“They have to bring another ship alongside in order to wake the clones?”
“Perhaps.” Rinharte shrugged. “Perhaps the controls are aboard a boat. They dock it in Tempest and then wake the clones.”
“No.” Kordelasz stepped away from the door. “It has to be in here,” he insisted. “It makes the most sense.”
“Garrin, nothing about the clones makes sense.”
“Well, yes, all right.” He looked sheepish. “But, but…” He held up a finger as a thought occurred to him. “Ah! The clone that woke up and escaped before we left Linna: were there any strange ships alongside? Was there a strange boat on the boat-deck?” He grinned at Alus. “No,” he said triumphantly. “So the controls must be aboard Tempest !”
Rinharte turned to walk away from the armoury. Kordelasz fell in beside her. Alus brought up the rear. “What would you do if you did find the controls?” she asked. “Wake up the clones?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“To find out who they are— what they are.”
She glanced across at him, remembering a conversation of many weeks ago. After teasing him that marines could speak only of martial matters, he had responded that Major of Marines Skaria was something of an armchair-expert on the Lost Flotilla. What, she wondered, was it in the make-up of an Imperial Marine which caused them to latch onto mysteries? All those weeks aboard ships, with little or nothing to do between occasional bouts of bloody combat?
“It matters little, Garrin. We can work around them. Nor do we really have the resources to devote to understanding them.”
Kordelasz barked a laugh. “No resources? How many troopers do we have aboard Tempest ? And how many days of travel to our first stop?”
Rinharte conceded the point. “A battalion. And another two days to Kunta, then a fortnight to Obok, and one last week to Geneza.” She glanced across at the Winter Rangers lounging about the tables before the field-kitchen. Some were engaged in dice games, one or two had books or magazines in their hands; most were cleaning arms and equipment.
“I want to know what the clone who escaped was talking about,” Kordelasz said. “What is an Urbat? What did the clone mean when he said he wanted to know more?”
Hands clasped behind her back, Rinharte gave a quiet smile. “It is, I suppose, a harmless enough pastime. Although —” She glanced warningly at the marine-captain—“I’ll not have you endanger the lives of the sleeping clones. They are not to be experimented upon.”
“Fair en —”
“Ma’am!”
Midshipman Maganda ran out of the door to the boat-deck. Coming to a breathless halt before Rinharte and Kordelasz, she gasped out, “Ma’am—Captain—The clones! I’ve just had a report from the bridge: they’ve had to seal the hatch to prevent two clones from gaining entry!”
Rinharte immediately broke into a run. She made for the ladder leading up the forward bulkhead to the upper deck. Taking the steps two at a time, she clambered upwards. Boots sounded behind her.
Ever since the clone had awakened less than one week ago, she had been dreading something similar occurring. She had insisted on guards outside the cabins containing the sarcophagi. Stumbling onto the landing, she turned and ducked through the hatch onto the upper deck.
And came to an immediate halt.
Approaching along the gangway were three figures in blue coveralls. They were not crew. Rinharte knew every rated and petty officer aboard Tempest . These three were identical—a young man of round features and brown hair cut short in an old-fashioned style. One carried a boarding-axe… and Rinharte knew with a falling heart that one of her marines lay dead or injured on the deck above.
“Excuse me.” Kordelasz shouldered past her, drawing his sword as he did so. Rinharte put her hand to her own hilt. She glanced back over her shoulder, saw Alus filling the hatch. He squeezed through and pulled out his boarding-axe. She
“Perhaps.” Rinharte shrugged. “Perhaps the controls are aboard a boat. They dock it in Tempest and then wake the clones.”
“No.” Kordelasz stepped away from the door. “It has to be in here,” he insisted. “It makes the most sense.”
“Garrin, nothing about the clones makes sense.”
“Well, yes, all right.” He looked sheepish. “But, but…” He held up a finger as a thought occurred to him. “Ah! The clone that woke up and escaped before we left Linna: were there any strange ships alongside? Was there a strange boat on the boat-deck?” He grinned at Alus. “No,” he said triumphantly. “So the controls must be aboard Tempest !”
Rinharte turned to walk away from the armoury. Kordelasz fell in beside her. Alus brought up the rear. “What would you do if you did find the controls?” she asked. “Wake up the clones?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“To find out who they are— what they are.”
She glanced across at him, remembering a conversation of many weeks ago. After teasing him that marines could speak only of martial matters, he had responded that Major of Marines Skaria was something of an armchair-expert on the Lost Flotilla. What, she wondered, was it in the make-up of an Imperial Marine which caused them to latch onto mysteries? All those weeks aboard ships, with little or nothing to do between occasional bouts of bloody combat?
“It matters little, Garrin. We can work around them. Nor do we really have the resources to devote to understanding them.”
Kordelasz barked a laugh. “No resources? How many troopers do we have aboard Tempest ? And how many days of travel to our first stop?”
Rinharte conceded the point. “A battalion. And another two days to Kunta, then a fortnight to Obok, and one last week to Geneza.” She glanced across at the Winter Rangers lounging about the tables before the field-kitchen. Some were engaged in dice games, one or two had books or magazines in their hands; most were cleaning arms and equipment.
“I want to know what the clone who escaped was talking about,” Kordelasz said. “What is an Urbat? What did the clone mean when he said he wanted to know more?”
Hands clasped behind her back, Rinharte gave a quiet smile. “It is, I suppose, a harmless enough pastime. Although —” She glanced warningly at the marine-captain—“I’ll not have you endanger the lives of the sleeping clones. They are not to be experimented upon.”
“Fair en —”
“Ma’am!”
Midshipman Maganda ran out of the door to the boat-deck. Coming to a breathless halt before Rinharte and Kordelasz, she gasped out, “Ma’am—Captain—The clones! I’ve just had a report from the bridge: they’ve had to seal the hatch to prevent two clones from gaining entry!”
Rinharte immediately broke into a run. She made for the ladder leading up the forward bulkhead to the upper deck. Taking the steps two at a time, she clambered upwards. Boots sounded behind her.
Ever since the clone had awakened less than one week ago, she had been dreading something similar occurring. She had insisted on guards outside the cabins containing the sarcophagi. Stumbling onto the landing, she turned and ducked through the hatch onto the upper deck.
And came to an immediate halt.
Approaching along the gangway were three figures in blue coveralls. They were not crew. Rinharte knew every rated and petty officer aboard Tempest . These three were identical—a young man of round features and brown hair cut short in an old-fashioned style. One carried a boarding-axe… and Rinharte knew with a falling heart that one of her marines lay dead or injured on the deck above.
“Excuse me.” Kordelasz shouldered past her, drawing his sword as he did so. Rinharte put her hand to her own hilt. She glanced back over her shoulder, saw Alus filling the hatch. He squeezed through and pulled out his boarding-axe. She
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