Elizabeth Moon - Against the Odds

“No, you didn’t turn traitor. That’s not the point and you know it.” Livadhi took a sip from his flask. “You’re a good loyal man, Petris Kenvinnard. Competent at your job—but not a commander. If you had been, I wouldn’t be here with control of this ship. Heris would have taken me out somehow; in your place, I’d have taken out a traitor admiral. But you dithered. You waited. You missed one opportunity after another.”

“I—” He had, he knew, done exactly that. He had waited for Heris to come, for her to make the decisions. But how had Livadhi known? He felt paralyzed by shame.

“And now, because of you, your beloved Heris is going to have to decide between blowing us all away, or letting me escape. You aren’t worthy of her, Petris. I was, but she wouldn’t have me. She chose you—I suppose she felt sorry for you.”

“That’s not true!” But was it? He thought back over the course of their love—their acknowledged love—from Sirialis to the present. Surely the depth of his love mattered more than whether he had her gift for command. Their passion—he squeezed his eyes shut a moment, remembering her touch, the feel of her, the scent—

“It is true,” Livadhi went on. “But I suppose she wouldn’t tell you. I’m sure she did her best not to notice . . .”

Rage blurred his vision. She had not—she had loved him, she’d proven it. If he was less than she in this one way, she had not cared. “You’re trying to make me angry,” he said in a hoarse voice he hardly recognized as his own. “You want me to do something stupid.”

“No,” Livadhi said. “I know you’re not stupid. But you must realize how it feels to me—how being refused in favor of you feels. How long were you hiding your relationship before she ran out on you?”

So much was wrong with that, so many false assumptions, that Petris could not answer them. “We had no relationship before she—before it was proper,” he said.

“I’m sure,” Livadhi said, amusement sharpening his voice. “Well, perhaps not. But she had her eye on you, I’m sure, from the first. And you, I suppose, worshipped the deck she walked on—” He made it sound disgusting; Petris struggled to control his anger.

“I admired her,” he said very precisely, “because she was an outstanding officer.”

“I would have said excellent, not outstanding, but a little exaggeration can be expected . . . from lovers . . .” Livadhi cocked his head to one side. “Yes. Definitely a case of hero worship masquerading as sexual passion.”

“It is possible to admire the one you love, Admiral, though I don’t suppose you’ve had that experience.”

“Oh, certainly. Had she returned my affections, I would have both loved and admired her. But she didn’t, you see. We got as far as the hair-rumpling and kissing stage, but then she declined any more of it. Which is why I asked you . . . did she strip as good as I’ve always thought she would? Was she as good in bed?”

“Better,” Petris said. He shouldn’t do it, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Something older than military protocol and honor was acting now, and while he might be at this man’s mercy, he had one thing Livadhi would never have. “She was mine, and you cannot even imagine how good it was—”

Livadhi’s smile widened. “Excellent. Then I think you are indeed the best leverage I could have. She can let me go, or she can watch you die.” His free hand came up with another weapon, this one, Petris recognized, loaded with tranquilizer darts.

“What is going on over there?” Heris asked.

“Their targeting’s gone, their weapons—they’re standing down, Captain.” Her weapons officer sounded relieved, and no wonder.

“Is it a trick?” asked Seabolt.

“They do have Koutsoudas,” Heris said, “but he’s on our side—he’s been covering Rascal . He’s the only one I know who could possibly fox our scan of their arming status.”

“Tightbeam from Rascal ,” said her comm officer.

“Put it on,” Heris said.

“Captain Suiza here . . . our scans show Vigilance is no longer targeting us, and their weapons are down.”

“We confirm,” Heris said. “Any communication from Vigilance ?”

“No, sir. Wait—we have something—shuttle bay—”

“Got it,” Heris said, watching the change on her own scan screens. “Confirm shuttle bay opening.” This was crazy—was Livadhi going to launch an attack on Rascal by shuttle?

“Shuttle emerging, Indy ,” Suiza’s voice said. “Our scan shows troop shuttle mass—wait—we’re getting a signal—”

“Tightbeam? General?” Heris waved at her own comm crew, who shook their heads.

“Tightbeam, sir; I’ll relay—”

Over the relayed beam came the voice of Esteban Koutsoudas. “ Rascal —Captain Suiza—hold your fire. Evacuating the ship. Commodore Livadhi’s trying to defect—”

Evacuating the ship—! Heris could hardly breathe for a moment. They couldn’t get them all off—unless they could unload and go back. Would there be time?

“Permission to dock shuttle and offload troops?” Suiza asked her, breaking into the relayed message.

“Put out a tube,” Heris said. “Tell ’em to go straight out—not wait to swim all the way, if they have p-suits.”

A long moment, then Suiza came back on. “Confirm p-suits in this load. Tube’s out; ETA four point two minutes.”

Heris translated that into real distance; Rascal was practically nestled into the cruiser’s flank. “You cut that close, Captain Suiza—were you planning to clog an attempt to jump?”

“If I had to,” Suiza said. “And it gave me a clear shot.”

“Yes . . . I see that. Carry on. When you get those personnel aboard, you should probably let Koutsoudas onto scan. And if there’s anyone from my old crew, I’d like to speak to them.”

“Yes, sir. Second shuttle emerging—”

Seconds ticked by, her mind hardly needing the chronometer to sense the passage of each one, each meter gained as the shuttles moved toward Rascal . One after another . . . the entire complement, like beads on a string. That ship would be most vulnerable when she opened the hatch to let them in—but Suiza had not suggested moving back to a safer distance. Heris reminded herself to be pleased with Suiza later.

The first shuttle positioned itself close to the end of the transfer tube, and vented its internal pressure on the far side, pushing it gently against the tube. With the shuttle hatch open, the transfer tube with its rope handholds was easily accessible. One of the chiefs reached in and got the spare rope tethers, already secured to one of the tube framing members, and passed it up the length of the shuttle. Everyone took a grip, then those nearest the hatch stepped into freefall, and pulled themselves forward, toward Rascal , as the pilot eased the shuttle away again. The others, still inside, were shucked from the hatch by the rope they held.

Koutsoudas was third on the rope, and up the tube; with the first two, he cycled through the lock and into Rascal . After Vigilance it seemed cramped; he made his way to the bridge faster than he’d expected.

Suiza was watching for him. “Over here,” she said, without more than a flip of the hand in return for his salute and request to enter the bridge. “And Commander Serrano wants a report from one of her old crew. Who’s aboard?”

“I’m the only one on that shuttle. Issi Guar may be on the next. Arkady, Oblo and Meharry went to the bridge to shut down weapons.” He unfastened his p-suit, and pulled a small gray box out of its inner recesses. “Just a second, sir, while I get this going—”