Loitering in the dark, shipskin aligned to full absorptive mode, the Wilful lay at the edge of the debris cloud generated by the destruction of the Khaiden battleship Khorku. The region of radioactive metal ash left behind by fusion containment failure served the little freighter as an extra screen, hiding her from the intermittent lidar scans emitting from the enemy ships still in the vicinity of the Pinhole. On her bridge, De Molay had moved back to the captain’s station, her puffy black jacket, blankets, and the shepherd’s cap supplemented by thick woolen gloves. The environmental systems were still trying to recover from their ill-use during the rescue efforts.
The old woman had her eyes closed, and a faint snore escaped her lips.
Thai-i Patzanil-who seemed very young to De Molay, far too young to be aboard a ship-of-war, much less acting as her navigator-was watching the plotting projection and the status boards. Weary himself, he stood and paced around the periphery of the tiny Command, peering at the old-fashioned dials on the equipment and idly fingering the cracked leather seat-backs. When he’d returned from the head, something had changed on the plot and he sat down hurriedly, red-rimmed eyes scanning the boards.
“ Sencho? Sencho De Molay?”
The old woman opened one eye halfway, squinting at the boy.
“The Khaid main fleet is in motion, kyo. They’re making for the Pinhole.”
De Molay sat up, rolled her neck, and gestured for him to update the plotting projection. When the holo had refreshed, she pursed her lips, brows drawing tight. “Tired of testing the waters, hey? Has there been any sign of the Kader? ”
Patzanil shook his head. “They’ve been down behind the radar shadow of the Tlemitl for at least two hours. Recovery operations must be complete by now, so I don’t know-”
“ Chu-sa Hadeishi has something in mind, I’m sure.” The old woman scratched at the edges of the gel sealing her face wound. On the plot, the Khaid battlewagons had formed into an evenly spaced line and were picking up velocity. The other, smaller ships were also in motion-save one.
“What are they leaving behind, Thai-i?”
Patzanil was already correlating the emissions data. “Something in a destroyer’s mass-range, kyo. Might be a Mishrak -class-we’d identified a couple of them in the attacking force before the Gladius went down.”
“We’ll stay well away,” De Molay said, settling back into her cocoon. “Any others left behind?”
“ Hai, kyo. Three others-same general class-at the corners of the box.”
“Sentries, then.” On the plot, the last of the Khaid heavies had disappeared behind the seemingly invisible veil of the Barrier. She nodded to herself, making some mental calculation. “Very good.”
The boy looked at her expectantly for a moment, but De Molay closed her eyes again.
“Ah, Sencho-sana?” His voice was tight, hinting at an internal conflict between well-ingrained Fleet duty and the plain fact that the old woman was not a Fleet officer.
“Yes, Thai-i,” De Molay responded. “You can get something to eat.”
“Thank you, kyo!” He was up and out of his seat and through the hatchway before she could open both eyes. When she had sat up fully, he was long gone. De Molay laughed softly to herself, then keyed into her console and-after negotiating several authorization screens-brought up the t-relay interface. Then she sat for a moment, considering the plot and tapping her fingers slowly on the edge of the console.
Not that much time to dither, the old woman thought. The boy will be back soon, and I’ve no surety the Khaid will not return swiftly, or that reinforcements have not been summoned. The iron is hot, so we must strike. She wondered if Hadeishi and his reclaimed cruiser were still busy recovering the crew of the super-dreadnaught, but her window of opportunity was terribly short. The Order masters would say to act in the moment of balance, De Molay remembered from an old book she’d been forced to read in the collegium.
She shook her head and keyed open a comm channel. The message had been composed in her mind for at least a day, but she had needed the bridge to herself before risking a transmission.
Peregine, Pervicax transmito. Cohortes imperatoris deletae sunt. Khai sepulchrum intraverunt. Quinque custodes Khaianes consisti sunt, whispered out into the aether.
De Molay felt a mingled sense of relief and wary anticipation. There had been a dozen times in the last week that she’d expected to be incinerated, or captured, or simply vanish in the blossoming flare of an antimatter detonation. But-somehow-she had won through, and now her entire purpose had been discharged with a single message. One which will likely go The console chimed softly, indicating an incoming message spooling through the relay. She stiffened, startled to receive such a quick reply.
The message read: Venimus. Signa transitu pone pro insertio directio teleportano. Evigila.
Ready we shall be, then. By the Lord, they must be close by.
Her attention shifted to the plot. All four Khaid destroyers on sentry duty remained in their watchful pattern. No missile launches were detected by the forest of sensors extruded from the hull of the Wilful, no movement towards her on their part. De Molay settled back, wincing a little at the enduring pain in her face, her side, and her leg. I am far too old for this, she grumbled mentally.
Which, said a voice much like her own-damnable conscience!- is why you’d retired. Why exactly did you volunteer for this excursion?
Patzanil clattered onto the bridge, a large bowl tucked under one arm. The smell washed over her like the tidal return from Port Valletta on a long, hot summer day.
“Is it meatlog?” she asked politely.
The Thai-i gave her a devil-may-care smile. “I don’t know, but if the Khaid can eat it, I can, too.”
De Molay suppressed a laugh. “Back to sleep for me, then. Nothing new on the plot.”