Lyon's Pride Read online

“Certainly, sir,” Rojer replied. He had determinedly not fallen into the habit of naval parlance of responding with the usual “Aye, sir.” That was his subtle reaction to “boy” and “civilian.”

  Metrios grinned. “Would you need much power?”

  “Not for a query,” Rojer said, grinning back. Xexo would be as up-to-date as possible on what was being assembled, either by the naval or the “civilian” piece jiggers. “And he might even have some informed guesses. Thing worries me, though, is that that explosion might also have taken out the ventilation control system.”

  “That’s a distinct possibility. Sure wrecked the area,” Metrios said.

  Rojer held up one hand, indicating he was initiating his query, but he sensed a definite eagerness in the atmosphere of the bridge. Clearly Captain Prtglm was not the only one who wanted to secure a trophy out of this encounter. Of course, the Genesee and the Arapahoe would share any honors with the KTTS. Everyone in the Alliance would rejoice to have purloined a nearly operational ship from a Hive colony. He suppressed the chuckle that threatened to overset his composure and sternly focused his mind on the gestalt to send the message.

  Familiarity with Xexo’s mind made the ’pathing easier. Rojer elected to make it an informal query because nothing might come of it and there was no point in getting hopes up only to dash them down.

  Xexo was surprised to hear Rojer.

  Coming through loud and clear, lad. But shouldn’t you…

  No, this is between you and me, Xexo, about our piecing. They don’t have a set on board here and I need your help on one aspect of the reconstruction.

  Oh, well, in that case… Xexo had always been more interested in the mechanical aspects of Tower than protocol so he made no further objections. Whaddya need to know?

  What Xexo knew about the ventilation and life support systems was incomplete. In fact, Rojer realized that his probe had accumulated more cogent information, which he then shared with the T-8. Xexo could then confirm that the main environmental control systems had probably been demolished by the torpedo.

  Queens seem to have had an independent emergency supply. Get that started and you might flush a lot of the gas out, ’specially with a hole already in the hull. Hey, you guys bring that ship back and you will be real heroes! Xexo added, excitement coloring his usual imperturbable manner. Too much of the ship Squadron A salvaged has been damaged beyond guess or gosh. Then Xexo “showed” Rojer what diagrams existed, incomplete as they were.

  “Since the queens abandoned ship,” Metrios said when he had a chance to study what Rojer transferred to the screen, “that area would not have been secured. But it appears,” and his finger wandered off the diagram, “that one could flush the system of the gas quite efficiently from the main circulation point.”

  “If we knew how to work such controls,” Rojer said. “’Dinis keep telling us that the queens developed specific workers for various ship operations. What would a life-support worker look like?”

  Metrios shrugged. “That’d be a problem. They seem to produce all kinds of workers.”

  The other officers on duty on the bridge had been following the conversations.

  “The ’Dini records have reconstructions of some definite types, from corpses that were found after space battles,” Anis Langio said and keyed in a program. They all watched as the sketches were accessed. Langio gave a snort. “Take your pick.”

  “That queen they’ve got at Heinlein Moon Base? Have her eggs hatched yet?” Metrios asked.

  “They’re growing and she’s eating,” Rojer replied with a shrug. He was still of two minds about his sister Zara’s interference even if it had saved the queen’s life from hypothermia.

  One of the three pods to escape the Great Sphere had contained a live and egg-heavy queen. Conveying the pod to the Heinlein Moon Base had been Rojer Lyon’s first official duty as a Prime, though his father had been the focus of the kinetic energy of that teleportation. An Observation Module had kept close track of her activities since she had emerged. She was, in fact, the first living specimen of the Hive race that either Human or Mrdini had seen. Her continued existence had elicited controversy, and sometimes strain, among the Allies. Fortunately some of the more liberal Mrdini leaders also felt that the need to know more about their enemy was of greater importance than a very public and summary execution, no matter how psychologically satisfying. Others found some beauty in her mantislike appearance: the maudlin were deeply concerned about her total isolation and incarceration.

  “I’d heard that each queen lays several different types of workers,” Anis said. “Maybe she’d been programmed for the type we need right now.” She turned an impudent gamine grin on her audience.

  “If we knew what sort we needed,” Metrios said, gloomily. He leaned forward across his panel. “If we could somehow clear enough of the gas to put a salvage crew aboard…”

  “Ah, we’re much too far away to use tractor beams…” Yngocelen said and then turned brightly to Rojer.

  “Hey, don’t look at me. That’s mass, Commander,” Rojer said, fending off that suggestion with raised hands. “It’d take a whole Tower crew to shift that one.”

  “Then it’d have to be a landing party….”

  “With Hiver ground batteries trained on it?” Yngocelen asked sarcastically. “They’d blast it out of the sky once they saw it moving away rather than let us have it.”

  “But they don’t know we’re here,” Langio reminded them.

  “And they’re not supposed to,” Metrios said, heaving a sigh.

  “Rojer, you couldn’t just inch it out of their surface-to-air missile range?” Langio asked plaintively.

  “No, I couldn’t. Not even to give Captain Prtglm its moment of glory.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Metrios said, and turning to his console, accessed another program. “To get the Great Sphere back, two Galaxy-class ships acted as tows, and a shuttle was attached to control directional thrusters….”

  “So?” Yngocelen asked.

  “If we could mount thrusters on the hull…”

  “That would mean we’d be seen from the surface…” Yngocelen interjected. “Oh…” he added, and turned, as Metrios had, to Rojer.

  Rojer shook his head. “Look, sirs,” and he paused to give the courtesy address emphasis, “I’m glad to oblige with a lot of things but if anyone…anything…down there is monitoring space—and they sure knew when the refugee ship arrived—thrusters big enough to move it out of orbit would be very very visible, even if putting them there wasn’t.”

  “What do we know about Hiver eyesight?”

  “They probably have a specialist for that, too,” Anis remarked in a caustic tone.

  “Possibly,” Metrios agreed and then went on, “but why would they be watching a ship they know is disabled and uninhabited?” Clearly, he wanted to defend his strategy. “They don’t know we’re here. They certainly wouldn’t expect anyone to come robbing them of a ship. Surprise is a big plus….”

  “Our orders, gentlemen,” Captain Osullivan reminded them in droll reprimand, “are to hold a watching brief.” Then he gave them a wistful smile. “The Council has not given us any latitude. We are especially not to engage the enemy at this point in time.” He heard their murmurs of discontent and disappointment. “If we can follow their ion trails, they can follow ours.”

  “True enough, sir, but they don’t have another operational vehicle,” Metrios pointed out.

  “We have our orders, gentlemen, and we will obey them,” Osullivan said and strode to his command chair, where he remained the rest of that watch.

  * * *

  It was the next morning that the captain asked Rojer to report to the bridge before his usual watch.

  “It occurred to me, Rojer,” Osullivan said at his most relaxed and genial, “that we shouldn’t miss a golden opportunity.”

  “Which one, sir?” Rojer asked dubiously, glancing at Metrios, Doplas and Yngocelen, who were ranged behind the c
aptain.

  Osullivan grinned, as did the others. “Only that one area of this vessel is destroyed? Right?” When Rojer nodded, the captain went on, “You seemed to have no difficulty ’porting that monitor around the interior.”

  “It was a small one, with a limited detection capacity…. Oh, I see…”

  At Rojer’s sudden comprehension, Osullivan turned to the other officers. “He catches on real quick. Good lad. If we can present coherent diagrams of every level of this ship, the crews restoring the Great Sphere will have a template to work from. Captain Prtglm informed me that the design has not altered in all the centuries they’ve been dealing with the Hivers.”

  “Except for the size of the Great Sphere…” Metrios interposed.

  “Would you oblige?” Osullivan said, gesturing at Rojer’s couch and grinning with invitation.

  “I don’t see why not, sir. I’ve been everywhere else I could ’port a device. But what about the corrosive gas…”

  “You can use as many probes as you need,” Metrios said expansively. “When the captain made his suggestion, we found a coating that will somewhat retard corrosion…I think! I hope. First one you have to bring back, we’ll run an analysis on and see if we can’t identify the combo used.”

  “I’ve altered the visual schematics,” Doplas said eagerly, “so that we can get dimensional readout and identify any gross design alterations.”

  Rojer found the process more time-consuming than tiring but he was very glad when that watch was over. Five probes had been affected by the gas and he had deposited them in a gas-proof container in the ship’s lab. Although this ship was not as large as the Great Sphere, his first day’s investigations had delineated only a very small segment of the total ship. But there was enough to cause every science and specialist officer on all three ships to spend the rest of the day analyzing and rendering drawings. The gas had done its work thoroughly: only such stores as had been encased in metal survived.

  As Rojer ’ported the probes further inboard, printouts became blurred where the gas was thick. There came a point of no input. Sufficient data had been gathered to give the squadron some idea of the interior layout of the vessel: someone called it a “spaghetti-macaroni network of tubes, tunnels and conduits.” There were features in the ceilings and along the floors of the queens’ quarters which gave rise to considerable speculation. Was each of the queens responsible for one aspect of the ship’s operations? Or were the controls mutual?

  “The Rowan said she met a ‘Many Mind,’” Rojer said, trying to sound impartial while reporting his grandmother’s action, “a nexus of the queens which is what she immobilized when she was focus for her merge.”

  “So it’s likely the queens moved in concert?” asked Osullivan.

  “That’s consonant with the hive mentality: all working for the same objective,” the xenob officer replied. Lieutenant Sedim Mehmet had been asked to sit in on a primarily engineering conference.

  “Those control panels are undamaged,” Metrios said, switching the screen to that set of printouts. “But I’d need a ladder to reach ’em and which would control what!”

  “Don’t seem to be any touch-type arrangement,” Yngocelen remarked. “But perhaps when back-lit we’d identify controls.”

  “The queens’ palps are odd-shaped,” Mehmet reminded them. “Palps end in different-sized triangular joints.”

  “The problem,” Osullivan said, “is not so much the shape as the function.”

  On that they were all agreed. Captain Prtglm seemed to sink deeper onto its stool, spreading its bulk noticeably. Rojer thought it was depressed by this current impasse. Gil and Kat said their Great Captain had already achieved many battle honors but it wanted one more significant award to add to a career that had spanned over a hundred Human-length years. Rojer could sympathize with that wish, knowing that Prtglm’s color would bask in glory for centuries more if it could bring back to Clarf an empty Hive ship.

  Rojer and some of the lesser staff members were politely thanked and dismissed from the conference. Since it was likely he’d be called to send back a report at the conclusion of the meeting, Rojer took the opportunity to grab something to eat. The sort of mental work he did made him ravenous. Rather than appear to eat more than was considered polite on shipboard, Rojer often secreted food in his cabin for emergencies. He always had something for Gil and Kat, too, and so they were indulging in an illicit feast when his com unit clicked on.

  “Require Talent assistance return,” said Prtglm’s unmistakable tones. “Talent to return, too.”

  “WE COME, TOO?” Gil asked, and Kat was hanging on Rojer’s response.

  “RJ SEES NO REASON NOT. PRTGLM NEVER NOTICES YOU ANYHOW.” While Rojer knew Prtglm was a Great One, he had been slightly peeved that it was too great a personage to notice his dear friends. He took Gil and Kat across to the KTTS whenever possible because they did enjoy visiting among their own kind. “WE USE BIGGEST CARRIER ANYWAY. YOU HIDE IN DARK.”

  Knowing it would take the ’Dini captain time to make its ponderous way from the bridge area to the transfer pod in the cargo bay, Rojer stripped out of his rumpled shipsuit and donned a clean one, buckling on the formal belt and pouch he rarely bothered to wear. He was in awe of Great captain Prtglm and a “uniformed” appearance bolstered his morale.

  Gil and Kat were so excited they squirmed in his arms as he gathered them up for the ’port. Actually, he landed neatly right at the hatch to the cargo bay, and in an empty corridor. He could, however, feel the vibration in the deck plates of a heavy tread.

  “QUICK, YOU TWO,” he urged, adding body language to his words, opening the hatch and thrusting the two warm furry bodies ahead of him. “THE GREAT ONE COMES. FEEL IT?” His two friends scurried to the large pod that would be used. They opened it and were disappearing inside as Rojer explained to the deck officer that he’d be taking the captain back to the KTTS.

  “You sure know when that biggie’s coming, doncha,” Ensign Menburia said as the vibration through the deck plates was even more discernible. “No disrespect intended, but it can barely get through that hatch. Oops!” And the ensign ducked back to her engineering board as the massive figure of Prtglm appeared.

  The captain required time to settle itself in the pod while the cargo bay crew appeared extremely busy at their stations. Finally Rojer could enter.

  “Is power up, Ensign?” Rojer called, and received a thumbs-up from Menburia. He closed the hatch and tried to compress himself so as not to touch the captain. A Great One did not appreciate tactile contact.

  Rojer picked up the pulse of generators he was now as familiar with as Xexo’s at Aurigae Tower. He knew where he was going and ’ported them on board the KTTS so lightly he was sure that Prtglm wasn’t even aware the transfer had taken place until the hatch was opened by one of its own officers, and it was officially welcomed back on board. Prtglm rattled several phrases off so quickly that Rojer didn’t follow the sense of them. Something about “new probes” and “decision.”

  “COME,” Prtglm said curtly to Rojer as soon as it had its back legs on the deck. Rojer scrambled out to see Prtglm making its way to an opening that led to the interior of the ’Dini ship, not to the bridge as Rojer had expected.

  It was as well Prtglm made its way without a backward glance for Gil and Kat suddenly clung onto Rojer’s hands.

  “WHAT’S WRONG?” he asked, but each made the sudden quick head movement that told him to keep quiet. He could feel their digits trembling despite the strength with which they held on to him.

  They were alone as they followed Prtglm down the corridor, which was just wide enough to accommodate the massive body of the captain. Then a hatch slid back and Prtglm entered, pausing to gesture to them to hurry. Rojer obeyed despite the fact that both Gil and Kat seemed to impede his forward progress.

  “What’s wrong?” he muttered, bending down to their ear holes.

  Kat managed a quavery noise and, taking a breath as if steeling it
self, stepped over the hatch and into the big hangar facility. Rojer and Gil followed. Rojer knew his dear friends were awed by any proximity to Prtglm, but there was some new quality in their manner now that began to infect him with doubt and anxiety.

  The hangar was dark, but Rojer could make out racks of long slim shapes that had a metallic shine: many of them. Light came up and Rojer blinked to adjust to the glare. Gil and Kat audibly moaned.

  These were not probes, Rojer instantly noted: they had a deadly precision of line that made their purpose unmistakable even before his horrified stare took in the deadly bulb of a warhead on the pointed end. And there were an awful lot of them.

  Prtglm’s digits flashed over a terminal and the multiple screens above it flicked on, each with a different view. Three depicted the orbiting sphere ships, another the flat surface of the space field, and the rest were split, sometimes in three separate scenes, showing the largest of the square buildings his probes had found.

  The sick feeling in Rojer’s guts developed rapidly into a certainty that was no precog. If he had not been so immobilized by fear and shock, he would have ’ported himself and his friends out of the hangar. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t believe that Prtglm would make such a devastating unilateral decision. Somehow he had to stop it from happening.

  “TALENT!” Prtglm turned and it had never appeared so massive or forbidding in aspect.

  “GREAT ONE,” Rojer managed to say before he had to swallow convulsively to wet his dry mouth and throat.

  “YOU SEND MANY THINGS TO WORLD BELOW. YOU SEND THESE. TO THESE PLACES! THEN SQUADRON TAKES SPHERE AND RETURNS WITH TRUE HONOR.”

  “Sir, these are bombs?” Rojer forgot all ’Dini.

  “OF COURSE,” and the captain’s body made the massive surge from bottom to top that was an angry reaction to the question: indeed, to any questioning.

  “I am not permitted to destroy, sir.” Rojer concentrated on speaking clearly and firmly.

  “YOU ’PORT MANY THINGS. BOMBS ARE BEST!” Most ’Dini voices expressed little emotion but Prtglm’s intonations were rich with satisfaction and righteous vengeance.