Raising Caine - eARC by Charles E. Gannon Page A

adventurer. Her actual intent had been to acquire the freedom and mobility to seek out other survivors of her House and to plot its restoration.
    Two others, Sehtrek and Pehthrum, were former Intendants of the House. Since their genelines had not been Elevated prior to the Extirpation, they had been deemed reliable by the Autarchal Aegis and were Arrogated to it. Their assignment as lictors to Ferocious Monolith had been arranged with little effort almost four months ago.
    Nezdeh leaned back. Nine persons, and two of them Low Bred, with another six to be added after the first phase of their mission was complete. So, altogether, fifteen renegades of the purged House Perekmeres against the might of the Hegemons of the Great Houses, and the juridical authority of the Autarchs, whose ostensible neutrality was a farce. Autarchal decisions almost invariably aligned with the interests of the Hegemons. If Nezdeh’s small band could contend with those daunting odds, it would be a story worth telling—if any of them lived to tell it.
    When Brenlor finished his oration, Nezdeh stood slowly. “We all know the odds, and we all know what must be done. We have excellent intelligence on our first target, and it is utterly unsuspecting.” She glared around the table. “But do not underestimate this foe. The Arat Kur and Hkh’Rkh did and they are now paying for it.
    “We cannot afford such payments. We have no place to which we may retreat, for there is only one outcome that does not end in our death: absolute victory. So: no bravado. We cannot afford it. No unnecessary destruction: again, we cannot afford it. No wasted time: yet again, we cannot afford it. When those who shall carry our restored genelines into the future speak of this battle, they shall recall it not as an arrogant gamble, but as a precise, clinical operation. And that our glory lay in the cold-eyed achievement of our objective.”
    The eyes around the table had kindled to her words, whereas Brenlor’s had left them merely smoldering. She was speaking the truth, and they knew it.
    Nezdeh pushed back from the conference table. “Report to your stations.” She checked her wrist-comp. “We are in position. It is time.”

Chapter Nine
    In close orbit, and in the exosphere; V 1581 Four
    Jorge Velho, acting captain of the SS Arbitrage , cursed as the navplot stylus slipped out of his hand and—surprisingly, in his experience—fell to the deck. Granted, the speed of its fall was nothing like Earth norm. It was more like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pond, but still, it tricked his space-trained senses. He associated bridge duty with either free-fall or micro-gee, unless the engines were engaged. However, the Arbitrage ’s proximity to the gas giant that bore the chart label V1581 Four allowed it to exert almost a quarter gee on them.
    Velho’s XO, Ayana Tagawa, lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. However, his helmsman, Piet Brackman, emitted a sardonic snort. “Need a lanyard for that, sir?”
    Jorge tried to turn a stern gaze on Piet, but couldn’t keep a straight face. “Just steer this barge, you réprobo . You have little room to talk. You bounced off two walls in the galley before you found your footing, yesterday.”
    “That is not a fair comparison,” Piet complained. “The toruses were still rotating then. I had gee forces in two directions.”
    “As did the rest of us who were in the toruses. And who did not fall down.”
    “Eh, go back to Belém. Sir.”
    “Right after we drop you off in Pretoria. From orbit.”
    Ayana may have sighed. She often did when the two old friends began chiding each other. Her eyes had not strayed from the nav-plot: a 2-d representation with a faux-3-d “deep screen.” “Sir, we will need to reduce our velocity by four meters per second if we are going to stay within the optimal retrieval envelope for both our tanker-tenders.”
    Jorge Velho glanced over her almost elfin shoulder. “Is Deal One lagging again?”