Chapter One

  A dab of acrylic titanium white sat poised on the end of Coeur D'Esprit's paintbrush when she caught a motion in the corner of her eye and turned her head to study it. ANS Kukulcon, the system's largest defense boat, was gliding between Coeur's window and the watery globe of Aubaine depicted in her canvas.

  For an old space-hand, the 75, 000-ton monitor was not an unusual sight, but ships were Coeur's life, and she admired it as an architect might a well-constructed building. Roughly the shape of a flattened hammer, flying handle first, the monitor had begun her life as the imperial cruiser Vaward, but was damaged in the Final War and left behind when the imperium abandoned Vras 80 years before. Pleased by the gift, the invading Solomani then renamed the cruiser and began repairs in the hope that the ship would spearhead a final conquest of the sector.

  Nice plan. Too bad Virus beat you to it.

  Today, of course, Kukulcan didn't belong to either the imperium or the Solomani. Having outlived both her masters, the great hulk was now trapped in the Vras system (now renamed Aubaine), her jump drives cannibalized to equip the fledgling Reformation Coalition fleet. It was a practical necessity—and the monitor still served a useful purpose, defending the system with its long range meson gun—but there was nonetheless something sad about the great ship, likely never to fly in jump space again.

  Like an eagle, Coeur thought, with its wings clipped.

  But then the door chime rang, and Coeur snapped out of her reverie. Much as she would have liked it, she was not aboard a starship, but sitting in the living room of a claustrophobic space station apartment with her only companion a holovid screen, its volume turned down low to keep from distracting her as she painted. Yet even the holovid reminded Coeur that she was not where she wanted to be, for its live broadcast could only be heard close to Aubaine, where the limited freedom of Coeur's canvas was a poor substitute for the genuine freedom of flight among the stars.

  "That you, Crowbar? "she asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Please, come in."

  Answering her command, the door opened to reveal Crowbar, Coeur's bearded friend from the Technical Academy, as tall for a man at 188 cm as Coeur was for a woman at 175. Just departed from his work area, he wore the puffy vac suit that was his uniform, with the helmet stowed in elastic netting at the waist.

  "Sorry I didn't change, Red Sun, "Crowbar said, "but you know me. I get to working, and I lose all track of the time."

  "That's okay, "Coeur returned, hastily rising and removing the apron over her blouse and skirt. "I lost track of the time myself."

  "It is our day off, "the engineer said, stepping through the apartment threshold. "I guess we're entitled. Isn't that ASS Kukulcan?"

  Packing up her paints, Coeur grinned at the joke. When the fine people of Vras had renamed their planet Aubaine, no one had thought of the rude way the abbreviation for Aubani Space Ship would look in print Aubani Naval Ship was thus chosen as an altogether more polite alternative.

  "Sure is. Putting in for resupply, I imagine."

  "My god, she's big. You know it takes 500 engineers just to man her drives?"

  "I believe it. What's she put out, about a trillion watts?"

  "Man, "Crowbar said, shaking his head in amazement, "It's hard to imagine anyone could ever build anything that big."

  "I don't know. I've seen bigger."

  "Around here?"

  "No, I meant back in the old days."

  "Ah."

  Coeur smiled at that expression of understanding—the younger man's acceptance that his former captain, born on the human homeworld. Terra, had seen a world of wonders whose like he would probably not see in his lifetime.

  Though they were fairly close in age—she 32, he 26—the dark and thoughtful eyes of Coeur, brown as the hair she wore short for space duty, had seen the first acts of the farcical tragedy that destroyed all civilization 70 years ago. Still, it wasn't like Coeur to keep staring at the stage after they'd cleared away the sets. Crowbar knew she was a woman who lived in the present, and that was why they'd remained friends even after they'd ceased to be shipmates two months earlier.

  Left alone for a moment as Coeur went into the head in her bedroom to wash her hands. Crowbar found his attention drawn away from the old monitor and over to the painting of cloud-banded Aubaine Coeur had left standing on its easel. Although Coeur's holovid was also competing for his attention, running an unsubstantiated story about the mysterious"Solee Empire"— suspected of having destroyed several tree traders in Shenk subsector—Crowbar tuned out the news to focus instead on Coeur's artwork. Like most of her paintings, whether of people or planets, it seemed to strike a balance between meticulous detail and breezy energy, with a consequent sense of depth and realism rivaled only by holography.

  "Like it? "Coeur asked, coming out of her bedroom and putting on a vest.

  "It's very good. Is it for someone?"

  "Drop Kick, "Coeur answered, pausing beside Crowbar to admire her work. "He said he got himself promoted to Brigade Sergeant Major of the 1st Marine Brigade and wants a pointing to go with his new office."

  "Wow. So how's he rate?"

  "He asked very nicely, "Coeur said, moving around the back of the easel and bringing up a protective flap she dropped over the painting, "and paid me 200 credits in advance."

  "That's my skipper. Sentimentality be damned."

  "Damn straight, "Coeur answered, picking up a remote control to shut off her holovid, then coming around the easel to face Crowbar squarely. "And now, I assume I finally get to see what you did to my ship."

  "Hey, "Crowbar protested, "Hornet's my ship now, skipper. Nobody twisted your arm to take that new command."

  Coeur smirked.

  "Yeah, some command. Goodwrench says Sooty Vee'll be laid up 'til Reformation Day—15 weeks."

  "Well, she'll be a nice ship—whenever they get her back together again."

  Coeur gave her friend a wicked look, then steered him toward the door. "Come on. Crowbar. It'll be nice to see a ship that's in one piece for a change."

  ***

  From a distance, the RCES Orbital Station appeared deceptively small and simple—a spinning inhabited ring 500 meters across, attached by radiating spokes to a central dock and power plant. But it was large enough to support 1000 workers in continuous residence. A colorful collection—construction engineers undoing the damage of Virus and decades of neglect. Arses outfitting for the frontier, administrators pulling out their hair as they managed a patchwork comm net prone to switching errors—they made for a circus atmosphere befitting the official call sign of the station. Big Top.

  "This is ridiculous, "Crowbar said, maneuvering around a knot of frustrated new arrivals at the perennially disabled bank of elevators nearest Coeur's quarters. "If they'd just fix the elevators in Section 2, we could go directly from our quarters to the repair yard."

  "I'm sure they'll fix them eventually, "Coeur said, matching the tall man's pace in the wide thoroughfare beyond the elevators, curving up gently before and behind them. "It's just not a priority."

  "Yeah, but really. They've been working on it for two months, ever since we brought Hornet back."

  Coeur resisted the urge to comment further. In her temporary capacity as a technical adviser to expeditions outfitting at the station, Coeur had come into contact with specialists who knew the real reason the Section 2 elevator repairs were behind schedule, but the truth was too shocking to repeat—at least in a public walkway. Coeur, therefore, would wait to tell Crowbar until they were alone and out of earshot of the station's panicky civilians.

  "Well, you know—bureaucracy."

  "Tell me about it. It took me so tong to get data-disks for the student's computers, we had to write on paper for a few days."

  "Shocking."

  To Coeur's relief, the nearest elevator was unoccupied. They boarded it, and Coeur at last revealed the awful truth,

  "You might not want to spread this around, Crowbar, but I know the real reason the Section 2 elevators are taking so long to repair."

  "The real reason?"

  "The real reason, my friend. Is that a dormant strain of Virus is dug into the circuitry of those elevators."

  "A live strain of Virus? Loose on the station?"

  "Well, in a manner of speaking, yes, but I really don't think it's that serious. The way I hear it, it hasn't assimilated enough memory to become very intelligent, so the people making the repairs are taking them slow and easy, making sure all the communication links into the area are cut before they rip out the bad circuits Despite himself. Crowbar found his pulse racing at the captain's disclosure. That he wasn't ashamed of—Virus had killed 100 trillion people more than likely, and it would go on killing if they gave it a chance He was surprised, however, by the cool manner of his colleague, casually discussing the greatest evil ever unleashed on humankind.

  "Not serious? Red Sun, that's Virus you're talking about."

  "Sorry, Crowbar. I didn't mean to startle you. I just thought you should know what I've heard, being as you're in something of a position of authority yourself. More than me, really, since l'm just a staff adviser until they fix my ship."

  "Sorry, sir, "Crowbar said. "Maybe I'm overreacting. But it's just that I've seen vehicles infected with Virus, and man, they give me the willies something fierce."

  Coeur patted Crowbar on the puffy fabric over his shoulder.

  "We all have to die sometime, Crowbar. Fretting about it just wastes the time you've got living."

  "I suppose you're right. Captain. But all the same. I'd rather not die in a crazy elevator."

  "Oh, I don't know, I'm sure God takes the people who die stupid deaths, too."

  The elevator doors opened, letting them out in a less-travelled corridor near the outer skin of the station. Heavy bulkheads stood to either side of them, with iris valves set to slam shut automatically at any loss in pressure, and the corridor to left and right was dotted with rugged airlock hatches. Unlike the inner levels, the floor was uncarpeted metal, so the low heels of Coeur's sandals made ringing clicks as she walked behind Crowbar.

  "Hornet's right up this way, skipper, "Crowbar said. "Bay 43."

  "Do you want me to suit up? "Coeur asked, following him to the appropriate hatch.

  "No, don't worry about it, "Crowbar answered, running his pass key through a security lock beside the hatch. "Since it's the end of the week, I've given the students the day off, so there won't be any work going on inside."

  "All right."

  After digesting Crowbar's security code for a moment, the station computer decided it was safe to open the airlock's outer door and slid it aside with a pneumatic hiss. The Arses then entered the lock, and as soon as the outer door was closed, the inner door opened to let them into the bay.

  "That's Hornet“ Coeur asked, stepping just outside the airlock, then coming to a halt.

  "That's Hornet, all right. What do you think?"

  Coeur did not have a ready answer to so simple a question. The 200-ton freighter before her was Hornet all right, the ship that had carried them both to Ra and Sauler—into the very jaws of the Mercantile Guild. Now she was perched atop 1000 square meters of curved deck on tripod landing gear, but there were subtle differences in appearance that Coeur did not register all at once. It look a few moments to note them all, comparing the ship before her to the one in her memory.

  "The main alteration is the roll bar, "Crowbar said, moving out ahead of Coeur and letting his voice echo in the cavernous hangar. "We altered the shape to give more lift in atmosphere

  and enlarged the electronics pallet."

  "I see that, "Coeur said, "but correct me if I'm wrong—Isn't that a Catling gun up above the bridge? And a plasma gun in front of the port turret?"

  "Noticed those, did you?"

  "Noticed? Hell, they make the ship look Tike an assault lander."

  "Yeah, I suppose."

  "I assume they're mock-ups, though. What, did you get some kind of research grant to design new weapons mounts?"

  Crowbar didn't answer at first, adopting a sheepish expression.

  "Those aren't mock-ups. sir, "he said, coming back to Coeur. "They're real."

  "What?"

  "I know, it's weird. But there is an explanation."

  "I'm all ears."

  "Near as I can tell, the Admiralty sees Hornet as a sort of emergency backup for the bigger ships in the fleet. The way I hear it, when headquarters heard we were leaving the AO to look for the Guild base, bets were running 80-20 we'd never make it back alive. When we did, the Admiralty decided to let us keep improving the ship in case we'd ever have to take her out again."

  At a loss to come up with a better explanation than Crowbar, Coeur finally shrugged and returned her attention to the ship.

  "Well, anyway, it looks like a sensible arrangement. I assume you laid out the weapons to provide overlapping fields of fire."

  "Sure did. The machinegun covers the approach to the cargo ramp; the plasma gun covers the port side; and the old space combat laser covers the starboard."

  "Okay, so who shoots off the fireworks?"

  "The missile gunner. Snapshot always used to complain about having nothing to do on the ground, so I put the fire control for the close-in weapons in her old turret."

  "I'm sure she’d be pleased."

  "Whatever happened to her and Gyro?"

  "Oh, they're down at the dirtside academy. I requested they be assigned to Suleiman Victrix with me, but as long as the ship was going to spend several months in the yard, they figured they could use the time brushing up on their ship skills."

  "So, did anything ever develop between Snapshot and Drop Kick?"

  "Didn't ask."

  "Didn't ask?"

  "Figured it wasn't my business."

  "Oh."

  "So, "Coeur said, "what else have you done to my ship?"

  "How about this? "Crowbar said, leading her under the bridge, located in the starboard horn of the ship's pickle fork bow. "Seven centimeters of extra armor around the bridge, over the turret hardpoints and around the fuel lines. Doesn't add much weight to the ship, but it will stop a bolt from a plasma bazooka."

  "That's a good idea."

  "I thought you'd like it. I think your description of the armor she came with was pathetic. ""

  "Actually, I was being generous, I'm still amazed we took that ship into space combat and survived."

  "You're amazed? Just remember who would've had to put the ship back together if we'd been hit."

  "That's a strange thought, from someone who's just turned Hornet into an assault ship."

  Crowbar shrugged.

  "I think of the guns as a deterrent to violence. With all this firepower, most opponents would be intimidated into surrender."

  Coeur kept her answer to herself: Keep dreaming, Crowbar. The only deterrent most of those frontier thugs understand is a bullet in the head.

  "Never know, "she said, diplomatically. "Hopefully, you won't have to find out."

  The urgent beeping of Coeur's wrist communicator cut off further conversation. "Excuse me, "Coeur said, tapping the radio with the fingers of her right hand: "Red Sun, go ahead."

  "Red Sun, this is Big Top Control. We have an urgent Class III message for you on the scrambler from Trantown. Are you free to receive it?"

  Coeur and Crowbar exchanged impressed glances. Class III messages were of the highest priority—generally reserved for planetary emergencies—and neither had ever received one directly.

  "Stand by, Big Top. Crowbar?"

  "How about the bridge? "he offered. "That's pretty secure."

  "Yeah, that'll do."

  Since Hornet still recognized her last captain's security key. Crowbar did not have to precede Coeur into the ship. Instead, she activated the belly hatch behind the bridge and climbed up into the half-lit interior of the ship. This part of the ship, at least, was unchanged, and she found her way back to the familiar pilot's couch she had sat in for the better part of the last seven months.

  "Red Sun to Big Top. I'm back."

  "Affirmative. Stand by for feed."

  A brief pause followed, the time it took Big Top to tell the dirtside capital Coeur was ready to receive the message.

  "Red Sun, this is Hammer. I hope I didn't alarm you, but I

  figured this warranted the priority channel."

  "Commodore Lathrop? Sir, what's the emergency?"

  "Frankly, I'd rather tell you in person. Busy?"

  Well, Coeur thought, not busy enough to Ignore a summons from the director of the fleet!

  "No, sir."

  "Good. Then get yourself down to the administrative docks ASAP. I've ordered them to put a pinnace at your disposal."

  "I assume you're at the capital headquarters."

  "Affirmative. But don't bother to dress up; It's not an affair of state."

  "Understood. I'm on my way."

  "Oh, and one more thing. On the way, stop by and pick up Drop Kick."

  "Drop Kick, sir?"

  "Yes, the Marine you took with you to Sauler."

  "Yes, sir, I know who he is. Am I to assume he's waiting at Fort Brierly?"

  "Negative. When I contacted him a few minutes ago, he was on a commercial hovercraft off Michael's Reef. I've uploaded her position into the pinnace computer."

  "Understood.

  "This mission is top secret. Red Sun. As in your eyes only."

  "Roger that, sir."

  "I'll be waiting. Tran town out."

  Although she was inclined to wonder what could be so urgent in Trantown that it demanded an immediate audience with the RCES chief, Coeur resisted the impulse to sit and ponder the matter. Instead, she made immediately for the bottom hatch.

  ‘Top secret stuff, huh? "Crowbar said, turning from the pilot tube he'd busied himself adjusting as Coeur descended from the belly hatch.

  "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that."

 

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