Battle of the Ring (6 page)

“Velmeran?” Valthyrra called anxiously.

“Is that him?” Mayelna asked softly, watching the image on the
main viewscreen. The entire bridge crew waited motionless and silent for the
reply they did not expect to come. That explosion had taken a wolf ship and
thrown out only a twisted mass of broken metal, with little chance that
anything could have remained alive. Valthyrra knew that Consherra was watching
her, silently demanding that she do something, but she did not dare look at the
girl.

“Yes, that is him,” she answered. “Velmeran, do you hear
me?”

“We are going in to get him,” the pilot of the undamaged capture
ship said.

“Hurry, then,” Valthyrra replied. “Velmeran, do you hear
me? Help is on the way.”

“Will you stop pecking at me, you tin-plated bitch!” Velmeran
snapped in return. “I am doing the best I can.”

Valthyrra brought her camera pod around so fast the gears creaked.
“Meran? Are you alive?”

“I seem to be,” he replied. “No damage that I am aware of,
but I must have taken my limit of G’s.”

Mayelna leaned back in her seat and sighed heavily, while Consherra was
already running toward the lift that would take her down to the landing bay.
Valthyrra watched her go, then brought her camera pod around to look at the
Commander.

“You have been very quiet,” the ship observed.

Mayelna rolled her seat back from her console, then shrugged as she rose.
“What can I say? I had no idea how matters would turn out, so I had to
allow it to remain between you and him.”

“Do you think that he will forgive me?” Valthyrra asked
cautiously.

“Knowing Velmeran as I do, I suspect that he blames only himself in
the first place,” Mayelna said, pausing on her way to the lift. “I
will probably forgive you in a day or two. Consherra is quite another matter. I
suspect that she will remain in an unforgiving mood. And you might do well to
court her forgiveness, or you may find that she has the power to take him away
from you.”

The capture ship brought Velmeran’s fighter directly into the landing
bay and deposited it gently on the deck before passing on out the forward door.
Those who saw it brought in could hardly believe that Velmeran could have
ridden it through the blast unharmed, for the little ship was nearly ripped
apart. It began to smoke lazily as it was brought through the containment field
into the atmosphere of the bay; Valthyrra had to direct a blast of icy air at
it from a pair of blowers for two minutes before it was cool enough to
approach. Only the cockpit area remained reasonably sound, and the windshields,
although cracked and glazed, were intact.

As soon as they could, Benthoran, the crew chief, and an assistant moved in
to open the ship by simply breaking the canopy free and lifting it away. A good
deal of smoke poured out and continued to do so until Benthoran blew it out
with a heavy dose of carbon dioxide. When Consherra would have rushed in to aid
her mate, Dyenlerra was there first to wave her away. The medic helped Velmeran
remove his helmet but indicated for him to remain where he was while she opened
his chestplate to attach the leads of a portable medical scanner. The machine
needed only a moment to decide that he was sound enough to get out under his own
power. The interior of the cockpit was burned out and his suit was badly
scorched, his last line of defense against that terrible heat.

Consherra tried to take hold of him as soon as he was out, only to find that
he was still too hot to touch without the gloves that she had left on the
bridge. Dyenlerra waved her away a second time and made Velmeran stand beneath
one of the cold-air blowers until the damaged suit was cool enough to remove.

Valthyrra had been hovering nearby in the form of one of her remotes. Now
she brought the machine in cautiously. “I am sorry, Meran. I should have
believed you. I knew at the time that I should have, but the machine in me
could not. This is new to me, and I handled it badly.”

“That is something of an understatement,” Consherra remarked
coldly, moving in protectively beside her mate. Dyenlerra, oblivious to all
else, was busily checking the joints of Velmeran’s armor to see if the
suit beneath, which was exposed only at these points, had been penetrated.

“He warned me. I refused to listen,” Valthyrra admitted, aiming
her remarks at Consherra. “I am not infallible, although I have been
around long enough to learn from my mistakes. I will not make that mistake
again.”

“You may not have a second chance,” Consherra said darkly, taking
hold of Velmeran’s left arms as if to assert her claim on him.
“Perhaps another ship will have greater respect for his abilities.”

Dyenlerra impatiently slapped her hands away, forcing her to release her
hold on Velmeran. “You people can air your grievances later. Just now he
is on his way to the medical section for a complete scan.”

She physically turned her bemused patient and led him toward the lift.
Consherra followed uncertainly; she was well aware that she would not be
allowed inside the medic’s examination room, but she meant to stay as
close as possible. Valthyrra remained where she was, watching, and equally
aware that she was not welcome.

“Well, I really screwed it up this time,” she said softly.
“I have not been in this much trouble since the time Dveyella was going
to take him away from me.”

“Maybe not,” Mayelna said as they turned toward the lift,
getting out of the way as the bay crew began to remove the wreckage of the
fighter. “Velmeran will not want to leave, and I trust him to say so.”

“Why would he not want to leave?” the ship asked bitterly.

“Because you are still the best fighting ship in the wolf fleet, in
spite of yourself,” the Commander insisted. “He needs you as much
as you need him.”

“I was not exactly helpful when he needed me this time,” the
probe’s camera pod sagged, the mechanical equivalent of a dejected sigh.
“Just now I feel old and useless.”

Mayelna glanced at her and smiled. “You know better than that. And, if
it is any consolation, I will tell you that he makes me feel very old from time
to time.”

The medic took Velmeran to a private diagnostic chamber and locked the door,
forbidding even Consherra to enter. She cautiously removed him from his
scorched armor, sometimes having to force catches that were now reluctant to
open, then set her naked and nervous patient on the table and gave him a very
thorough examination with her most accurate and sensitive scanners. She was
soon satisfied that he was neither burned nor had suffered internally from
shock or buffeting. She finished by bringing up a very large and intimidating
microscopic scanner and, to Velmeran’s astonishment and profound
embarrassment, aimed it at the portion of his anatomy that made him most
nervous.

“The monitor in your suit controls says that you took a sustained heat
of over twenty degrees above body temperature,” she explained without
looking up. “We can take a surprising extreme of temperatures, even heat,
for limited periods of time. But you were in that overheated suit for some
time, and too much heat for too long can damage the genetic code you carry,
perhaps resulting in sterility.”

“Sterility?” he asked cautiously.

“Which, fortunately, you do not have to worry about,” she said
as she switched off the machine and pushed it out of the way. “At the very
most, you might be unable to have a successful mating for several days.”

“And there might be some danger of genetic defect?” Velmeran
inquired.

“No, of course not. Have you ever heard of a Kelvessan with genetic
defects? It cannot happen.” She secured the machine in its storage cubby
and tossed pants and shirt to her patient. “You recall what happens in
cell reproduction? The DNA chain splits in half, and a special molecular
machine runs up each half, pulling out amino acids and sticking them in the
proper place to form two identical chains. In most natural organisms this
little machine occasionally makes mistakes, sticking pieces where they do not
belong.

“But our little replicator is smaller than that. It has the ability to
check itself. When it finds a mistake, it will either back up and correct it or
break the DNA chain to prevent cell division. In our species, an uncorrectable
defect results in termination of the pregnancy at the time of conception. After
the first few cell divisions, the loss of one or two defective cells at a time
has no lasting consequences. Neat trick?”

“I suppose,” Velmeran agreed. “They must have thought of
everything when they made us.”

“Perhaps. There are certain failings in character that could have been
corrected genetically, but I have no real objection. If they had tried to make
us absolutely perfect, we really would have been machines.” She paused
and shrugged. “Speaking of conception, Baressa tested out pregnant this
morning. She was impressed with your efficiency.”

“Efficiency is one of my strong points,” Velmeran said as
casually as he could, although he did not hide his dismay well. In fact, he was
fortunate to be sitting down when he heard that. “Who knows?”

“Well, I do, of course. Consherra knows. I am sure that Valthyrra
knows, and Mayelna might.”

“That is quite enough. This is supposed to be Baress’s
child,” Velmeran reminded her.

Dyenlerra frowned. “I wish that I could understand your objection. Any
other male would be delighted to be in your position.”

He shrugged hesitantly. “When... when Consherra first came to me, I
made a promise – to her, I think, and certainly to myself – that I
would never compare her to Dveyella or do anything to make her think that she
is not my first choice.”

“And this is the simplest way to prove it?” the medic asked.
“I guess that I can understand that. But have you ever thought that this
is a selfish act on your part? Consherra wants you to mate, and it does not
worry her. What does worry her is your refusal. She blames herself.”

“Then I have no real choice, do I?” he asked.

“That is for you to decide,” Dyenlerra told him.

Consherra herded the entire pack before her, sending them firmly and quickly
into the common room that served all their cabins, sparing one hand to pull
Velmeran behind her. There were, however, several others besides just the Helm
and the nine pack members. Three other pack leaders were there as well: Shayrn,
Daeryn, and the redoubtable Baressa. This was clearly a council of war –
perhaps even a mutiny. Just yet they were not sure which, and they were waiting
for Velmeran to tell them what to do. And, if it seemed that he was still
undecided on the matter, Consherra was not.

“Pack your bags!” Consherra told the younger pilots. “We
are leaving here as soon as we can if we have to pack a very large dinner and
depart in our fighters.”

“Wait a moment,” Baressa said firmly. “Meran, I stand with
you in this. But first I want to know just what did happen out there. As I
understand it, you warned Valthyrra of a trap and she ignored you?”

Velmeran shrugged helplessly. “I told her that I could predict the
future. Naturally, she found that difficult to believe.”

The older pilot looked startled. “Indeed? If I may dare to ask, can
you predict the future?”

“He made three predictions in a row, and they all proved true,”
Consherra answered for him. “He said that we would find a Class M
freighter long before it came into scanner range. He said that her crew would
abandon the ship intact, and that it would explode.”

“Explode?” Daeryn asked.

Velmeran shrugged. “Once it was close enough to get a fix on the
Methryn, it drove itself straight at her in the hope of getting close enough to
blow itself up in her face.”

“With what?” Baressa asked. “A conversion device that
large should have scanned.”

Velmeran glanced up at the others for the first time, roused from his own
thoughts. “There were three conversion devices of tremendous size.
Valthyrra saw them, I am sure, but simply assumed them to be the ship’s
generators. Which they were.”

“But generators cannot be made to explode,” Baress protested.

“Any generator is a conversion device that can be made to
explode,” Velmeran said. “Class M’s have limited sentience,
apparently enough to override their safeties.”

“That is so,” Baressa agreed. “But where does that leave
us? You knew what was going to happen, and Valthyrra ignored you. She is still
at fault in this matter, since it could have been avoided.”

“I do not know,” Velmeran said uncertainly, once again seemingly
unaware of the others as he retreated back within his own thoughts. “It
might be tempting to hold Valthyrra to blame, but I cannot. Even I could not
believe completely until I had proven myself.”

“That is still no excuse for her to treat her best pack leader like
that,” Consherra said hotly. “Any other ship would consider herself
very lucky to have Velmeran, and willing to pay him the attention he
deserves.”

“It is up to Velmeran,” Baressa said, gently reminding them of
who was the real leader of this group. “If he goes, then I will go with
him.”

“Me, too!” Shayrn agreed enthusiastically.

“And me,” Daeryn added.

Velmeran glanced up, confused, as if suddenly aware of what was going on.

“Wait a moment!” he protested. “Who said anything about
taking half the packs on this ship and going anywhere?”

“You did,” Shayrn insisted.

“I did?”

“Actually, Consherra is the only one I recall having anything to say
on the subject,” Baressa said. “What do you have to say?”

“The matter is already resolved, it seems to me,” he said.
“My ability to predict has been tested and successfully proven, and I
came out the hero because I happened to be right. As I see it, I have won and I
have already gotten all from it that I can expect. Whether or not Valthyrra and
I will ever again be on close terms is beside the point. I am
Commander-designate of this ship, and here I must stay.”