Шарон Ли - Agent of Change

* * *

VAL CON WAS at the board, his hands moving in measured control as if he were playing the 'chora. Miri slid into the copilot's chair and watched the side of his face as he ran through his rituals and read the responses in the board's flickering lights.

After a time he leaned back and smiled at her.

"Everything that can be spaced is spaced," she told him, with a mock salute. "How's life in the clean world?"

He waved a hand at the board. "We have power. We have fuel. Where would you like to go?"

She tipped her head. "What're we near? What's a 'modest' Jump?" She shrugged her shoulders, half-smiling. "Piloting for Dummies . . . ."

Frowning, he suddenly leaned forward and felt around on the short shelf under the pilot's board; he slid out of his chair and peered inside, pushing his arm way back.

"What?" she demanded.

"Coord book." He sat back on his heels and looked at her. "Miri, when you were gathering things together, did you come across a book, about so—" He shaped it in the air with quick golden fingers. "—probably bound in leather, containing many thin, metallic pages? It would have been in this room."

She shook her head. "Would've showed you something like that first, in case it was important."

He snapped to his feet and made a quick circuit of the room, checking behind and under every instrument panel and chair. Miri got up, pushed at the cushion in her chair looking for large lumps, but found none; she gave the pilot's chair the same treatment, then shook her head. Nothing.

She turned to say so and froze. Val Con was standing in the center of the room, staring at the screen. There was no particular expression on his face.

"Coord book's pretty important?" she ventured, coming to his side and laying a cautious hand on his arm.

He moved his eyes to her face. "Without coordinates, there is no Jump. Coordinates define direction, shape, location."

She considered the implications of his words. "Think Borg Tanser knows that?"

"Yes," he said grimly. "I do."

"Can't Jump without coords?" she persisted. "Take luck of the draw?"

He shook his head. "I could invent some coordinates, just to initiate a Jump, but the chances are very, very good that we'd leave drive to find ourselves inside a sun, or a planet, or an asteroid belt, or another ship, or—"

She laid her hand over his mouth. "Got it." She closed her eyes to think. Thin metallic pages? She had seen something, just recently. Not a book, but something . . . .

"Like this?" She snapped open her pouch, pulled out the dead man's effects, and held out the metal rectangle.

Val Con took it, his eyes questioning.

"The guy in the hold," she explained. "I thought—maybe somebody might want to know what happened."

"Ah." He nodded. "We will tell his family, then." He turned his attention to the rectangle. "Why carry it with him?"

"Will it work?" she demanded.

He was on his way back to the board. "We will see what the computer thinks." Sliding into the pilot's chair, he inserted the page in a slot near the top of the board, flipped two switches, and hit a button.

Lights began to flicker and displays glowed to life. Miri settled back in the copilot's chair to watch.

"Perhaps a student?" Val Con murmured, more to himself than to her, his eyes on the readouts. "A smuggler?" He shook his head as the board flickered into stillness and the slot allowed the metal page to rise to convenient gripping height.

"Will it work?" she asked again, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

He spun the chair to face her. "There is one set of coordinates within our range," he said slowly. "This particular page holds four. I am familiar with only one set—far out of range. It is for orbit around a planet called Pelaun, an inhabited world that has achieved the technical expertise necessary to establish electronic communication, transworld."

She blinked. "Spaceflight?"

"None."

"And the other coords? The one that's in our range?" She had a feeling she knew what the answer was going to be.

"They are not familiar to me," he said. "The only reason I recall the coords for Pelaun is because I was first Scout in-system."

"Well, I don't know as how I can think of anything much worse than being stuck for the rest of my life on some podunk world that thinks a planet-wide comm-net's a big deal."

He smiled slightly. "It's a bit less spectacular than a comm-net," he said gently. "Voice transmission only; no image. And the reception is horrible."

Miri stared at him, but he seemed to be serious. She shifted her eyes to the screen—and sat frozen for a long heartbeat while her mind scrambled to find words for what her eyes were seeing.

"Val Con?" her voice rasped out of her tight throat.

"Yes."

"Something worse," she told him. "There's Yxtrang, just Jumped in-system . . . ."

Chapter Twenty-Five

THE YXTRANG PILOT stared at the readout in disbelief, upped the magnification, and checked the readings once more, cold dread in his heart.

"Commander. Pilot requests permission to speak."

"Permission granted," Khaliiz said.

"The vessel which we captured on our last pass through this system is moving under power, Commander. The scans read the life forces of two creatures."

"Pilot's report heard and acknowledged. Stand by for orders. Second!"

"Commander."

"It was reported to me that none were left alive aboard yon vessel, Second. Discover the man who lied and bring him to me at once."

His Second saluted. "At once, Commander." He turned and marched from the bridge.

Khaliiz eyed the screen, perceived the ship-bounty slipping through his fingers, and was displeased.

"Pursue."

* * *

VAL CON CURSED VERY softly, then snapped back to the board, slapped the page into its slot, and demanded coords, position, speed, condition of power in the coils.

They were moving at about one-quarter the speed they could muster, locally. The Yxtrang were pouring on speed, moving to intercept.

"Could we leave now?" asked a small voice to his left.

He turned his head. Miri was sitting rigidly in the copilot's chair, her eyes frozen on the screen and the growing shape of the Yxtrang vessel. Her face was the color of milk; her freckles stood out vividly.

"We must wait until the power has reached sufficient level and the coordinates are locked into the board," he said, keeping his voice even. "We will leave in a few minutes."

"They'll be here in a few minutes." She bit her lip, hard, and managed to drag her eyes from the screen to his face. "Val Con, I'm afraid of Yxtrang."

He was aware of the tightness of the muscles in his own face, and did not try to give her a smile. "I am also afraid of Yxtrang," he said gently. His eyes flicked to the board, then to the screen. "Strap in."

"What're you gonna do?" She was watching him closely. Some of the color had returned to her face, but she was still stiff in every muscle.

"There is a game Terrans sometimes play," he murmured, dividing his attention between board and screen, his fingers busy with his own straps, "called 'chicken' ... Strap in, cha'trez."

Moving like a manikin, she obeyed; she forced herself to lean back in the chair, her eyes on his profile.

He flipped a toggle. "I see you, Chrakec Yxtrang. Pass us by. We are unworthy to be your prey."

There was a pause for transmission, then a voice, harsh as broken glass, replied in Trade. "Unworthy? Thieves are always worthy game! That ship is ours, Liaden; we have won it once."

"Forgive us, Ckrakec Yxtrang, we are here by no fault of our own. We are not worthy of you. Pass by."

"Release my prize, Liaden, or I shall wrest it from you, and you will die."