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Authors: Stephen Ames Berry
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true that a S'Cotar transmute could have telekinetically reprogrammed this pod's computer. . . . Check the upper levels," he said, motioning toward the stairway.
"For what?"
"Anything that looks out of place. Everything should be as spare and as orderly as on this level. Check the storage lockers and bins, food processors—anywhere something small could be hidden. If you find anything unusual, anything at all, use your communicator and call me. I'll be checking number two. Meet me in front of three when you've finished."
She nodded and was halfway up the stairs, blaster in hand, by the time R'Gal reached the exit.
"Anything from Alpha PrimeT' asked L'Wrona as K'Raoda relinquished the command chair.
"Nothing," said the first officer, resuming his station.
Both men looked at the main screen—-the mindslaver hung there, a great dark menace out of legend, intimidating by its very existence.
"Fine," said the captain. "Let's fill our empty moments with a tactical exercise."
"Sir?" said K'Raoda, exchanging puzzled glances with T'Ral.
"Assume," said L'Wrona, fingertips pressed together, "that there's a third ship close by, a warship about our size. It's sitting dark and camouflaged, watching. Assume further that our sensors have picked it up, but are unable to correlate key data because of Fleet's restrictive programming overlay. How do we get a readout?" He looked at T'Ral.
"N-gravs," said the third officer. Turning to his console, he busied himself at the complink. No one noticed D'Trelna enter the bridge.
"Of course," said K'Raoda. "He has to be using them to counter his drift. Just a burst, now and then, but—"
"But enough," grinned T'Ral, looking up. "Five-one-seven, mark four-one. Previously charted as an asteroid."
"Tight-beam transmission to that asteroid, please," said D'Trelna. He took his seat, oblivious to the stares that followed his hovering companion. "Use alpha channel, and transmit in battlecode."
"Sir," said K'Lana, "alpha channel's a Fleet intership tactical band. And ..."
A glance from D'Trelna stopped her. "Do it," he said.
"Transmitting," she said a moment later.
L'Wrona walked to the commodore's station. "I can think of only one man who'd come into this quadrant after us, J'Quel."
"Before us," said D'Trelna. "Had to be. Otherwise, we'd have made him." He flipped the commswitch. "Implacable to unknown ship—acknowledge."
On Victory Day, A'Tir turned to K'Tran, shaking her head. "Incoming transmission on the tactical band. Implacable 's made us."
The other corsair shrugged. "Much good it'll do them." He touched his commkey.
The image on Implacable' s main screen changed from that of the mindslaver to the smiling face of Captain K'Tran. He wore the standard brown K'Ronarin uniform with the stylized silver ship of a starship captain on the collar. "Victory Day on your flank, Commodore. How stands the Fleet?"
A ripple of anger swept Implacable^ bridge—just about everyone had lost friends to the K'Tran's killers.
"K'Tran, you renegade butcher," growled D'Trelna. He stood, face flushed, eyes blazing with hate. "How dare you render the greeting of honorable men? How dare you wear the uniform of your victims? You parasitic v'org slime—''
"You're being wearisome, D'Trelna," said K'Tran easily. "You've made us, but I fail to see what you can do about it. Start blasting away, that slaver's going to wipe you."
The commodore sat down, recovering. "It'd be worth it, to dispose of you. . . . Some scum paying you slime to follow us?" he asked, dialing up a fruit drink.
"Now, D'Trelna, you know I can't betray a client's confidence," said the corsair. "Though, had I known about the mindslaver, we'd have found an easier mark. Like Prime Base. And as soon as it breaks your command up for parts, we'll be on our way."
D'Trelna shook his head. "We go, you go. My word on it." He swiveled his chair. "Egg," he said to the slaver machine, "by how much must we boost signal power for Alpha Prime to detect
"For what?"
"Anything that looks out of place. Everything should be as spare and as orderly as on this level. Check the storage lockers and bins, food processors—anywhere something small could be hidden. If you find anything unusual, anything at all, use your communicator and call me. I'll be checking number two. Meet me in front of three when you've finished."
She nodded and was halfway up the stairs, blaster in hand, by the time R'Gal reached the exit.
"Anything from Alpha PrimeT' asked L'Wrona as K'Raoda relinquished the command chair.
"Nothing," said the first officer, resuming his station.
Both men looked at the main screen—-the mindslaver hung there, a great dark menace out of legend, intimidating by its very existence.
"Fine," said the captain. "Let's fill our empty moments with a tactical exercise."
"Sir?" said K'Raoda, exchanging puzzled glances with T'Ral.
"Assume," said L'Wrona, fingertips pressed together, "that there's a third ship close by, a warship about our size. It's sitting dark and camouflaged, watching. Assume further that our sensors have picked it up, but are unable to correlate key data because of Fleet's restrictive programming overlay. How do we get a readout?" He looked at T'Ral.
"N-gravs," said the third officer. Turning to his console, he busied himself at the complink. No one noticed D'Trelna enter the bridge.
"Of course," said K'Raoda. "He has to be using them to counter his drift. Just a burst, now and then, but—"
"But enough," grinned T'Ral, looking up. "Five-one-seven, mark four-one. Previously charted as an asteroid."
"Tight-beam transmission to that asteroid, please," said D'Trelna. He took his seat, oblivious to the stares that followed his hovering companion. "Use alpha channel, and transmit in battlecode."
"Sir," said K'Lana, "alpha channel's a Fleet intership tactical band. And ..."
A glance from D'Trelna stopped her. "Do it," he said.
"Transmitting," she said a moment later.
L'Wrona walked to the commodore's station. "I can think of only one man who'd come into this quadrant after us, J'Quel."
"Before us," said D'Trelna. "Had to be. Otherwise, we'd have made him." He flipped the commswitch. "Implacable to unknown ship—acknowledge."
On Victory Day, A'Tir turned to K'Tran, shaking her head. "Incoming transmission on the tactical band. Implacable 's made us."
The other corsair shrugged. "Much good it'll do them." He touched his commkey.
The image on Implacable' s main screen changed from that of the mindslaver to the smiling face of Captain K'Tran. He wore the standard brown K'Ronarin uniform with the stylized silver ship of a starship captain on the collar. "Victory Day on your flank, Commodore. How stands the Fleet?"
A ripple of anger swept Implacable^ bridge—just about everyone had lost friends to the K'Tran's killers.
"K'Tran, you renegade butcher," growled D'Trelna. He stood, face flushed, eyes blazing with hate. "How dare you render the greeting of honorable men? How dare you wear the uniform of your victims? You parasitic v'org slime—''
"You're being wearisome, D'Trelna," said K'Tran easily. "You've made us, but I fail to see what you can do about it. Start blasting away, that slaver's going to wipe you."
The commodore sat down, recovering. "It'd be worth it, to dispose of you. . . . Some scum paying you slime to follow us?" he asked, dialing up a fruit drink.
"Now, D'Trelna, you know I can't betray a client's confidence," said the corsair. "Though, had I known about the mindslaver, we'd have found an easier mark. Like Prime Base. And as soon as it breaks your command up for parts, we'll be on our way."
D'Trelna shook his head. "We go, you go. My word on it." He swiveled his chair. "Egg," he said to the slaver machine, "by how much must we boost signal power for Alpha Prime to detect
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