The Price of Conquest

Jonathan switched off the viewer he'd been studying and leaned back in his chair with a bone-popping stretch. He was seated at the desk in the small, sparsely furnished room the general had chosen as a temporary office at the new Guard base. Halav sat before him, reading from a data pad, his booted feet propped on the front of the desk.

Jonathan glanced at the general and experienced a twinge of guilt. With the first-stage activation of the new base so near, he felt he should be helping with something, but Halav had suggested he spend his time reading up on some recent history instead, and Jonathan was glad he took the suggestion. The reports he'd reviewed before leaving Teneia told him far less about what was really going on between the United Galaxy and the Free Worlds than he believed.

"It seems like things didn't get really bad between the Free Worlds and the United Galaxy until Gaunis took over," he said to the general.

Halav swung his feet off the desk and sat up straight. "Things were going well enough. The Free Worlds were coexisting peacefully with the United Galaxy, and trade had picked up. All that changed when Gaunis decided to try to take the Free Worlds by force."

"Obviously, he didn't succeed," Jonathan said.

Halav sighed. "In some ways he did. The Free Worlds lost most of their ships, and they aren't nearly as free as they used to be. They did their fair share of damage to the Patrol, but they were fighting a completely defensive battle. They didn't have the ships or the manpower to take the fight to the United Galaxy, even if they'd wanted to.

"Understand this was all before my time," Halav continued. "I was just a kid when it all went down. The Guard didn't even exist back then, although it definitely has its roots there."

"How did the Free Worlds win?" Jonathan asked.

"They didn't. It just became too politically inconvenient for Gaunis to keep fighting. Not all of the admirals were as committed to the takeover as he was, especially after losing portions of their fleets to what Gaunis assured them would be an easy victory. Gaunis might have succeeded if he'd pushed it, but he might just as easily have lost what he really cares about—power in the ranks—so he declared the mission a success and backed off."

"He just gave up?" Jonathan asked, surprised. "And that was the end of it?"

"There was never any official truce, if that's what you mean. That would have required Gaunis to admit he hadn't accomplished what he set out to do. But he made it clear he wouldn't tolerate the Free Worlds trying to rebuild their fleets. Right now, Vsuna is the only Free World with any sort of fighting ships, and that's only because they took a number of Patrol vessels with them when they seceded from the United Galaxy."

"Has the Patrol given you much trouble since Gaunis backed off?" Jonathan asked.

Halav's mouth stretched in a bitter smile. "That depends on what you consider 'trouble.' Gaunis has kept a careful eye on us over the years, and tight control on trade, research, and anything else he thinks we might be able to use against him. The Patrol's occasionally tried to strong-arm their way onto one of the Free Worlds, or attempted to set up some covert operation like that business you and Kressa uncovered the other night, but for the most part, the Guard's been able to keep ahead of that sort of thing."

Jonathan nodded and thought back to some of the original Patrol charters he'd read. "The way I understood it, the Patrol was set up so people like Gaunis couldn't get so much power."

"It was," Halav said, "but Gaunis has been an admiral for something like thirty-five years now. In that time, he's managed to win over or buy most of the Patrol's high-ranking officers. He's got half the admirals hanging on his every command. The others are too scared of him to question his orders."

Jonathan shook his head in amazement. Gaunis had been an admiral for nearly as long as Jonathan himself had been alive. "How old is he?"

"I believe he's ninety-four this year, and still going strong. But he's from Ularis; his people have a knack for longevity. There are also several rumors going around that he has access to a drug that slows the aging process."

Jonathan added that information to the other facts he'd collected. The issue of Gaunis's power within the Patrol was much more complex than the Teneian reports indicated, and those reports didn't take into consideration the additional complication of Shaw and his recently revealed intentions for the Free Worlds, or what any of the other admirals might be planning.

"Hasn't anyone in a position of power realized what Gaunis is doing and tried to stop him?" Jonathan asked.

Halav tossed the data pad he held onto the desktop. "A few have, but Gaunis has too much power in the Admiralty Council and too much backing within the ranks. People who cross him tend to disappear. At this point, there's very little anyone can do about him."

"What about Shaw?" Jonathan asked. "How does he fit into all of this?"

Halav gave a mocking smile. "Ah, yes," he said slowly, "what about Shaw?" He leaned forward and folded his hands between his knees. "Shaw has only been an admiral for a few years, and since no one reaches the admiralty without Gaunis's support and approval, Shaw must have convinced him he was on his side."

"You don't think he is?" Jonathan asked.

Halav shrugged. "It's hard to know for certain with that crowd, but I've heard enough stories to make me think Shaw's got his own agenda outside anything Gaunis might be planning. I think Gaunis realized that after Shaw became an admiral, which is why Gaunis put him in charge of keeping an eye on the Free Worlds. I guess he figured Shaw couldn't get into too much trouble that way. I'm beginning to think he may have been wrong about that, however."

A movement near the doorway drew Jonathan's attention. A young Guard soldier stood in the opening.

The general glanced at the newcomer. "What is it, Corporal?"

"Lieutenant Satra reports we're ready for power-up, sir."

"Tell her we're on our way." Halav stood and motioned Jonathan out of the office ahead of him.

Minutes later, they arrived in the bench-lined observation room overlooking the massive cavern that housed the new base's main hangar. Two glasses and a bottle of wine sat on one of the benches. Jonathan filled the glasses and passed one to Halav.

The general raised his in salute. "Here's to a successful partnership."

Jonathan returned the toast, took a sip, and signaled to Satra in the hangar below.

The lights flickered as the base's power systems transferred from the stand-bys to the new, high-efficiency Teneian equipment.

"Too bad Kressa isn't here," Jonathan mused.

Halav shrugged and watched the activity in the hangar below. "She should be back in time for the official opening. That's when we'll have a real party. Besides, she'll be arriving at Vsuna any time now, and I'm sure she'll have a good time with her friends there."

* * *

Kressa sat back in the Conquest's pilot seat and stared at the screens above the control board without really seeing them. She'd dropped the ship out of hyperspace minutes earlier and vectored in toward Vsuna, eager to get her cargo delivered and then… What? Go back to Arecia and the Guard, Jonathan and Halav, or take her ship and herself as far away from that kind of trouble as possible? Two days of pondering the question hadn't provided an answer.

"Connie, contact Commander Vel at the main Vsuna base and let her know we—"

A shrill alarm filled the bridge.

Kressa sprang up in her seat, heart thudding. "What the hell?!"

"We're being fired on," Connie said. "Close miss, port side."

Kressa activated the shields and punched an evasion course into the flight computer.

Another pulse beam seared past the Conquest as the freighter dove and rolled.

"I'm detecting five Patrol fightercraft just entering firing range," Connie said.

A third shot from the approaching fighters scored a direct hit on the Conquest's port-side shield.

Kressa powered up the freighter's weapons and keyed the targeting computer to life.

"Connie, get a message off to Vsuna," she said. "Let them know what's going on."

"Communications are being jammed," Connie said. "Three more fighters are approaching from starboard. The first five are staying with us."

Kressa watched the targeting computer struggle in vain to resolve a firing solution on one of the swerving, darting fighters. Cursing under her breath, she switched the guns to manual and fired a series of random pulses, hoping to get lucky. She didn't.

"Damned maneuverable bastards!" she spat and returned control of the freighter's weapons to the targeting computer. "Connie, any chance for a hyperspace jump out of here?"

"I'm working on it. Four more fighters have entered detection range."

Kressa snarled. Where in hell had fighters come from? They had to have a mothership nearby, but how had it gotten into the Vsuna system without being detected? Despite United Galaxy regulations to the contrary, the Vsunans kept a space fleet. A Patrol ship large enough to carry fightercraft should have been spotted and challenged. Even if it had only just arrived in the system, Connie would have noticed it.

Kressa took control of the Conquest's aft guns and fired at the swarm of approaching ships. She scored several hits on the enemy vessels and managed to knock two of them out of the chase, but the remainder kept coming, seeming to converge on the Conquest from all directions. Their shots pounded against the freighter's shields in an almost constant barrage, weakening them in several places.

"Kressa, I have a jump back to Arecia computed," Connie said.

The Conquest shuddered from a direct hit of a heavy pulse cannon, and the engineering board lit up with red warning lights as her shields failed. A series of less powerful shots from the fightercraft pummeled the ship from all sides. Warning lights began to flash throughout the room.

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The comm crackled on. "Freighter Conquest, cease fire and shut down immediately."

Kressa scanned the viewscreens, her mind racing. Where had that cannon shot come from?

The fighters were taking up positions that allowed easy shots at the Conquest's most vulnerable areas. Beyond them, far ahead of the freighter but moving closer by the second, was a large asteroid. Vsuna's distant sun painted its jagged hills and crevasses with pools of dark and light and glinted from regular metallic structures fixed to its surface, including several pulse cannons.

So that was how the fighter's mothership escaped notice, Kressa realized. It wasn't a ship at all; it was an asteroid. With a bit of care, such a vessel could remain undetected in the vast reaches of a planetary system, but where did the Patrol get a ship like that?

"The engines have been targeted," Connie said.

"Shit!" Kressa slapped the engine kill pad and fired the braking thrusters, unwilling to risk more damage to her ship. She needed the Conquest in one piece if—when she figured a way out of this mess.

The comm came on again. "Conquest, maintain present bearing and velocity. Any deviation or hostile action will result in your immediate destruction."

The asteroid-ship drew nearer, and a large docking bay opened. Kressa studied the strange vessel. A number of small access ports on the surface catalyzed thoughts for a plan.

"Connie, use the AP gun in the cargo bay to destroy the Teneian gear. Jettison it before the Pattys take the ship into their bay, about fifty meters out. I'm going to try to suit onto the asteroid's surface and use one of those access tubes to sneak on board. You'll be on your own for a while. I'll come for you as soon as I can."

"Be careful, Kressa."

She pursed her lips. "More careful than you can imagine."

Minutes later, Kressa sat crouched inside the housing of the Conquest's rear port landing gear, dressed in an emergency spacesuit. A small shudder thrummed through the freighter as Connie opened the cargo bay doors. Kressa tabbed the landing gear access hatch, and the vastness of space opened beneath her feet. Vertigo swept over her, and she grabbed one of the landing struts, her heart pounding.

She took a deep, calming breath, snapped the spacesuit's tether line onto one of the struts, and eased herself through the hatchway. Her stomach and head flip-flopped as she crossed the invisible boundary between the Conquest's artificial gravity field and the weightless environs of open space. She fought down a sudden rush of nausea, tongued the switch inside her helmet that activated the magnetic clamps on her boots, and shifted position until she was squatting on the Conquest's belly, head "down," facing the asteroid-ship. Another gentle shudder passed through the freighter. Kressa twisted at the waist to watch as chunks of seared metal and broken plasteel shipping crates drifted into view, ejected from the Conquest's bay.

She gave a grim smile. Dumping cargo when threatened was a trick as old as smuggling; the Pattys shouldn't be surprised by the move, and with a bit of luck, they would be too busy dealing with the potential danger of hitting one of the pieces of debris to pay close attention to what was happening elsewhere. An instant later, pulse blasts from the fighters began to vaporize the floating bits of jetsam, providing the distraction Kressa was hoping for.

She turned to face the asteroid-ship again. The quiet purr of her suit's systems and the hiss of her breathing filled her ears. She fixed her gaze on the boundary between the asteroid's rough surface and the bright interior of the docking bay, and tried to ignore the dizzying nothingness beyond.

A dozen empty fightercraft launch slips lined the sides of the bay. She strained to make out more details, but the bulk of the Conquest eclipsed her view as the freighter's bow drew even with the bay's opening.

Kressa unclipped her tether and closed the access hatch. Struggling to keep her mind on her task and off the precarious nature of her plan, she gathered her legs under her, released her boot's magnetic clamps, and sprang away from the Conquest toward the asteroid's craggy surface.

She struck the asteroid with a bone-jarring impact, grasped the rough surface with one gloved hand, and braced her booted toes against a small rise. She pushed off at a shallow angle, just skimming the asteroid's surface. She kept one hand on the suit's thruster control at her waist in case she drifted too far above the asteroid, and continued to push herself along, using whatever hand or footholds she found.

Darkness dropped over her like a heavy blanket as she glided around the asteroid's side and out of the dim light of Vsuna's sun. She groped for handholds in the sudden blackness, eased herself to a stop, and tongued another switch. Her helmet lights came on. She blinked in the sudden illumination and swept the lights in a wide arc around herself.

Metal glinted less than five meters to her left. Not daring to hope she'd found what she sought so easily, she made her way to it as quickly as possible.

It was one of the access tubes, its meter-wide opening sheathed by a metal collar with a docking ring around the upper edge.

She smiled at her good fortune and aimed her helmet lights down the dark hole.

The metal collar stopped after a couple of meters, but a rough-hewn tunnel drilled straight down into the asteroid beyond it.

Kressa slipped into the tunnel head-first, eased her way to the end of the collar, and then pulled herself along using the rough tunnel walls. She counted each pull in an attempt to gauge the distance from the surface to whatever she found at the end.

Again and again she grasped the tunnel's rough sides and cautiously pulled herself forward. Her right shoulder, still sore from its mistreatment by the guard in Cint-Istep, protested the repetitive motion with dull twinges of pain. The healing laser wound on her side itched miserably.

Twenty-seven, she counted and reached forward again. Twenty-eight. At half a meter a pull, that put her close to fifteen meters inside the asteroid-ship. Nice armor.

Twenty-nine.

Ahead, her helmet lights illuminated a metal hatch with a T-shaped handle centered on it. Her heart leapt, and she wondered how much longer her luck would hold. She pulled herself to the hatch, braced her legs against the sides of the tube, grasped the handle, and twisted.

It didn't budge. She turned the handle the other way.

Still nothing.

She searched the tunnel walls for some kind of controls, but found none. She took hold of the handle again and pulled, then pushed, to no avail.

"Open, damn you!"

The handle shuddered gently. Shocked, she pulled on it, and the hatch swung open.

She pushed it closed. "Lock."

Nothing happened.

"Lock!" She put the full force of her will behind the command and felt the handle shudder slightly again.

She pulled it. The hatch did not budge.

Open, she thought.

The hatch shuddered a third time as it unlocked.

She paused in amazement. Something inside the door's circuitry had picked up her desire and executed it. Who would build such a thing? And who could use it?

The priests. From what little she knew of their abilities, it stood to reason they would employ such a device, and it would explain where the Patrol had acquired such an unusual ship.

Kressa switched off her helmet lights, pulled the hatch open, and crawled through. Her insides lurched from the sudden effects of artificial gravity within the chamber. She paused while her body readjusted to a definite sense of up and down, and then looked around in the dim illumination provided by a glowing ceiling panel.

Although barely large enough for two spacesuited figures, the airlock appeared spacious compared to her suit. She closed the hatch and sealed it. There were no controls in the airlock; it, too, must be controlled by psi energy. She thought at it to pressurize. In moments, the chamber had filled with a gas mixture her suit's gauges assured her was breathable, although not quite UG standard.

Impatient to be rid of the bulky suit, she bled out the stale air, her ears popping as they equalized pressure. She removed the helmet, stripped off the suit, and checked to be sure the stunner Jonathan had given her was still in her pocket. Then she turned to the inner airlock door and wished it open.

The large room beyond contained an organized jumble of air circulation equipment, unfamiliar devices, and monitor screens. The chamber reverberated with the quiet hum of machinery.

Kressa stepped out of the airlock, alert for any indication she was not alone, and examined the equipment. For a moment, she considered trying to sabotage it, but realized there would be enough back-up systems to foil any attempts to bring the system down. Besides, she didn't want to suffocate an entire ship's crew, human or otherwise, regardless of what they intended for her. She set the thought aside and moved farther into the chamber.

A complete search of the room revealed only one door besides the airlock's hatch. She thought at it to open. After a long moment, it slid aside.

The room beyond measured less than two meters on a side with plain walls.

A lift, she decided and stepped inside.

"I want to go to the bay." She doubted the mechanism could understand her words, but voicing her desire helped center her intention.

Apparently, it understood at least a portion of what she wanted; the door closed, and the lift started to move. After a moment, it eased to a stop, and the door slid open.

Kressa flattened herself against the side wall, her hand on the stunner. For half a dozen thudding heartbeats, she waited for someone to discover her, then she peered out.

A corridor stretched across the opening, lit by glowing strips on the ceiling. The walls, floor, and ceiling shone a lustrous marbled gray, smooth and seamless, as if carved from the substance of the asteroid. Five meters to her left, the hallway turned at a sharp angle away from the lift. To the right, it curved away in a shallow bend. A closed door stood across from her. If she could trust her sense of direction, the docking bay would be to the left, but before she went there, she needed to cover her back.

The door closed the moment she stepped into the corridor, and the lift hummed away. She grimaced—so much for that escape route—and moved to the door across the hall. She pressed an ear against it, but detected only the soft thrum of the ship's systems.

Satisfied no one would come through the door unexpectedly, she started for the corridor to the left. Her footsteps whispered across the smooth floor. She peered around the corner and studied the door-lined passage beyond. Two figures stepped from one of the doorways and turned in her direction. They were of the same race as the priests on Arecia, but instead of robes, they wore identical gray jumpsuits.

Kressa pulled back and brought up her mental defenses, thinking fast. She sprinted to the door across from the lift and willed it open. It skimmed aside, and she ducked into the dark chamber beyond. The barrier closed behind her. The rhythmic tap of footfalls and the quiet tones of a conversation neared and then receded. Kressa counted slowly to ten, heard nothing new, and relaxed. She wished for light and got it.

She was in a small storeroom, its walls covered with shelves full of tools, test equipment, and other supplies needed for the upkeep of a ship and crew. Almost half of the gear was standard United Galaxy equipment; the remainder looked unfamiliar.

A short metal locker in the back corner caught her eye, and she bent to examine it. A small plate identified it as a Patrol medical supply cabinet. She recalled her earlier thoughts of sabotage; a quick revision of the idea and she had a possible answer to her dilemma.

Inside the cabinet, she found dozens of boxes of pills, drug pads, ointments, and liquid-gas vials. She located a large canister of anesthetic liquid-gas. If she released the gas into the air circulation unit, everyone on the ship should be unconscious in minutes. Unfortunately, that included herself. Before she carried out her plan, she needed to retrieve her spacesuit or, better yet, find a filter mask or detoxin. She turned back to the cabinet.

As she rummaged through the remaining supplies, pulling each package forward to examine its label or contents, she noticed a small red box with Gaunis's fleet insignia embossed on its lid, identical to the one in the comm room in Cint-Istep. Curious, she took it out and opened it.

Inside, padded in shock-damping foam, rested two thumb-sized liquid-gas vials and an empty space for a third. As she reached for one of the flasks of red-orange liquid, the door behind her slid open.

She sprang to her feet and drew her stunner. A Patrolman stood in the doorway, his laser pistol aimed between her eyes. Two others flanked him. Each held a pulse gun trained on her.

She studied the odds for an instant, then lowered the stunner.

The pistol-bearer grinned at her. "Smart move, Bryant." He held out his free hand. "Give me the gun." His weapon never wavered. At this range, it would burn a hole clear through her skull. She handed him the stunner.

He glanced at the unfamiliar weapon, passed it to one of his companions, and plucked Gaunis's box from her grasp.

"I'll just take that, thank you," he said. "We wouldn't want to have an accident, would we?"

Despite the inanity of the man's chatter, a worried tone echoed in his voice. Kressa wondered about it as he signaled to his companions to cover her, holstered his gun, then resealed the box and set it back in the cabinet.

He straightened to look her over. "And now, Bryant, you'll come with me. There's someone who would very much like to see you."