Shadows of Golstar (27 page)

“Your apology is accepted and you are welcome Janus
Owens,” she replied.

Owens was relieved. Tension in his neck and shoulders
gradually relaxed. In spite of himself, he might live just long enough to
complete this assignment after all, or at least try. Perhaps he could now ask
the simple question that had been nagging him since he first met the Keeper of
the Way. “I don’t mean to be rude, and admittedly, I’m out of my element here,
so without meaning any intended offense, may I respectfully ask how I am to
address you? As you’ve by now determined, I’m a simple private investigator and
not very well versed in the arts of diplomacy.” Actually, he thought he was
fairly well read on the subject, just not any good at practicing it.

At his words, a faint smile flitted across her lips
and quickly vanished but not before Owens noticed that she had dimples. She
was
beautiful; Owens had to admit it to himself again. At least she had a physical
beauty, he silently amended. The jury was still out on the rest.

She reasserted a professional manner, “We did neglect
to cover that topic in our first meeting, Janus Owens.” She thought a moment.
“As you are not of our Way, the honorific would mean little to you, and as I am
to be your initial contact, you may simply use my given name, Sharné.”

A lovely name for an obviously important and powerful
young woman, Owens thought. “Thank you Sharné. Could I in turn impose upon you
to call me Owens? I’ve never been very comfortable with my first name.”

She nodded. “Very well, I will be pleased to call you
Owens. Now, as we
were
interrupted, let us begin again the discussion on
why you are here.”

It was the second watch. Lieutenant Commander Thorne
finished reviewing the duty roster and signed his confirmation with a practiced
flourish, using the light pen attached to the log pad. He took a moment to
admire his barely legible curlicues, and then inserted the pad into the slot on
his console for registration in ship’s computer and transcription back to fleet
HQ. With that mundane task competed, he looked up and scanned around the bridge
of the
Light Avenger.

Everyone was at his or her post, bent intently over
this screen or that console, diligently performing their assignments. All was
as it should be. He smiled in satisfaction. The well-oiled machine that was the
bridge crew performed efficiently and without complaint. Yes, it
was
as
it should be, he thought contentedly, especially on this current mission. The
captain would appreciate the efficiency of his watch.

Earlier, there
was
the minor irritation of a
crewman coming down with an unexpected illness. Normally, he might have been
suspicious, but the poor fellow was literally shaking. His skin was as clammy
as a finger eel; his face was chalk-white. Another crewman immediately replaced
him and there was no disruption in their alert status. A single, incapacitated
crewman would not compromise the mission.  He felt the Guardian of the Way
would be pleased by the efficient manner in which the minor incident was
handled.

He felt the rush of righteous pride. He knew it was an
honor that his ship and crew were selected to take part in this special duty, a
duty assigned by the Guardian of the Way himself. He could not recall having
ever personally taken part in a secret mission for the Guardian of the Way.
Thorne looked forward to sending the ‘mission accomplished’ message back to HQ
when they had successfully completed the escort duty. Where some might find the
duty routine and onerous, Wayne Thorne did not. He knew a mission requested by
the Guardian of the Way carried extra obligation and no matter how seemingly
mundane, also carried extra reward.

A soft tone sounded as the main hatch to the bridge
opened. He watched curiously as a number of crewmembers entered the bridge. He
didn’t immediately recognize them. They must be some of the new crewmen
recently assigned to the ship. Odd, he thought, a shift change wasn’t scheduled
for two more hours.

He was shocked to notice that they were wearing side
arms. That was against regulations and his pride was replaced with a fear this
blatant violation of military protocol would reflect badly on his duty-record.
He frowned with growing displeasure. Had they just come from weapons practice
and neglected to check-in their handguns? Even so, severe disciplinary action
would be taken. Another thought struck him and he wondered how they had entered
the bridge without immediately tripping an alarm. He was momentarily distracted
when two of the on-duty personnel unexpectedly rose and turned away from their
stations. He noticed that they too now had side arms.

The bridge’s detectors failed twice to set off an
alarm. He vaguely remembered that in reviewing the ship’s log, some maintenance
routines had recently been performed on the bridge’s monitoring system. An icy
hand gripped his heart as he finally realized the implications. He must act
quickly. He turned to activate the emergency shutdown of the ship’s weapons and
propulsion systems. His hand never reached the toggle. He felt a momentary
disorientation; his body refused to move; his vision clouded to gray, then
nothing.

The late Lieutenant Commander Thorne collapsed quietly
to the deck. The hand laser burned a neat hole through the back of his skull,
which had exited out of the center of his forehead. The bogus crewman, having
dispatched the duty officer, quickly turned and along with his co-conspirators,
proceeded to kill the bridge crew methodically, many who were still focused on
their duty stations and unaware of the lieutenant commander’s demise. It
happened so rapidly, they died without uttering a sound.

The crewman temporarily assigned to communications was
the last to fall from his station, his hand still outstretched in a belated
attempt to sound an emergency. Then, acting in unspoken coordination, the
mutineers methodically removed the bodies, stacking them in a neat pile behind
a partition that screened a small maintenance station. The tall crewman who had
killed Thorne stepped away from the other mutineers, assuming the mantle of
leadership and began to direct the others.

“So far, so good,” he grinned, showing even, white
teeth in contrast with sun darkened skin. “Stage one went down just as the
Colonel had planned. Now onto stage two. Niske, you and Hurd get down to
Engineering and help Lon. Let me know immediately when you have it secured. As
soon as Curt calls and tells me the armory is in our control, I’ll signal for
you to lock down the crew berths. That should catch most of the remaining crew.
It should not take much to mop up the few stragglers. Remember, we are on a
tight schedule, and there is much more to do before we can claim success. Get
going.”

As the two men left the bridge at a run, a small com
unit on the leader’s belt buzzed for attention. He answered and listened to the
caller. He turned to the others, “Weapons control has fallen to us. The ship’s
guns are now in our hands. You all know what comes next, get to your posts.”
The remaining three mutineers quickly manned the duty stations critical to
maintaining the ships normal functions. The leader waited for the signal
confirming that the
Righteous Fist
was also under their control. If all
went as planned, the
Light
Saber
would remain unaware of the
takeover of its two escorts until it was too late.

Sharné was preparing to tell Owens the fictional story
explaining Golstar’s request when she was interrupted. First, claxons sounded
in the distance, and then a deep booming sound reverberated throughout the
ship. Other claxons joined a cacophony of rising noise. The teacup on the now
quivering table rattled noisily on its saucer and they could feel the vibration
through the deck beneath them. The lights dimmed for a moment then returned to
normal brightness. The alarms went silent.

They looked at each other in bewilderment and waited,
intently listening for another sound. Nothing further happened for a few
seconds then another rattling boom, louder and more intense than before,
reverberated off the bulkheads. The lights again dimmed, began to flicker and were
finally extinguished altogether. Blue emergency lights immediately came on. All
color was leached from their faces and surroundings from the weak glow. They
appeared as two pale ghosts sitting across from one another, both rendered mute
in states of momentary uncertainty.

Meteorite strikes? Owens immediately wondered. He
couldn’t tell having never personally encountered one. Perhaps the shields
somehow failed when some space debris hit, he contemplated. He felt his
heart-rate rise and a too-familiar heat-flush of adrenalin coursed through his
body. Or was it another attack? Who would risk an attack against a Golstar
ship? Before he could take the thought any further, an intercom crackled to
life and he, along with Sharné strained to hear what was being said.

Though distorted, a woman’s authoritative voice filled
the air. “This is the captain. We are under attack. I repeat that we are under
attack. The
Righteous Fist
and
Light Avenger
have apparently been
taken over by unknown hostiles and are now discharging capital class weapons
against the
Light Saber
.” This last was said with an underlying tone of
incredulity.

“We have already taken considerable damage. Our
maneuvering thrusters and subspace emitter apertures were struck before we were
able to get our full shields up. Repair crews are still attempting to assess
the damage. I must report that thus far, all indications point to significant,
if not catastrophic systems impairments. We are now returning fire. However,
the ships are attacking in tandem and their combined firepower will inevitably
take its toll if the
Light Saber
cannot get underway. In that event,
they will penetrate our shields long before we can breach theirs.”

The captain paused, as if reluctant to go on. “We are
returning fire and I vow that we
will
make an accounting of ourselves.”
This last was said with grim determination. The sound of the
Saber’s
weapons returning fire could be heard over the intercom and drowned out what
the captain said next.

Sharné’s expression went from surprise to shock. Her
hands balled into white knuckled fists lying impotently in her lap. She
remained mute, not knowing what to do, or what to say; inside she was staggered
by the total unexpectedness of the attack. As she tried to comprehend what was
happening, she was momentarily insulated from the noise building around her.
Her mind stubbornly resisted the meaning of the captain’s words. Their own
escort ships had turned on them and attacked the
Light Saber
? It was
unthinkable.

She desperately tried to cope with the catastrophe,
but instead questions flooded her thoughts. Inexplicably, one of her last
discussions with her father came to mind. Had he so underestimated the zeal of
his opponents? How could supporters of the opposition now openly turn against
them? Why? The meaning of the captain’s announcement struggled to break through
her rejection.

The harsh booming sounds continued unabated and slowly
reasserted themselves in her consciousness. The vibrations set her teeth on
edge and added emphasis to the captain’s message. The captain’s words continued
to repeat over and over in her mind, and Sharné found she could no longer
dismiss them. They were now under attack, under attack by their own ships.

She felt like screaming. How could those aboard the
attacking ships be so blind? The proof was before them. Every time they went
out in public; every time they worshiped, the facts presented themselves for
anyone with eyes to see. But no, they
were
blind. They were blind by
choice. They refused to see and would not acknowledge the breadth of the
problem; that it could not be solved without help, help from the outside. They
were so sure in their belief, that they were willing to risk their very
civilization.

The shock quickly turned to bitterness and anger. Was
this the beginning of the great civil war her father had feared, Golstar
citizen raising arms against Golstar citizen? Did the enlightenment of the Way
now mean nothing? These questions swirled in her mind and continued to distract
her from their immediate danger. It didn’t seem possible this could be
happening; that her people could be turning on themselves like this, and in
doing so, ignoring that they were damning their future.

For the first time, she truly understood the danger to
her people and the possibility that Golstar’s hope for survival could be
extinguished with a single devastating blow. Denying the crises her father
fought so hard to remedy, the opposition wanted to remain isolated, mistaken in
their confidence that any problem could be solved internally. Golstar’s borders
would remain sealed along with its fate. The bright future illuminated by the
Way could very well darken and the blackness of despair would gradually
envelope their once proud people.

Owens shifted slightly in his seat; his movement
caught her eye and startled her out of her reverie. Her thoughts began to
reemerge to their present situation. She had momentarily forgotten about Owens.
She had been blindly staring before, but now she looked at him, registering his
presence.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Owens was looking back
at her, waiting. He did not say a word. She was surprised by his apparent
composure and was immediately drawn to his eyes. He sat patiently; his eyes
steady and gazing directly into hers. An unbidden thought came to her. What
could he be thinking? Why had he not reacted? Precious seconds passed as she
continued to gaze at him, she sat frozen as the ship shuddered around her in
protest from the latest salvo. In spite of the noise of their situation
clamoring for her attention, her eyes remained fixed on him.

It was less than a minute before they heard the
captain again. Her voice was resigned, “…the damage has been confirmed. There
is now no doubt the ship will not survive. I also regret to report our
transmissions have been jammed so we cannot send word to Berralton to apprise
them of our present situation; I am afraid that we cannot expect assistance.”

“Therefore, by captain’s authority, I order the Keeper
of the Way and her passenger to go immediately to their assigned lifeboat. The
estimated time before our shields fail is ten minutes. We will try to stretch
that time by…” The captain’s voice abruptly cut off and was replaced with
crackling static then silence. They never heard what the captain had been
planning to do.

Now looking at Owens with renewed focus, Sharné saw
sitting before her, her people’s salvation. Her thoughts immediately regained
clarity. He was here, and in danger because of Golstar’s need. She knew she was
not afraid to give her own life in defense of her people, but Owens had not
asked for this. He had come to the Golstar system without full knowledge of
what would be asked of him. He was her responsibility and she was determined to
see that he survived.

But how? Unbidden, bits of his background dossier came
back to her. His abilities were well documented and she remembered from the
files that he was no stranger to unexpected confrontations. In his job as a
police investigator, he proved to be a quick thinker, able to react effectively
in rapidly changing situations. And had he not just survived two attacks from
space? Yes, he persevered and those who attacked him had not. By assisting him
in any way she could, perhaps his experience and talent would serve to save
them both.

Another loud boom brought the present danger back to
the forefront of her thoughts. She was wasting valuable time with these
distracting thoughts and now noticed Owens was starting to fidget and seemed on
the verge of speaking.

Owens had sat still, closely watching Sharné for what
seemed to be an eternity, but what was actually only about a minute. Although
she had shown no outward sign, he knew that she was in distress. Before the
captain’s last message, he couldn’t gauge how serious their situation was
becoming and had been afraid to push her. She knew the ship and where to find
the lifeboats; their survival depended on that knowledge. However, he had no
way of knowing when and how she would respond, so he resisted pressing her, for
the time being. He hoped he could wait for a short time for her to gather her
wits.

At first, she looked at him with glazed, unseeing
eyes. The seconds had continued to tick by and she still remained transfixed.
Owens had begun to sweat while he waited and watched her. When he had shifted
in his seat, the chair creaked in protest and her eyes refocused. With a sense
of relief, he thought she would rouse and would finally lead them to safety.
But when she didn’t say anything, he started to ask her about the
lifeboat. 

She held up a hand before he could begin and in a
deceptively calm voice said, “You heard the captain of the
Light Saber
.
This ship is lost. If we are to survive, we must obey her last order and get to
the emergency craft. If you want to live, you must follow me quickly now. We
have little time.”

He saw that she was indeed back to her old commanding
self. Owen had the presence of mind to note wryly she seemed oblivious to the
fact they had lost vital time while she was woolgathering. Without saying
anything further, she rose and went quickly over to the door. The door seemed
to hesitate, and then reluctantly opened as the power fluctuated in the door’s
mechanism. Sharné looked over her shoulder to see if Owens was following.
Assured that he was right behind her, she kicked off her shoes, lifted the hem
of her dress and took off at a run. He followed, close on her heels.

To Owens, the sounds of the weapons strikes against
the
Light Saber’s
overloaded shields seemed to be getting louder. Some
of the energy from the attacking weapons’ fire must have made it through the
Saber’s
energy shield defenses and struck its thick armored hull. As the thunderous
sounds intensified, Owens was reminded of an approaching storm. With each hit,
the vibrations deepened. Owens could now smell ozone overlaid with an acrid
tang of overheated circuitry. He figured the ship’s shield dampers and
inertia-canceling fields were probably already approaching redline. He could
not guess how long they would hold against the attackers’ barrage. He could
only hope the ship would hold together long enough for them to make their
escape.

They entered the outer corridor and Owens saw that the
suspended light globes were all extinguished and swaying on their support rods.
Should they begin to fall and shatter, Sharné’s feet would be severely cut. If
that happened, it would be necessary for him to carry her. He was thankful the
emergency lighting was still working. Dim, blue-light bars attached at
intervals along the corridor’s walls provided just sufficient illumination to
see the deck. He didn’t relish running down a pitch-dark corridor of an
unfamiliar ship.

At a full run, her hair billowing behind her, she took
the right branch of a connecting corridor with Owens following as close as possible.
The emergency lighting began to flicker, creating a disorientating strobe
effect, and with the accompaniment of the thundering sounds, the feeling of a
violent storm intensified.

Adding to the confusing flashes of light, Owens was
having difficulty in slowing his pace to match Sharné’s. He found himself
bounding rather than running and was forced to slow himself down to keep from
running her over. He regretted not putting the weight harness back on when he
had had the chance. He concentrated on shortening his stride as they ran down
the corridor. It seemed to help smooth his progress and more closely match the
pace of the desperately running dignitary.

All the while, mysterious thuds and loud crashing
noises were adding to the muffled booming painfully assailing their ears. The
ship suddenly bucked and shuddered with particular violence. Sharné immediately
lost her footing, stumbled and fell to the deck. She gasped with the impact.
She quickly tried to get back to her feet, but her legs had become entangled
with her dress and she fell back to the deck in a tumble. Owens made a quick
decision. Barely pausing, he bent low and scooped her up in his arms. He
straightened and started to run again.

“What are you doing?” she sputtered. “You cannot…”

Over Sharné’s protest, Owens grimly adjusted his grip
on her as she started to struggle. He could barely hear her over the background
noise of the ship’s ongoing battle. He shouted, hoping to be heard, “I think
your captain overestimated the time we have left. The shields themselves may
hold, but it looks like the dampers and inertia canceling will fail before
they
do. If they do fail, the hull might remain intact for a while longer, but we’ll
be bounced around the interior until we’re battered to pulp. But before that
happens, this pounding and bucking will get a lot worse, and it will be harder
for you to stay on your feet. Just let me carry you. Believe me, as a Loder
I’ll make better time. Just point me in the right direction.”