Elizabeth Moon - Against the Odds

On the bridge of Vigilance , the junior weapons tech had targeted Rascal , as ordered. His finger hovered over the launch buttons.

Arkady Ginese glanced at the weapons officer, who looked distinctly unhappy. “Don’t do that,” he said to his junior. “It’s too close. We need to change the options if she stays that close.” Then to the officer he said, “We have the solution, sir, but it’ll require changing out the fusing options. Permission to contact launch crew?”

“Granted,” the officer said. His glance shifted, toward the bridge entrance. “If—I mean, that will take several minutes, won’t it?”

“Yes, sir, it will.” Arkady had already signalled Meharry, a series of clicks that told her which launch crew to descend on. Now he spoke into his headset. “Launch four, our target is within delay radius, R.S.S. Rascal ; change out the timing and fusing options for a close-in target—”

Back in his ear came the startled voice of the sergeant in charge of that crew. “What? We’re firing on a Fleet ship? That’s no mutineer; Rascal ’s part of our escort—I’m not gonna—”

Meharry’s voice then, cutting in. “Arkady. What’s going on?”

“Livadhi’s told us to target Suiza and Serrano. Pass the word.”

“What about the bridge officers?”

“So far they’re sticking with him—but it’s iffy.”

“Idiots.” Meharry added the epithet she most preferred for stupid officers, and clicked off.

Arkady glanced again at his officer, then at the bridge officer, who looked equally uncomfortable. His lips moved—he must be talking to Livadhi; the man’s face seemed to settle into a mask of sadness. Then he turned and looked at Arkady. “Ginese—Commodore wants to see you in his office. You too, Vissisuan, Koutsoudas. And pipe a call for Meharry, Kenvinnard, Guar . . .” The list included all of Heris Serrano’s old crew. Arkady felt cold. Whatever Livadhi was up to, it could not be good. “He wants to ask you some questions about your former commander; he’s concerned about her motives . . .”

Not good at all. Arkady got up slowly, under the eye of his supervisor, and dared not look at Oblo or Koutsoudas. Surely Meharry and Petris and the others would have more sense than to come. Surely they would do something .

Issi Guar looked at Meharry as his name echoed over the speakers. “Does that sound like good news to you?”

“No. Don’t you go. I will. If the bastard’s looking for hostages, he doesn’t need all of us. Keep working on the plan. Get ’em into the shuttles as soon as you can . . . .”

She headed up the ladders, tapping her tagger so Petris could find her. They met a deck below Command. “He’s figured it out,” Petris said.

“’Fraid so. Or something. I told Issi not to come. D’you think we can take him?”

“Not if he’s got ship’s security in there with him, and I imagine he would. Or his own weapons, for that matter.” Petris took a breath. “Methlin—go back down and get on one of those shuttles.”

She snorted. “I’m not going to be the one to tell our captain that you’re dead. And my baby brother will think I’m a wuss.”

“I doubt that. And I’m not willing to tell your baby brother that I ran out and let you die.”

“This is ridiculous. While we hang around here, he’s getting Oblo and Arkady and ’Steban . . .”

“So let’s not waste time.” She started up the last ladder; Petris grabbed her by the shoulder, and narrowly ducked the blow she aimed at him.

“I can order you,” Petris said. Meharry whirled.

“Oh, right. Pull rank. I’m not leavin’ my friends in that bastard’s hands any more than you are. Now come on.”

When they got to Command Deck, they saw Oblo, Arkady, and Esteban sauntering down the passage from the bridge at a pace that could only be considered glacial.

“Now what?” Oblo muttered. “Do we tackle him, or—”

“You get out,” Petris said. “I’ll go in alone.”

“Heris will love that,” Oblo said.

“You,” Petris said, “go to the bridge and start trouble. We need to be sure that this ship does not fire on any other and doesn’t jump. While you’re causing trouble, Arkady will take down the weapons. If they aren’t lit, Heris is less likely to blow us all away.”

“If we can do that, why do you want us to evacuate the ship?” Meharry asked.

“The captain’s thumb,” Petris said, who had thought of it only on that last dash up the ladder. For a moment they all stared blankly.

Then, “He wouldn’t,” Meharry said.

“He would if he’s feeling trapped enough. Now get out—any minute he’ll be out in the passage looking for us.”

When they were out of sight, Petris marched smartly up to the hatch of the admiral’s command section and announced himself.

Not at all to his surprise, Admiral Livadhi held a very lethal weapon and nothing in his demeanor suggested any reluctance to use it. Moreover, the protective cover of his command console was open, and the large red button of the ship’s self-destruct was clearly visible. Around him, the duplicates of the bridge displays gave him access to the same information as bridge crew.

“If you hadn’t meddled,” Livadhi said, in a conversational tone, “you would have been all right. They’d have repatriated you; they promised me.”

“And you believed them.” Petris felt no fear for himself; as if a storytape were running in his head, he could see the tiny figures racing through the corridors, then stopping to argue . . . filling the shuttles in the shuttle bay . . . stuffing them . . . and would that even work?

“They’ve always kept their word to me,” Livadhi said. “I wouldn’t have done anything that would hurt you—you most of all, Heris’s old crew. You’re good people—”

“So let us go. Let the crew go.”

“I can’t do that—I can’t fly this ship alone.”

“She won’t let you take the ship,” Petris said. “She’ll blow it.”

“I hope not,” Livadhi said. “I trust not. I’m sure, though, you told the others not to come—”

“Right.”

“I could have security bring them in, assuming you haven’t suborned ship security, too. I suspect you’ve done something to interfere with my attacking Serrano and Suiza.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Such a waste,” Livadhi said. “You realize I can kill everyone—”

Tell him that the crew were even now boarding shuttles to leave? No. Petris waited, as Livadhi—still holding the weapon on him—leaned back in his chair. “You don’t want to kill everyone, Admiral,” Petris said, trying to believe it.

“No—but I may have no choice.” He made a slight gesture with his free hand. “Sit down.”

Petris hesitated—sitting down took away any chance of a swift lunge—but every second he could keep Livadhi occupied might save another life. He sat gingerly on the edge of one of the chairs.

Livadhi smiled. “Tell me,” Livadhi said, “what was she like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Heris Serrano. You slept with her, I know. What was she like?”

Shock held Petris speechless a moment. “I’m not going to talk about that —”

“Why not? We both loved her; you perhaps love her still. She never favored me with the delights of her body, but you—you she raised from enlisted to a commission just for her pleasure—”

“Not just that,” Petris said, through clenched teeth.

“Oh, I think so.” Livadhi’s airy tone, in these circumstances, was obscene. “You’re not really command material, you know. Nothing like her. Or me, for that matter.”

“I never turned traitor,” Petris said. The doubts that so often assailed him when he thought of himself and Heris as a pair—that had interfered, though he tried not to see it, with their love—now rose again to confront him. She was command material, and he—he loved her, but he wasn’t her match.