Jeffrey Carver - Eternity's End

Te’Gunderlach and his blood-lust: he was dead now, and there was some justice to that. How ironic that as lead rigger, Deutsch—forced servant of the Republic—was now in command. During the pitch of battle, the augments had kept him burning with an adrenaline fever; but that had faded in the aftermath, leaving him with a cold, weary uncertainty. He’d felt something terribly strange during the battle; for an instant it had felt like a priority command message through his augments. (An order to break off the fight? That seemed unlikely.) Whatever it was, it had been swept away in the heat and chaos of fighting. And then his external-control augments had gone silent, when the central control in the ship’s computer was destroyed.

Acting on his own judgment as ranking officer, he had made the determination to surrender. Ironically, it was what he had long ago abandoned hope for—a chance to give himself up and escape from the Kyber Republic. Now that he faced the prospect, he found it frightening.

“Ganton,” he said, floating on his levitators toward a young smoke-begrimed ensign awaiting orders. “Go to the muster deck and make sure all of the weapons crew are there. I want you to inspect them, and see to it that they’re suited and unarmed.”

“But Rigger Deutsch,” protested the ensign, “they won’t stand still for me inspecting them, will they?”

Deutsch gazed at him grimly. Ganton was a promising young spacer—reasonably intelligent and if anything, excessively loyal. He probably had no idea how despised the Kyber were in the rest of the galaxy; he probably thought the Narseil had attacked them for no reason. He would learn; but there were small lessons to be learned as well as large ones. “Ensign,” Deutsch said, “they will stand still for it, because I have given the order, and I am in command.” He almost added, Because our captain is dead . But there was no need; the captain’s body lay in plain sight. The ensign grimaced, saluted, and hurried away.

Three crewmen arrived on the bridge, and Deutsch waved them over as they looked around in horror. “You three—get this bridge cleaned up. Take the bodies to—” he had to stop and think “—the starboard airlock.” As he pointed to the bodies, caught in various expressions of agony, he suppressed a shudder of his own. The stench of death had nearly overcome him earlier, even with his autonomic nervous system augments.

As the crewmen trudged forward to obey, Deutsch closed his eyes and connected to his inner com. “Narseil ship,” he muttered low in his throat, “we are gathering crew as ordered. Do you have further instructions?”

The answer came quickly. “ Flechette, prepare for normal-space.”

Normal-space? Deutsch thought. If he were Te’Gunderlach, he would have seized on that as one last chance to level the playing field. He hoped none of the crew would have ideas of that sort. He wanted this to be a clean surrender. “Understood,” he replied.

He turned to the pilot standing watch over the bridge controls. “You have the con. Keep the ship stable, but do nothing more. Cooperate with the Narseil and be polite if they speak to you. I’ll be on the muster deck.”

Deutsch rotated in mid-air, and glided off the bridge and down the smoky passageway.

This wouldn’t be easy, with only two in the net. Legroeder and Palagren brought H’zzarrelik alongside the pirate ship. Its hull was dotted with craters where the remaining weapons had been carefully eliminated. Close enough? Legroeder asked, feeling as if he could reach out and touch the pirate ship’s hull with his hands.

I think so, Palagren answered. Let’s extend the net and see.

The glittering spiderweb of the net expanded as they drew more power from the flux-reactor. The net had suffered damage in the explosion of that first torpedo, and they dared not stretch it too far, or too fast. And yet, they needed to encircle the other ship. It would have been impossible if the net had not been overdesigned with this mission in mind.

All right, Legroeder—reach under. See how far your arm can stretch.

The net gave, as Legroeder stretched his “arm” all the way under the raider ship and up the other side. Palagren reached over the top. Their fingers met on the far side of the pirate vessel, and interlocked to complete the grapple. After checking the strength of the net, they began drawing the two ships upward through the shifting, sparkling layers of the Flux. It was a hard labor, with the increased mass and just the two of them in the net. Soon Legroeder was straining, and having difficulty focusing his efforts.

// Let us help… //

Before he could respond, he felt strength flowing to him from within, from his Narseil-installed implants. He was startled for a moment, then realized that they were not providing actual power, but simply helping him to channel the strength flowing into the net from the flux-reactor, like a surge of electricity. The two ships rose, turning like a lily petal on the surface of a pond, as the clouds of the deeper Flux gave way to the expanding circlets of light of shallower layers—and finally the cold dark of interstellar space, dotted with the fires of a million distant suns.

The two scorched ships floated, bound together, a ludicrous emblem of human and Narseil power against the majesty of the universe.

Normal-space, Palagren reported to Commander Fre’geel.

The muster deck was full of shocked and sullen crewmen when Acting Captain Deutsch arrived. About half were suited for vacuum, and the rest were standing around waiting for orders. Ensign Ganton was just completing his inspection. He handed Deutsch three sidearms removed from crew members. “They all check,” the ensign said softly. “Except for… Gunner Lyle. He refuses to give up his weapon.”

Deutsch looked down the line of crewmen. Lyle was an older crewman, a veteran of dozens of buccaneering flights, a former commando, now a ship’s gunner. He was silversuited, but with his forcefield turned off. He sneered as Deutsch approached. “Gunner Lyle, surrender your weapon,” Deutsch said, holding out his hand.

“I don’t surrender ,” Lyle said, glaring down at the rigger. He stood about half a meter taller than Deutsch.

“I see. Do you obey orders?”

Lyle’s head jerked a little. “I answer to the captain. And you aren’t the goddamned captain.”

Deutsch rose on his levitators to gaze straight into the eyes of the pirate. “I am now. Are you planning to dispute my authority?” His voice was beginning to sound ominous, echoing from the twin speakers on his armored chest.

“Captain Gunderlach—”

“Is dead ,” Deutsch said, letting his voice turn to hardened steel. “As you will be, if you do not obey your new captain.”

“The captain,” Lyle snarled, “would never give his ship up to Narseil .” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “And he wouldn’t give up his crew, either.”

“That’s right,” Deutsch said softly. The beating red flame of anger that drove him so effectively in the net was beginning to rise again in his thoughts, and he didn’t try to keep it from his voice. “He wouldn’t have. The captain thought he was invulnerable. And that’s why he and a lot of your friends are dead right now. And if you don’t obey my orders, a lot more will join them.” Deutsch beckoned to Ensign Ganton. “Ensign, remove this man’s weapon.”

He could see fear in the ensign’s eyes. He also saw Lyle’s hand moving toward the sidearm at his waist. Deutsch caught Lyle’s defiant gaze—and an instant later, Deutsch’s telescoping left arm shot out to twice its normal length, and he caught Lyle’s gun hand in a hydraulic vice-grip. Lyle’s face went pale.