“A super-dreadnaught,” whispered the pilot in awe, camera interpolation yielding an enormous outline through the curtains of fire. “It must be four kilometers long, or more!”
Hummingbird was working his stylus in a quick, efficient blur on a hand comp. A lead had been jacked from the unit into the control consoles and Gretchen jumped slightly when he suddenly cursed aloud. Locke and the pilot turned in alarm.
“Xochitl!” The sound was harsh, abrupt.
Hummingbird stared at his comp, right eyelid twitching. Then, after a stiff moment with everyone staring at him, he looked up. “Captain Locke, spin up the mains as soon as we’re in the thrust shadow of that monster.”
“Delicate flower?” Gretchen ventured. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“One of the Princes Imperial has arrived,” the old
nauallis
answered, looking at her sidelong. She had been around him long enough to glimpse anger and unease behind his usual stoic mask.
Could our all-seeing sorcerer be worried?
Gretchen struggled to suppress a grin.
“We have to get in there immediately.” Hummingbird glared at Locke.
Xochitl—I remember, that’s “precious flower”—now where … Ah! Of course.
A flurry of 3-v magazine covers, each more lurid than the last, came to mind. Page after page of
Temple of Truth
filled with “candid” snaps of a young, heartbreakingly handsome man. The foremost of the Emperor’s “Mighty Sons,” Prince Xochitl was not the eldest, but he did shine the brightest in popular culture. A victorious Fleet commander—he’d driven the Kroom
ā
kh back from Al-Haram, recapturing two colony worlds and a series of critical mining stations—and a notorious duelist who had left a long trail of broken hearts and honorable deaths behind him.
So,
she thought, feeling Hummingbird’s tension ratcheting up with each second. The pilot had the maneuver engines on restart and Captain Locke had pitched in to bring up the hyperspace coil. But she could tell it was all going far, far too slowly for the Crow’s frayed patience.
“Hm,” she said, drawing a baleful gaze. “He’s the pretty one, isn’t he? With the hair?”
THE
NANIWA
Kosh
ō
happened to be reviewing battle-group dispositions in preparation for ordering a change in heading for the next leg of their patrol pattern, when a bright spark popped into view on the threatwell. Her eyes widened, then flicked to the ident code glyphs popping up around the speeding mote.
“
Kiken-na!
” she snapped, outraged. “Evasive action,
Thai-i
, cut to starboard at maximum burn.”
The lieutenants at the navigation and pilot stations were already in motion and acceleration alarm Klaxons blared the length of the ship.
Naniwa
’s frame groaned, antimatter-powered drives kicking into maximum thrust, and Kosh
ō
watched, face impassive, as they cut away from intercept.
A moment later, as the g-decking stabilized,
Sho-sa
Oc Chac was in Command as well, sliding into his own shockchair. He seemed a little wide-eyed, given the abrupt maneuver.
“
Chu-sa
?”
Susan did not answer for a moment, her face hard-set, brows furrowed. She was watching the conversation between the
Naniwa
’s ’cast system and the intruder. Camera images of the oncoming ship began to unfold on her panel, and the ident system chirped, yielding a verified identification.
“IMN SDN-6
Tlemitl
has joined the battle-group,” she said at last, her lips a tight, hard line. “Under the command of the Prince Imperial Xochitl, Admiral of the Fleet.” She sat back in her shockchair and forced her hands to stillness. “What is he doing here in the
Firearrow
? There isn’t a 3-v camera within light-years! I should…”
“
Kyo
,” Oc Chac ventured to interrupt, his black eyes curious. “Do you know the
Gensui
?”
“We were in school together,” Kosh
ō
bit out.
And I will not tell you what I think of the Flowery Prince, his personal attributes, or his social history.
She tapped her earbug angrily.
“
Chu-i
Pucatli, please send appropriate greetings to Prince Xochitl aboard
Tlemitl
on behalf of myself and the crew of
Naniwa.
”
Then she turned back to her XO. “
Sho-sa
Oc, get us out of the
Firearrow
’s drive plume. Send
Naniwa
wide, then curve back to the patrol pattern. That should avoid any radiation wake behind that behemoth.”
“
Hai, Chu-sa!
”
Susan tried to turn her attention back to reviewing the latest supplies and munitions projections from Logistics, but the constant chatter on the battle-group stellarcast—which she had spooling on one of her earbug channels—was afire with speculation.
Tlemitl
had not ’cast the usual greeting or pleasantries, though the massive ship’s course was clear—dead on to the
Can
.
The thought of Xocoyotl’s reaction to being usurped by the Prince, who outranked the vice admiral in every possible way, did lighten her mood a little. But she did not relish the prospect of managing both of them.
* * *
Sixty-two minutes later, as the
Naniwa
completed her course correction, an alarm sounded from the Navigation station.
“
Chu-sa!
” the navigator said sharply, looking up from his console. “Unknown signature on the plot! We have an intruder in our patrol box.”
“Where?”
Thai-i
Konev at Weapons looked keen to exercise his systems.
“Report,” Susan said, her voice calm and controlled. Her own displays were already adjusting, with threat analysis panes opening up. “Size—heading—something pertinent,
Thai-i
Holloway.”
“Pretty small,
kyo
, about sixty meters long. It’s piggybacking in the
Tlemitl
’s wake. Signature is intermittent—” Holloway swallowed a curse, as the icon suddenly vanished from the threatwell.
“Project location from the data we’ve already captured,
Thai-i
. Lock heading as soon as we’ve caught sight of her again.” Kosh
ō
looked to Pucatli, who was sitting in at comm for the usual first-watch officer. “Signal battle stations to all hands,
Chu-i
. Immediate intercept. Unauthorized ship of unknown flag. Guns live. This is not a drill. Load missile racks one and two. Direct
Socho
Juarez to ready two teams for board and seizure.”
Then she sat back, feeling a cold shiver of adrenaline course through her limbs as the Klaxon sounded, and her bad mood vanished like the morning frost from the eaves.
Smartly now,
she thought, watching the bridge crew in action.
Mitsuharu would be pleased to see their progress.
“
Chu-sa
?” Oc Chac looked up from his own console, his chiseled face gleaming as the overheads flashed three times. “Battlecast needs an update on our course correction. Should I—”
She shook her head,
no
. “Let’s see what we’ve beaten from cover, first,
Sho-sa
. Then I’ll report to the various admirals.”
* * *
The
Naniwa
cut in quite nimbly, Susan was pleased to see, using the particle storm kicked up by the
Tlemitl
’s passage as a hunting screen, and Juarez’ combat teams had dropped alongside the tiny ship with two shuttles before there was any indication the intruders realized they’d been seen.
Kosh
ō
listened intently, a constellation of v-feeds from marine armor cameras unspooling on her main console, as the
Socho
and his men cracked two airlocks simultaneously and secured the ship. There was some chatter from the inhabitants, but by then the engines were locked out.
She raised an eyebrow, looking questioningly at Oc Chac.
“Registry,
Sho-sa
?”
“The
Moulins
,
kyo
. A ‘merchanter for hire’ out of Denby 47. No more than an asteroid with a hydrogen cracking station and fueling gantry. If memory serves, Denby lies within the jurisdiction of New Malta.”
“A Templar ship?” Kosh
ō
was intrigued. “Or even Norsk?”
Oc Chac grimaced. “The Europeans would be mad to meddle in the Prince’s affairs,
kyo
. But the knight-priests? They might find it amusing to trick about at his tail, all unseen.”
Susan folded her slim arms and stared apprehensively at the multiplane view afforded by the threatwell.
This place is drawing far too many players. All for a hazard to navigation? No—the Mirror must think they can gain control of the weapon, or whatever it is, and turn it to our use. But why did the Prince arrive so late? He was never late to any affaire or affray before … curious. Very curious.
She tapped open the Marine command circuit.
“
Socho
Juarez, what do we have for passengers?”
His report, brisk and efficient as it was, was
not
what Kosh
ō
wanted to hear. Her expression turned quite remarkably sour, as though she’d bitten into a rotten persimmon. Oc Chac waited, his curiosity obvious, while the
Chu-sa
stared distantly at the threatwell. When she turned to him, he straightened, hands clasped behind his back. “
Kyo
?”
“Loading bay one between the engine ring and the main holds—do we have something stowed there?”
“
Iie
,
Kyo
, Fleet regulations indicate the exterior bays are only for—”
“
Sho-sa
, prep the bay to tether that ship. I want it inside our coil field as quickly as we can.” She looked away. “
Socho
Juarez, we’re bringing you inboard, but I want a squad on-board at all times, and bring in some
Zosen
to tear it apart—hidden compartments, look for everything.…”
“
Hai, kyo!
”
* * *
On the bridge of the
Moulins
, Hummingbird watched with equanimity as the gaping maw of the battle-cruiser’s rear cargo hold enveloped them. He was keeping an eye on his comp, which chirped pleasantly a moment after they were fully inside the Imperial ship. Anderssen frowned—her hands were clasped on the top of her head, just like Captain Locke and the pilot—and she was staring down the barrel of an Imperial shipgun. The
nauallis’
comp was sitting on a side console, still plugged into the freighter’s shipnet, and seemed to be quite busy.
“Who are you talking to with that thing?” she hissed out of the side of her mouth.
“There has been correspondence with the battle-cruiser’s navigational system,” the
nauallis
said. “Are your bags packed?”
“Of course,” she growled, and then fell silent. One of the marines—his black-on-black nameplate seemed to say Juarez—had noticed their conversation and came over, expression grim.
Before the Imperial could say anything, however, Hummingbird nodded pleasantly and said: “
Socho
, please consider my credentials before doing anything rash. I am an Imperial
Tlamantinime
—a Judge—on official business. This woman is my assistant and we appreciate your commander’s efforts in picking us up.” He twisted his wrist, exposing a comm band, and then submitted quietly as the marine scanned his various forms of identification.
“Huh.” Juarez pursed his lips, looked the motley set of them over, and then turned away, speaking into his throatmike.
Gretchen snorted in disgust, knowing full well there was
no way
the old Méxica had planned this. “You know, Crow, you remind me of my first field instructor. She really didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t plan. She was clumsy and forgetful. Disasters followed her everywhere, but something always happened to make her look great. She eventually wandered up a pyramid on Go-Long in the rainy season and was struck by lightning.”
Socho
Juarez returned, his expression thunderous. “The
Chu-sa
will speak with you.” He jerked an armored thumb at two of the marines. “
Heicho
Gozen, Chayle, the captain is waiting for them in the loading bay overlook.”