Adele's display gave her the image of the operator seated at each of the seventeen separate units within the fortress. Six were gunnery displays controlling the weapon emplacements in wall turrets, and five consoles were unused at the moment.
At one of the six remaining sat a woman in her mid thirties. A scar ran from her chin into her scalp, skirting her left eye by very little. Her hair was a bright, artificial red except for where it grew over the scar; there the dye didn't take.
"Wartung!" she screamed to someone out of the image area. "Wartung, you bastard, they've entered the system!"
Even without the scar, no one would have called Aretine attractive. Her features were too sharp, and her eyes glinted like the points of icepicks.
"Siblings of the Selma Cluster!" Daniel said. "I'm Lieutenant Daniel Leary of the RCN with a proposition that will save your lives."
He'd instinctively raised his voice, though of course Adele was controlling the volume of the output speakers. She'd turned the command circuitry to her own purposes. Short of shooting the units to pieces, the Falassans couldn't affect their own equipment.
"My corvette, the RCS
Princess Cecile
, mounts four-inch plasma cannon," Daniel continued. "If I have to, I'll hover over Homeland and use them to burn your little fort into a pool of lava. I believe that will take about a minute and a half, but perhaps less."
Aretine and a muscular young male with a metal pincer in place of his left hand were trying to block the electronic intrusion from separate consoles. They had as little success as they'd have had gnawing through rock. The Falassans at the other consoles, including three which had been unused until Daniel began to speak, listened intently to the proposal.
"I've arranged for your lives to be spared," Daniel said. "On my honor as an RCN officer and a Leary of Bantry."
He turned his head toward the Astrogator. Daniel's expression left no doubt in Adele's mind that he meant his words in the most direct sense possible. If Kelburney went back on his word, there would be Hell to pay. A Cinnabar gentleman had promised as much.
Kelburney probably understood the terms being offered and the price that would be exacted for noncompliance on his part. Tovera certainly did. She smiled like a statue of ice as her eyes counted the Dalbriggans nearby; the targets, it might be, that she would kill in a few minutes. For the moment, her submachine gun slanted up at an angle that threatened no one.
"The condition is that you arrest Captain Aretine and hand her over to the authorities for trial on treason charges before Astrogator Kelburney," Daniel said. "The Republic of Cinnabar doesn't presume to dictate legal procedures and penalties to the governments of allies like the Selma Cluster, so I specifically except Mistress Aretine from my guarantee of safety."
Aretine had left her console. As Daniel spoke she reappeared at one of the gunnery displays, wrenching the man there aside and sitting down in his place. The unit was supposed to control three of the automatic impellers in unmanned barbettes on the outer wall. It was as dead as a pile of gravel now; the Falassan commander jerked at the joystick uselessly in frothing fury.
Adele frowned, realizing that she could have shut down the fort's active defenses much sooner than she did, thus saving lives among the Dalbriggan attackers. Though . . . looking at the thugs guarding Kelburney, that wasn't a prospect for which she could summon much enthusiasm.
"I realize you'll need to discuss this among yourselves," Daniel continued. He sounded utterly sincere, but he winked to those watching him from the interior of the fortress. They'd have thought he was simple-minded if he hadn't. "You have five minutes to accept or reject my offer; and if the latter, a trifle longer to make your peace with God. RCN out."
The Astrogator looked down at Adele. "You, Mundy?" he said. "Can you make all my people hear me the way you warned about you Cinnabars driving up in the car?"
"Yes, I can do that," Adele said, keeping her tone neutral. If another Cinnabar aristocrat had spoken to her in so brusk a fashion, she would have called him out; but Kelburney was clearly being polite in his own fashion.
The custom of the country. . . .
"Do it, then," Kelburney said, "and I'll warn 'em about the prisoners. We don't want any slipups."
He nodded toward Tovera with a grim smile. Truly, the Astrogator wasn't a man who missed much.
Adele pulled off her RCN helmet and tossed it underhanded to Kelburney. "Use this," she said.
"Would to God I had you on
my
ship," Kelburney muttered as he settled the helmet on his head. The lining adjusted automatically to his larger skull. He nodded toward Daniel, engrossed in the interplay visible through the fort's seventeen displays. "I thought he was blind to pick a girlfriend like you."
"I prefer not to be called a girl at all, Master Kelburney," Adele said. "You can address your personnel now."
On the range of miniature screens monitored through the personal data unit, the one-handed Falassan turned with a snarl and grabbed the bell-muzzled weapon beside him. Three splashing holes in his chest flung him back into the console. It went dead when a second burst ripped through the man's body and the box itself.
"This is the Astrogator!" Kelburney said. "Listen up! The bastards who holed up in the HQ are gonna surrender in a minute or two. We're gonna let 'em. Hear me! You're gonna treat 'em all like they was your long-lost sister, you hear? Anybody shoots a prisoner, he goes out an airlock without a suit, I don't care who you are!"
Aretine was no longer visible. The Falassans weren't looking at their displays; some of them remained at their consoles, but they'd rotated the seats outward and held weapons ready. Sparks crackled from the wall in front of an unused display, submachine gun projectiles disintegrating on concrete.
Kelburney gave Adele a lopsided grin. "Figure that'll do the job?" he said.
She shrugged. "You know your people better than I do," she said. "It seemed clear enough to me, certainly."
Kelburney squatted beside her, his eyes on Daniel who appeared oblivious. "Takes a lot on him for a young fellow, doesn't he?" Kelburney said.
Three Falassans carrying pistols ran through the image field of the console at which Aretine had sat when Daniel began his speech. One of them threw his hands in the air and toppled forward.
"He's acted as his father's envoy since he turned sixteen," Adele lied in a conversational tone. "This is a relatively minor matter compared to some he's undertaken."
"What?" Kelburney said in amazement.
Daniel walked a little apart as though he were completely lost in the events within the fort. He and Adele hadn't had a chance to plan this, but from their first meeting they'd shown an aptitude for counterpointing one another.
Now, if only Aretine will hold out for a few minutes longer.
"Why yes, Daniel is Speaker Leary's son," Adele said. "Your opposite number in the Republic, one might say; though we too have our factions."
She nodded in the direction of the fighting with what she hoped was a good-natured smile. Good nature wasn't a subject on which Adele Mundy had a great deal of experience.
"I hope that you didn't think that Daniel's come to you as a junior naval lieutenant?" she said. "The RCN is completely apolitical, I assure you. You'll be negotiating with a Leary of Bantry, sir."
A Falassan inside the fort began shouting into what had been Aretine's display. His bearded face was contorted with emotion. Adele had shut off the sound pickup along with all the unit's other functions.
"I see," said Kelburney without inflexion. "That's interesting, Officer Mundy. I'm glad you told me."
The Falassan gave up trying to speak into the console. He and a fellow reached down and together lifted Aretine by the hair into the image field. The rebel leader's eyes bulged and dribbles of blood ran from her ears. She'd probably been shot in the back of the head, but it was impossible to tell from this angle.
"Cue me," the Astrogator said with a curt nod to Adele. "All right, siblings, the fighting's over! Remember what I told you about the prisoners. Now it's time to party!"
He took off the RCN helmet and returned it to Adele as Daniel came sauntering back. Several of the bodyguards started shooting gleefully at the sky.
"Astrogator Kelburney," Daniel said, "now that the business here has been taken care of, I want to discuss a matter that will greatly increase the influence of your cluster in the Cinnabar Senate."
"They're coming out!" shouted a Dalbriggan who had a direct view of the fortress.
"Not just yet, Leary," the Astrogator said. "We'll talk tomorrow after you've got your ship rerigged, and you won't be sorry for the result. But not just now."
Adele sighed, gathering her strength to stand up again. She and Daniel had saved quite a number of lives by ending the battle in this fashion. She supposed she should feel cheerful.
But the air stank of blood and destruction, and Adele felt only disgust—at herself and at the species of which she was a part.
"Y
ou appear to be getting the
Pretty Mary
nicely back in shape,
Captain Slayter," Daniel said as the glum-faced merchant captain walked up as he surveyed the
Princess Cecile
. "Have you made headway in locating your missing fuel cells?"
Daniel judged that the corvette was about three hours short of being able to lift with her rig in inspection order, but Woetjans had surprised him in the past with the speed her crews could work. Of course the readiness of the
Princess Cecile
wasn't the question that most concerned him at the moment.
"Oh, we found most of them," Slayter said. "There was a pile off-loaded right beside her, left right out in the weather, the lazy bastards. Your lot of pirates say they won't stop us, but they don't help us reload the ship either. We're a merchant ship with an economic crew, not an army of folks sitting around in case there's a cargo to be shifted without stevedores."
"Indeed," said Daniel, sauntering toward the corvette's stern. It hadn't escaped his notice that Slayter referred to the Dalbriggans as "your lot of pirates," implying Daniel was responsible for their actions or inaction, nor had he missed the swipe at RCN crews paid by taxes and tribute.
The Homeland spaceport was a plain blasted to purplish ceramic by thousands of starship movements. Canals fed by the river to the north crisscrossed the land and provided reaction mass, but the Selma pirates didn't favor water harbors the way most starfarers did.
Their cutters didn't sink deeply into bare soil as heavier vessels would, but there was another practical reason why the pirates weren't fussy about where they landed. Besides capturing ships as they exited the Matrix, the Selma cutters raided outlying settlements where starships didn't normally land. They were used to the tricky business of landing on hard ground, and the practice they received at home made them less prone to error when repeating the process under fire.
"Your crew took away all my masts," Slayter said, following Daniel. Well, there hadn't been much chance the Rohaskan would take the hint of a turned back and leave. "Not just a couple to replace your damage."
Other people—though not many RCN officers, come to think—might have apologized to Slayter or defensively brought up the civilian's promises during the council meeting. Daniel turned like a gun training and said, "We've replaced the six antennas that were lost at Tanais, Captain Slayter, and in addition we've replaced the spares we used to make good as much of the damage as we could at the time."
An aircar overloaded with hogsheads of liquor flew across the field from the south. Its four fans were lugging in synchrony, so the vehicle's progress toward Homeland was a bass
thrum . . . thrum . . . thrum . . .
A naked man danced on the cargo.
"My understanding was that the
Pretty Mary
was being refitted with spars from the stocks available on Falassa," Daniel said. "They won't be full length, but they'll get you home. Slower, perhaps, but you're short-handed so the lesser sail area is an advantage."
Slayter had started to speak, but Daniel continued raising his voice to keep the floor. He took a step toward the civilian. Slayter held his ground momentarily, then stepped back.
"That's my understanding, as I said," Daniel continued, "but my only concern at this moment is to prepare my warship in the most expedient fashion for action against the enemies of the Republic. The loyal citizens protected by Cinnabar are obligated to help in any way possible to achieve that end. Now—"
Daniel placed his hands on his hips and glared at the civilian.
"—is there any aspect of your duties to the Republic that you fail to understand, Captain Slayter? Or is it your loyalty that's in doubt?"
"I'm loyal!" said Slayter, who'd shrunk six inches during Daniel's polemic. He knew the penalties for treason to the Republic, and he must have suspected that Daniel was willing to execute them—and him—out of hand. "Look, I'm just a loyal captain trying to have a friendly conversation with a fellow citizen!"
Daniel beamed. "I'm very glad to hear that, Captain," he said, again a picture of friendliness. "It helps those of us in the fighting forces to know as we ready for battle that the civilians we leave behind in safety understand and appreciate us."
Slayter quivered between relief and resentful anger. Above on the hull Woetjans bellowed, "Another inch, another inch—put your backs into it, you buggering women!"
Daniel glanced up. A team was stepping a new mast, the last of the six being mounted. They'd used the hydraulic winch to get the heavy tubing roughly into position, but the final adjustment had to be made by hand. Five riggers were hauling on a six-block tackle, while the bosun herself knelt holding the pivot pin in place with her left hand and a heavy maul short-gripped in her right.
"One—hold it!" The maul crashed down like the impact of a slug.
Woetjans stood. She saw Daniel watching and waved her maul in triumph. "Twenty more minutes, sir!" she called. "You can lift any time after that!"