Allie's War Season Four (134 page)

“Are you going to honor my request?” Revik snapped. “Am I going to have to do this by force, ‘Dori? Or were you not aware that was the subtext here?”

Balidor stared up at him.

Hearing the other man’s words, he felt his body tighten as their meaning sank in.

It occurred to him that they might actually have to restrain him.

They might, at the very least, have to order him back to the tank.

In all honesty, however, Balidor couldn’t be certain that wouldn’t make things worse, if only by giving him too much time to grind over his own fears and lack of control. It was possible that at least part of this problem came from having kept him locked up for too long already, especially with his wife having free reign over the ship.

Balidor studied the intermediary’s light carefully...really damned carefully...even as he kept his touch light, and hopefully out of the other man’s awareness.

Feeling another pulse of misgiving as he felt the currents snaking through the Sword’s aleimi, he made up his mind.

Reaching into the wider construct, he pinged Wreg.

He felt the other man’s presence at once, and breathed a sigh of relief.

I need you up here...
he sent, short.

I can hear it,
the other man grumbled.
A lot of us can fucking hear it...
Pausing he added, his thoughts more grumbly than before.
Why us? You should call her. Tell her to leash her husband...before he accidentally blows up the ship.

Do you really think that’s such a good idea, brother?
Balidor sent, sharper.
You do realize that seeing her up here might only escalate this, right? This fear is
about
her. Getting her involved might only make it worse...or turn it into a domestic dispute of potentially incendiary proportions. Do you really want to see them come to blows over this? Using telekinesis?

You could probably sell tickets to that...
Wreg muttered, chuckling a little.

Yes,
Balidor returned shortly.
Right before the carrier sank...with all of us on it.

What’s wrong with him?
Jon ventured, from near Wreg.

What’s wrong with him?
Balidor laughed humorlessly.
The man who tortured him throughout his childhood and turned him into a mass murderer wants to kill his wife...

Hearing his own thoughts articulated in such a blunt way, Balidor felt his own light flicker, changing around him as he found he understood even more than he realized.

Hell, Jon,
Balidor added.
...Menlim already succeeded in killing her once. Not only that, he wants their child. He’s already harmed Elyashi’s light, perhaps permanently.

Thinking more about what he was saying in the context of the Sword’s request, Balidor felt his jaw harden.

Look, he is not completely outside of his rights with this,
he admitted a few seconds later, feeling his light turn around the thought, even as he expressed it.
He may even have grounds. Technically, I mean. I would have to look at the specific codes, but it sounds like he’s at least done some preliminary research on this already. And Wreg, I think he’s right in another respect, too. If he’s serious about taking over security for her, we should bring the Council into this...or at least consult with Tarsi. We can’t afford to let him go rogue in terms of operational authority, which he might do, if we don’t grant him a fair hearing. That would be an unmitigated disaster in more ways than I can fathom right now...

At the other two men’s silence, Balidor forced his light to calm, too, even as he realized he continued to exude the charge feeding his aleimi from Revik’s light.

Are you coming up here, or not?
Balidor sent then.
Wreg?

He glanced up as he thought it, measuring the Sword with his eyes where the other man continued to pace on the other side of his desk.

Clearly, the Elaerian knew Balidor was in contact with someone else. He might even know with who by now. So far, it didn’t seem to be angering him any more than he was already, so he must have heard at least part of what Balidor had been thinking, in relation to admitting Revik might have grounds for his complaint.

Wreg sighed audibly in Balidor’s mind.

Your timing is not ideal, Adhipan,
he sent.

Balidor clenched his jaw, but managed to refrain from reminding the other man that it wasn’t exactly his timing driving this.

Wreg answered him anyway.

True,
Wreg conceded.
But under the circumstances, I’m not thinking it would be particularly safe to blame the boss right now...for much of anything.
Sighing, he added,
Where is Chandre? She is usually good with him.

Jon is all right now, is he not? From being stabbed?
Balidor paused, forcing his light deliberately calmer.
If he is not up to it, can you come up here, please, Commander Wreg? If Jon is up to it, perhaps both of you could come? I will call Chandre, too...and Yumi. But Jon can usually reason with him better than either of them. Better than anyone, really, including his wife. I could use the help...sincerely, brother.

Balidor felt a humorless smile from the other man’s light.

On our way,
Wreg said, his voice still a grumble.
See if you can keep him there, Adhipan...it feels like he’s ready to bolt. Jon says he’ll talk to him. But fair warning. The Bridge might not like that much, either, if my last conversation with her is any indication...

Balidor frowned, feeling a flicker of misgiving at that, too.

Before he could think of a response, Wreg vanished from his light.

When Balidor looked up, he realized he’d let himself get too lost in the Barrier, and too lost in his conversation with the other two men, too.

He also realized Wreg had been right.

Dehgoies the Sword was gone.

REVIK TOOK THE stairs two at a time, sliding down the rails between mesh landings where he could. He focused only on moving fast, very little on where he was going, given that he knew he was hooked into the wider construct, and that they were probably looking for him by now.

Either way, he knew he didn’t have much time.

To the same end, he used catwalks and ladders where he could find them, since they were generally faster than stairs or the more heavily-populated corridors. He still didn’t have the carrier’s full layout comfortably lodged in his mind––not in terms of the finer details, details that could have really cut his time from one end of the ship to the other. He worked those schematics anyway, trying to find any route that might go less noticed and also cut his time. For the most part, that meant using the same passageways as the crew, however.

Walking these corridors, the ship brought weird memories of
déjà vu
...flickering images from Vietnam, mostly, but also before that, from a brief stint in Korea.

He hadn’t been on many American ships during World War II.

Even though this ship was a lot different from the American ships he remembered from those earlier wars, and even from his time working with the human military in Britain from the 1980s until he quit his job for Mi5...it still had an American feel to it. As a result, he struggled more to get his head around the logic of the layout, compared to what he remembered of the big Russian ships during his time there, or even earlier, those he rode for Germany.

The strange layout still managed to slow him down.

Four decks above hangar hard deck was odd to him. The ships he’d ridden in before had only one deck living above the main hangars, with the lower levels taken up with nuclear warheads along with reactors, machinery rooms, laundry, dry storage and chill rooms...even data processing in the later years. He knew the hangars sat at water level on this ship, partly because the fusion reactor took up a lot less room and needed the cold of the water less, due to the organic field and buffer units being more efficient than the previous magnet-based variety.

So yeah, while he understood the tactical reasons for the placement of the hangar, the unfamiliarity still threw him. He was used to one deck above the upper end of the hangars, then three below, with reactors and engine rooms riding below the water.

This particular ship stood higher in the water, though, so there were those four decks, plus the three around the main hangars, plus the three below that.

Revik remembered most of that from the standard specs; he knew Balidor and his team had done a lot to modify those, too, however.

Balidor told him that the human military had redesigned the thing prior to them acquiring it so that it would hold a lot more ground troops, and to facilitate evacuations. They’d likely done that in response to hostilities with China, as well as water levels rising in so many places across the globe. Revik knew that seers continued to modify the damned thing like crazy, adding organics and even stone in some places, to facilitate the creation of stronger constructs (stone, especially granite, was incredibly helpful in grounding constructs); they’d also converted a good portion of the largest of the three holds into a place where they could grow food and keep domestic animals, as well as run the desalination equipment and store extra water along with algae-growing casks and whatever else.

So yeah, Revik was still getting a feel for everything Balidor had done, too.

He’d pretty much given Balidor and the Adhipan
carte blanche
over this project while he’d been working out of San Francisco. He found himself somewhat in awe of what they managed to accomplish in so short a time, given the small number of resources he’d funneled to the project at the time. The carrier would never serve as a permanent base, of course. For now, however, while they couldn’t afford to be stationary given the need to hunt down Listers and the number of beings who wanted them dead, Revik couldn’t have asked for anything better, really.

He still wanted to know the carrier better, though.

Despite the amount of time he spent memorizing schematics in some of his more irritated and impatient moments locked in the tank without Allie, nothing replaced spending time on the ground, where he could note details and alterations with his own eyes, and where he could use the spatial areas of his light to take real-time snapshots with distance and perspective. He’d always been more of a doer when it came to his light. He could rely on his eyes, sure. He could calculate distances with specs, like any semi-decently trained infiltrator, but he only really nailed those specs after he walked them at least once.

Most of the time, for most ops, it didn’t matter.

Here, it mattered.

He wanted to know every inch of this fucking ship, given what hunted them.

He spent the better part of the morning doing that very thing, walking the ship’s corridors, service walks, upper decks, control tower and security passages to learn his way around the ship...using the task to reassure himself, in part, that he’d hardwired the most important aspects of the layout into his aleimi. He’d also done it to distract himself from the thought of his wife handcuffed to their bed.

The memory brought an unwelcome flush of pain, one he shoved angrily out of his mind.

He still couldn’t believe she hadn’t told him.

Hadn’t they vowed, in front of the gods and everyone fucking else, to
tell
each other the important things? Why the fuck had she waited? Why hadn’t she told him about Terian breaching the ship’s networks the
second
he walked into that cell?

But he knew that wasn’t even what really bothered him.

He wanted to know why the
fuck
she hadn’t called him on the link. Meaning, while it was actually happening. Hell, Balidor talked about mutiny. Why the fuck hadn’t Balidor told him while it was happening? Or was he no longer Balidor’s commanding officer, either?