long before they neared her. After a dozen tries the aliens stopped sending them.

Above, voidships moved to intercept her. She did not want to make enemies needlessly, but they seemed determined to stop her, and that she would not permit.

She reached out to the fringe of the system and summoned the great black. It came to her struggling, wriggling, protesting, never having encountered silth before. She held it in abeyance, not loosing it till the starships fired upon her.

She silenced three ships in fifteen seconds, then shifted her course. Dimly, she sensed Bagnel laboring over his communicator, sending crude messages, trying to assure the aliens that the meth meant them no harm, that they wanted nothing but to return home and forget the whole thing.

The strike of the great black paralyzed the aliens’ decision makers long enough for Marika to reach orbital altitude and gather ghosts for the Up-and-Over. Bagnel was apologizing for their having defended themselves when she climbed into it.

Chapter Forty-One

I

Trouble did not end with escape from the alien world.

The homeward journey became an epic of endurance and determination, and there were moments when even Marika doubted she would have strength enough to bring the darkship safely to the starship.

She succeeded--only to learn that her absence had been noted and someone had tried to take advantage.

She was barely able to stand when she came through the airlock, to be greeted by Grauel and Barlog, who had remained in a frenzy days after the event. They stumbled over each other explaining. “Someone tried to sneak in on us. We did not know what was happening till the killing started. We fired back, but if we had not gotten help from silth who were here, visiting... We managed to destroy them. Barely. At least fifty died here. We have not accounted for everyone yet.”

“You did well,” Marika said, leaning against a passageway wall. “But did you have to keep shooting till there wasn’t a fragment of darkship left with identifiable witch signs?” She had spied the debris during her approach and had wondered about it.

The huntresses were not overcome with remorse. Grauel said, “We know who it was. We saw their witch signs. They were Serke.”

“Serke? You must be mistaken. Or it was someone who had assumed the guise of Serke? There aren’t any Serke... “

“Tell that to the dead brethren, silth, and voctors. They were Serke, Marika.”

“Or masquerading as Serke,” Marika insisted. But who would?

“It is a ruse that might make sense,” Grauel admitted, sounding as if she believed nothing of the sort. “But even pretending to be Serke, what other sisterhood would unleash such indiscriminate slaughter? Any other order would want the starship for what it contained, and that has to include the minds of those who have been unearthing its secrets. Not so?”

“I suppose. I guess I just don’t want that old haunt lifting its head again.”

How many Serke remained unaccounted for? Starstalker and one, possibly two darkships. But it had been years. Even she had forgotten them. They all had to be old, possibly on the edge of becoming harmless. But if the attackers had come from the dozen or so surviving Serke silth, then they must have some contacts inside the meth civilization. Else how had they known she was away?

“I should return to the homeworld,” Marika mused. “What I learned among and about the aliens is important enough to be reported directly. And I really should see what is happening with the rogues. I did not catch Kublin. He must be up to something. But I dare not go, do I? This could happen again.”

Bagnel had been muttering with one of his associates. Scarcely able to contain his grief, he said, “I fear we have flown our last probe among alien stars, Marika. I have lost thirty of my best meth. It might not have happened had I remained here. I will not go out again. Not while meth remain meth and silth remain silth. It is... What do you silth call ritual suicide? Kalerhag? It is an invitation to kalerhag. Exposing your back to the knife. I am too old to run through the snow with the grauken baying at my heels.”

Marika nodded curtly. She drew herself together, willing her weariness away, and stalked off. She went into her quarters and isolated herself there, and opened to the All, and stayed opened longer than ever she had before. Despite her exhaustion, when she returned into herself she went looking for Grauel and Barlog.

“I have a mission for you two,” she announced. “A tough one. Feel free to refuse it if you like.”

They eyed her expectantly, without eagerness.

“I want you to accompany Bagnel to the homeworld. I want you to watch over him as you would me while he reports on our visit to the aliens and recruits brethren to replace those lost in this attack. I also want you to assess the situation there. Especially as regards the warlock.”

Barlog remained as still as stone, not a ghost of expression touching her face. Grauel exposed her teeth slightly.

They were not happy.

“I know no one else I can trust. And I dare not send him unprotected.”

“I see,” Grauel said.

And Barlog said, “As you command, Marika.”

“I command nothing. I ask. You can refuse if you wish.”

“Can we? How? We are your voctors. We must go if that is what you want.”

“I could wish for more enthusiasm and understanding, but I’ll take what I can get. I’ll assemble a crew and talk to Bagnel. I am certain he will be as thrilled as you are. But you must go soon. Quickness may be essential.”

She spent a long time with Bagnel, wobbly with weariness, first convincing him--he was more stubborn than Grauel and Barlog--then detailing what she wanted said and what she wanted investigated.

“You will do fine,” she said to his latest protest of ineptitude.

“Fine or not, I do not want to go. I have work to do here. Have you seen what they did to my meth?”

“I know, Bagnel. I know. And I think you will be better for recruiting replacements personally and bringing them out to undo what has been done. You’ve already agreed to go. Stop trying to change my mind.”

“All right. All right. Will you get some rest now? Before they find you collapsed in a passageway somewhere?”

“Soon. Soon. I have one more thing to do.”

She assembled the bath with whom she had ventured to the alien world. They were little more rested than she, though they had been sleeping. She told them what she needed, and told the strongest of the bath she now had her own darkship and a mission to fly it on as soon as she was ready.

All of the bath volunteered to accompany her, though a passage with a Mistress of the Ship who was not completely tested was risky. They all wanted to see the homeworld again. For several it had been years.

They bickered about who had the most right.

“All of you go,” Marika said. “What’s the difference? There are six of you and four will have to go to make a crew. What could I do with the two who are left?”

That settled, and everything she could do anything about done, she was able to rest at last.

It was a long time before she came out of her quarters again.

II

Marika became intolerable to those who remained aboard the starship and to those who came to visit, though visitors were not common. Few silth believed the attack had been delivered by the Serke who had survived Marika’s capture of the derelict. The dark-faring Communities all eyed each other suspiciously and poked around in the shadows seeking those with guilty knowledge.

Bagnel did not return, and still did not return. She became more difficult after he became overdue, and the longer overdue he was, the more intolerable was she. More than once she caught herself on the brink of taking a darkship out alone, in a mad effort at limping through the homeward passage by herself. But that was impossible even for one of her strength.

She was strong enough to make a short passage, one star to another, on her own. But she would need long periods of rest between passages, and there were no resting places at many of the homeward milestars. Moreover, rests would consume too much time. Bagnel, Grauel, and Barlog, even with a weak Mistress, could make the journey several times over while she limped along.

A daring silth came to her quarters while she slept and wakened her. Marika did not so much as growl. Something dire had to be afoot if the female dared this. “What is it?”

“Darkship just came out of the Up-and-Over, mistress. Your darkship. It is in trouble.”

Marika leaped up. “Send out... “

“Every darkship available is headed that way, mistress. We expect to save them, but it will be close. They came through with only two bath.”

Marika settled her nerves carefully, turning to old rituals seldom used since her novitiate. She reached with the touch, lightly, for it would not do to rattle a novice Mistress in trouble.

She found the darkship drifting inward, unstable in flight, damaged. Bagnel was not aboard. Neither was Grauel. Three bath were indeed missing. Barlog was there, at the axis, lying down, apparently injured. The darkships rushing to help had skipped through the Up-and-Over and were closing in. Marika remained close till all four meth had been transferred to safety aboard other darkships.

Her ship. Her precious oddball wooden dark-faring ship. It had been crippled. The signs were unmistakable. Someone had attacked it.

She began stalking the passageways of the alien starship, boots hammering angrily. This was it. This was the end of all patience. She would not tolerate any more. Those responsible for this would pay. “I am the successor to Bestrei. Would they have dared this with her? No.” She would make them remember. That fact would become painfully apparent to those responsible. The silth would change if she had to send half the sisterhoods into the dark... Rage sapped by vigorous exercise began to fade into worry. Where was Bagnel? What had become of Grauel?

She was at the lock when they brought the survivors inside. She said nothing. She just stood there letting the healer sisters get on with their work, spurred by her dark, angry glare.

More and more meth gathered as the word spread. The atmosphere aboard the starship grew depressing. Marika sensed little anger. That fed her own rage. They were depressed because they knew she would avenge this. Because they knew this outrage meant the beginning of a new era of friction.

They were not outraged, and that angered her almost as much as the fact of the attack itself. All this time with her and they had given no loyalty to herself or to the project. Or maybe only to the project. They might not care who was in control so long as they could proceed with their studies undisturbed.

“Move them into the games room,” she instructed the healer sisters. “Prepare sleeping arrangements for five. One of you will be there, on duty with them, at all times.”

As she started away one of the healer sisters expressed her mystification with a simple, “Mistress?”

“I want them kept together, in one place. And I want to be there with them. I am going for a few things. Have them in the games room when I get there.”

And she did move in with them, watching them every instant, scarcely napping. If there was an enemy aboard the starship, he or she would not reach them.

There were moments when she marveled at her own paranoia, but they were far between. And even then she understood that paranoia was justified.

The bath she had made Mistress recovered first. She wakened and saw Marika hovering. Relief overcame her. Then embarrassment. Then silth training took hold and she began a formal report.

“Back up,” Marika said. “Give it to me the way it happened--from the time you arrived on the homeworld.”

“It is simple, mistress. Your male friend pursued his assignment with great vigor. He irritated many silth by his manner, and was tolerated only because he was your agent. But they are trying to forget you on the homeworld. They are angered by constant reminders of your power, though they have benefited much from what you have done. Already it can be seen where brethren have adapted knowledge we have gained here and have employed it to the benefit of all meth.

“But no one believed in our mission. Everyone believed we were spies sent to prepare the way for your return. No one would cooperate. Bagnel garnered what information he could by trading what we learned about the aliens for gossip. He worked long hours comparing what one order said to what others told him.”

“Am I to assume that lack of cooperation was the reason you took so long?”

“Yes, mistress. That and the male’s insistence on frequent visits to the mirrors. He learned more there than he did among those who have a logical interest in treating us honestly.”

“Us. You keep saying us and we. Explain.”

“We are not of the same Community, Marika, and that has stood between us. There have been moments of friction within our crew. But when we returned home we all found ourselves considered suspect by our seniors. None of our Communities welcomed us. We were all treated coolly and with suspicion, as though we were of an enemy order. Even your own most senior, Bel-Keneke, would have little to do with us.”