The Dark Reaches (34 page)

And that would have to do. Linnea knew she would not sleep, even after Hana, smiling gently, dimmed the lights and went out, closing the dark curtain behind her.

He’d almost died. Almost. And there might still be some lingering damage, some injury he would bear forever. Her mind shied away from the possibilities Pilang had listed for her days ago.

It didn’t matter. Whatever they had to face, in whatever time they had left—Her arms tightened around him.

She would not waste another day, another night that they might have spent together. No matter what came now, no matter if the Cold Minds swatted this habitat into nothing. If they fought, they would fight together. If they died . . .

They would die together.

Calm now, sure of the only thing that mattered, Linnea slept.

 

 

 

Esayeh floated with his head and shoulders inside the routing cabinet for the commscreens in Docking Control. A good thing he’d never carried out his plan to upgrade them to an integrated system—they were still crudely wired together much as they had been long ago, when the deepsiders’ ancestors labored to repurpose the big helium-3 tank into a habitat.

“Pilot,” a young voice said doubtfully, “are you sure this will work?”

“No,” Esayeh said. He backed out with care and closed the cover, snapping it into place.

A young woman with a sunburst tattooed on one cheek floated beside him, looking at him with a sad expression. “I still think we can man all three control rooms,” she said. “And that we should. I want to stay.”

“No,” Esayeh said again. “Niamne, this place isn’t safe.”

“You said yourself. The Cold Minds want this habitat to last—they need us, they need a stock of humans, and this place will hold thousands. They won’t attack it.”

“But they’ll capture it,” Esayeh said. “They’ve got weapons. Anyone left here will be their captive, to use for their purposes. And that won’t be you.” He touched the main screen awake and saw with satisfaction that it now carried feeds from all three traffic-control stations. He could manage traffic for the whole habitat from here, at least once it thinned out some.

“But you won’t tell me where you’re sending me,” Niamne said, and he heard in her voice how young she was.

“I can’t,” he said gently. He pointed at the hatch. “Go. Now. Make sure all the young ones go with you—mind that! I’m holding you responsible for the count.”

“But there’s too much to do. You need my help.” He heard how close she was to tears.

“You’ve been a good second,” he said. “I’ve been proud to work with you.” He made himself frown fiercely at her. “Don’t ruin it all by falling apart now. Tell Drojo I want you, and Frith, and Jack, you three, on the next jumpship out. Not one of the cargo ships, a jumpship.”

“What’s the hurry?”

Esayeh hesitated. “Where you’re going—They’ll need control for incoming jumpships. More than they’re used to handling. You can man the scanning screens there.”

“I wish you’d tell me what this is about,” she said.

He found himself smiling at the grimly stubborn expression on her young face. “It will be the best surprise ever,” he said. “A gift from your grandmothers going back twenty generations.”

“I’ll see you there, then,” she said doubtfully.

He felt an odd lifting in his chest, a feeling of freedom. When everyone he loved was safe, he could rest.

Soon.
He smiled. “Right. Now go.”

Still scowling, still suspicious, she turned and pulled herself out through the hatch.

He turned back to the monitors with a frown. He hoped she had not had time to see what was on the scans. Incoming radio traffic from the last ilmenite freighter to appear in-system had said that the Cold Minds were closing in. Big ships jumping in, continuing to jump in, and the scans bore that out. Converging on Triton.

The Cold Minds were going to smash Triton. That much was clear. And then—they would come for his people. To secure their supply of human pilots.

But his people would be gone. Esayeh took hold of the loops of metal on both sides of the local-space summary screen and took a deep breath, then another.

Then he hit the general evacuation alarm.

 

 

 

Linnea was watching Iain sip from a pouch of egg broth in Pilang’s office, waiting for discharge, when the strange, cold whoop of the alarm began. Iain looked up sharply. Linnea was already moving to the door when the curtain was torn aside and Pilang shot in. “Lin. Get Iain to your ship. Get off
now
.”

“What’s—”

“Evacuation.” Pilang began stuffing extra supplies into her medical kit. “And we won’t be back. The Cold Minds are moving in. It’s big.”

“You come with us, then,” Linnea said.

“Can’t. I’m surgeon for the evacuation team in this section.” Pilang pulled the data crystal from her commscreen, tucked it into a pocket of her work shirt. “Freighters are coming in, rerouting here, we called them all. They dumped their ore out-orbit to make room for people.”

“But freighters—they’re slow, and they can’t jump,” Iain said.

“They can move pretty fast with a light load, just people,” Pilang said. “They can get us out of the Neptune system. Lin, hand me that hand scanner. . . . They can scatter us in so many directions the Cold Minds can’t possibly follow us all. Then we’ll pick up the passengers in jumpships as fast as we can. It’s the best we can do.” She shook her head and sealed her bag, slung onto her back. “Go, now. They have medical facilities at . . . the other end. Iain will be all right for as long as the jump takes.” And she was gone.

Linnea looked at Iain. “So they’re abandoning this place,” she said numbly. “Their home.”

“It can’t be defended,” Iain said, his voice quiet.

“I know,” she said. “It’s just—so much to lose.”

Iain pushed the soup pouch under a storage net, useless neatness probably. She saw again the fine tremor that still remained in his hands. “They’ll save the people,” Iain said. “That’s what matters.”

Time to get it out into the open. “What about Triton?”

“Triton?” Iain said. She heard the note of anger in his voice. “You can’t expect the deepsiders to worry about Triton.”

“Can’t I?” Linnea said.

He swung and faced her. In the background the alarm continued its monotonous whoop, and Linnea heard voices—other people who’d come to the clinic to collect supplies, no doubt; and they should be getting to Linnea’s ship.

But not until Iain understood what she had to do now.

She looked him in the eye, took a long breath. “Iain, I am not going where Pilang told me to go. Not yet. I have to go to Triton. I’m the only one who can tell them, who
will
tell them where, and how, they can escape this disaster.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not your secret to tell,” Iain said. “You gave your word. You wouldn’t even tell me.”

“Yes,” she said. “I kept to my word. My honor. But—” The words came hard. “But, Iain—by breaking my word, I have a chance to save ten thousand people. To save Triton.” She looked at him. “Would you hold back? Should I?”

He did not answer, but she saw the deep relief in his eyes.

“All right,” Linnea said, feeling certainty gathering. “Let’s go. I need Tereu. And I know just where to find her.”

Linnea guided her ship down toward the surface of Triton, toward the waiting docking cradle that would draw it inside the thermal barrier. She’d been given clearance to land as soon as she was able to make Triton Ground believe that she had Perrin Tereu aboard, alive and well. Throughout the last maneuvers, Iain lay strapped onto the instructor’s pad, minimally linked in to the ship, silent. Tereu occupied the passenger shell, unlinked but strapped in safely.

Linnea managed the careful, low-acceleration landing—wasteful of fuel, but necessary for Tereu’s safety. Her body chemistry and her bones were adapted to Triton’s feeble pull. Linnea knew that many more months in zero gee would have an effect even on herself and Iain, one that might complicate their return to the Hidden Worlds. If they returned.

“Pilot Kiaho,” Triton Control was saying as her ship settled into its cradle. “You and all passengers will remain aboard until we can verify your passenger’s identity.”

Linnea pushed her shell open and stepped out, unsteady on her feet after so many days in free fall. Iain was already sitting up, stripping off the ship’s leads. “I wish,” he muttered, “that you would ever, once, be patient. You could have been safe—”

“And we would never have come here,” Linnea said re belliously. She lifted her chin and faced him. “You caused this, you know,” she said. “All of this. You talked Tereu into passing information to the deepsiders. Didn’t you see that this would happen?”

“I couldn’t let the raids continue,” Iain said. He looked grim. “You wouldn’t have, either.”

“No,” she said shortly. “I saw one, Iain.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.” He touched her shoulder, then rose lightly to his feet and turned toward Tereu, who was just sitting up in her shell. She looked ashen after what would, to her, have been battering acceleration. But she said nothing. She took Iain’s arm with a grateful nod and stepped down from the shell.

Tereu had put on, again, the Tritoner dress she’d been wearing when she escaped. There had been no way of properly cleaning it, as it could not simply be washed in water, so she looked rumpled and a little sweat-stained. But to Linnea’s eyes, she also seemed to have regained much of her former authority. Perhaps it was the gravity. Perhaps it was being home.

The port inspector arrived, and Linnea permitted him aboard, as she must. There was no question of the outcome. Tereu drew herself to her full height as the inspector entered the aft compartment, and the man practically wilted. “Madame,” he said in a strained voice. “A, a pleasure and an honor as always, and even more so to see you safe and . . . well.”

“Where is First Pilot Kimura Hiso?” Tereu’s voice was steady, with the calm weight of accustomed authority.

“The First Pilot is out on patrol, Madame,” the man said. He was tall and thin, but face-to-face with Tereu, with his pale face and eyes and hair, he seemed to be fading into the background. “All ships have been out for two days now. The emergency—”

“Did the First Pilot leave any orders regarding me?”

The man swallowed hard. “The—the patrol hierarchy may know. I have not received any direct orders through my own commander.”

“Then I and my guests are free to go,” Tereu said. “Thank you, Inspector. I shall remember your helpfulness in future.”

The man looked doubtful, almost afraid, but settled for muttering, “Madame.”

Tereu swept past him, and Iain and Linnea followed. Though Iain’s strength seemed to have returned quickly, Linnea doubted it would last long; she guessed that he needed days, weeks of rest to recover from his ordeal. Not that he would admit to it. He walked at her side, watchful, a hand in the pocket of his tunic.

By Tereu’s choice, they went first to her city offices, which were more public and thus safer than her residence; and Linnea was struck by the sense of relief that washed from all those they encountered on the way, even in the corridors. Tereu’s own staff crowded into the outer room when Tereu arrived, followed not just by Iain and Linnea but by several city guardsmen, who had resumed their duty of protecting her the moment they saw her pass. It was as if Triton had been in the grip of a sickness, and Tereu had come to cure it. Linnea saw one young assistant hanging back in the shadows, weeping for sheer relief.

Tereu’s deputy emerged from her office while Tereu was accepting the congratulations of the staff. She was a sallow, sturdily built young woman who looked strained almost beyond bearing. “Madame!” She hurried forward and gripped Tereu’s arms. “Madame, thank God!”

“Merike,” Tereu said. “How is my city?”

“The citizens are afraid, Madame,” she said. “We need to get word of your return onto the comm system. Nothing would help more at this moment.”

“Do that,” Tereu said. “And say I will address them all in one hour.”

Merike looked tense. “You have news?”

“So I am told,” Tereu said cryptically, and waved Linnea and Iain into her office. “Leave us undisturbed until I call you in.”

 

 

 

As the door closed on the three of them, Iain felt a sinking sense of worry. The strain and tension of the attack had obviously taken their toll on the whole city. How would the people react?
Could
they react, even to save themselves?

Tereu remained standing, facing Linnea and Iain. “So. Linnea. Tell me of this matter you could never seem to speak of on
Hestia
.”

Carefully, clearly, Linnea outlined what she had come to say. That there was a refuge, a habitat, at the rim of the system to which the deepsiders were fleeing. That Linnea knew where it was and could give the jump point to the Tritoner pilots. Iain could sense her watchful tension, but he could see no doubt in her.