think you'd rather chance the inconvenience of impressing and training a bunch of groundies than risk our hatred just for our experience. Am I right?"
The corsair looked at N'Trol with new eyes, silent for a moment. "I keep underestimating you, Engineer. I used to think you were a brilliant, misanthropic technical officer. Yet you've held your men together, and now you've anticipated me."
She nodded. "Yes, I don't need you or your crew anymore. You're all going to take a short jump into hard vacuum at first watch."
N'Trol's face betrayed nothing. "I have a deal for you, Commander A'Tir," he said.
"Dead men don't deal, N'Trol," she said, reaching for the door switch.
N'Trol moved quickly, reaching across the desk to stop her hand as it touched the switch. "Spare my crew, and I'll get K'Tran back for
you."
A'Tir looked at the blunt, competent fingers circling her wrist. "You have nice hands, Engineer," she said, brown eyes meeting his green ones. "Can you do something with them besides fix jump drives?"
"What did you have in mind?" said N'Trol, letting go and stepping back a pace.
A'Tir stood and nodded toward D'Trelna's bedroom, just the other side of the bulkhead. "I'll show you," she said and turned for the connecting door, unfastening her tunic as she walked.
"What about my deal?" said N'Trol, not moving.
"We'll discuss that while you work, Engineer," said the corsair. She turned to face him as the door hissed open. "Coming?" Her breasts were small, firm and tanned, with large, dark areolae, her belly hard and flat.
"I'm not a piece of meat, A'Tir."
She shook her head, smiling coldly. "You are what I say you are, N'Trol. And if you don't fix my problem, Engineer, we don't talk a deal."
N'Trol sighed. "I suppose I could look at your problem," he said, and followed her into the bedroom.
"D'Trelna's still asleep," said Line.
L'Guan nodded, staring out at K'Roponar, hands clasped behind his back. He stood in the asteroid's observation bubble, a small black pip on the jagged surface. Above him, K'Ronar rose, its eastern hemisphere turning to meet a new day.
L'Guan turned from the view. "Will you redeploy as prescribed in your prime directive?"
"Of course," said Line. "When so ordered by the Emperor in his capacity as Supreme Commander."
"There is no Emperor," said L'Guan. "He has no command. Just a comparative handful of us against a whole universe of AIs."
"Wrong," said Line as L'Guan, tired of the familiar exchange, stepped toward the lift.
The monument had no name. Time had wiped it from the memory of U'Tria as slowly and as inexorably as the stiff winter winds off the lake had rounded the obelisk's sharp edges. A weathered, silver shaft, it rose above the choppy night waters and its own dim, uncertain reflection, a testament to forgotten men and dead ideals.
The old man stood in front of the monument, looking out on the lake, then up at the Stalker, just rising in the west. Wrapping his thick winter cape tight against a sudden chill, he turned toward the monument and the village beyond.
"Blood moon," said a voice.
The old man froze for an instant, then turned. A man in Fleet uniform stood beneath the monument, the silver starship on his collar now reflecting the Stalker's ocher tint.
"My Lord Margrave," said the old man with a slight bow.
"Freeholder K'Sar," said L'Wrona, walking over to the other. "Long time." He held out his hand. "Well met, Freeholder."
The old man smiled a thin smile as he took L'Wrona's hand. "Well met, My Lord. I'd hoped you'd have been back long before now. We need you."
"War," said L'Wrona, looking at the monument. "It never ends. We defeated the S'Cotar, now it's the AIs, one the precursor to the other." He looked up at the stars, toward Quadrant Blue Nine. "The Rift has opened and they're coming."
"And you've nothing to stop them?" said the freeholder.
L'Wrona looked into eyes deep set beneath the high forehead, a face seamed by decades of care. "Millions of ships the
The corsair looked at N'Trol with new eyes, silent for a moment. "I keep underestimating you, Engineer. I used to think you were a brilliant, misanthropic technical officer. Yet you've held your men together, and now you've anticipated me."
She nodded. "Yes, I don't need you or your crew anymore. You're all going to take a short jump into hard vacuum at first watch."
N'Trol's face betrayed nothing. "I have a deal for you, Commander A'Tir," he said.
"Dead men don't deal, N'Trol," she said, reaching for the door switch.
N'Trol moved quickly, reaching across the desk to stop her hand as it touched the switch. "Spare my crew, and I'll get K'Tran back for
you."
A'Tir looked at the blunt, competent fingers circling her wrist. "You have nice hands, Engineer," she said, brown eyes meeting his green ones. "Can you do something with them besides fix jump drives?"
"What did you have in mind?" said N'Trol, letting go and stepping back a pace.
A'Tir stood and nodded toward D'Trelna's bedroom, just the other side of the bulkhead. "I'll show you," she said and turned for the connecting door, unfastening her tunic as she walked.
"What about my deal?" said N'Trol, not moving.
"We'll discuss that while you work, Engineer," said the corsair. She turned to face him as the door hissed open. "Coming?" Her breasts were small, firm and tanned, with large, dark areolae, her belly hard and flat.
"I'm not a piece of meat, A'Tir."
She shook her head, smiling coldly. "You are what I say you are, N'Trol. And if you don't fix my problem, Engineer, we don't talk a deal."
N'Trol sighed. "I suppose I could look at your problem," he said, and followed her into the bedroom.
"D'Trelna's still asleep," said Line.
L'Guan nodded, staring out at K'Roponar, hands clasped behind his back. He stood in the asteroid's observation bubble, a small black pip on the jagged surface. Above him, K'Ronar rose, its eastern hemisphere turning to meet a new day.
L'Guan turned from the view. "Will you redeploy as prescribed in your prime directive?"
"Of course," said Line. "When so ordered by the Emperor in his capacity as Supreme Commander."
"There is no Emperor," said L'Guan. "He has no command. Just a comparative handful of us against a whole universe of AIs."
"Wrong," said Line as L'Guan, tired of the familiar exchange, stepped toward the lift.
The monument had no name. Time had wiped it from the memory of U'Tria as slowly and as inexorably as the stiff winter winds off the lake had rounded the obelisk's sharp edges. A weathered, silver shaft, it rose above the choppy night waters and its own dim, uncertain reflection, a testament to forgotten men and dead ideals.
The old man stood in front of the monument, looking out on the lake, then up at the Stalker, just rising in the west. Wrapping his thick winter cape tight against a sudden chill, he turned toward the monument and the village beyond.
"Blood moon," said a voice.
The old man froze for an instant, then turned. A man in Fleet uniform stood beneath the monument, the silver starship on his collar now reflecting the Stalker's ocher tint.
"My Lord Margrave," said the old man with a slight bow.
"Freeholder K'Sar," said L'Wrona, walking over to the other. "Long time." He held out his hand. "Well met, Freeholder."
The old man smiled a thin smile as he took L'Wrona's hand. "Well met, My Lord. I'd hoped you'd have been back long before now. We need you."
"War," said L'Wrona, looking at the monument. "It never ends. We defeated the S'Cotar, now it's the AIs, one the precursor to the other." He looked up at the stars, toward Quadrant Blue Nine. "The Rift has opened and they're coming."
"And you've nothing to stop them?" said the freeholder.
L'Wrona looked into eyes deep set beneath the high forehead, a face seamed by decades of care. "Millions of ships the
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