"Enjoy your journey," Belazir said softly, "I have been pleased to be your host."
Soamosa's escaped! Amos's heart leapt, for a moment. Then, But with the Captain, she'll be infected. He visualized her vibrant young face slack and drooling. The effort of will needed to control the tears was as terrible as anything he had ever done.
And Joat is here. If I needed proof that this is a nightmare and not truly happening that would be it. For how could things possibly go so smoothly for this devil outside of his own mad dreams?
Amos felt his body being lifted and dropped unceremoniously into what felt like a coffin. It was cold, and his flesh wanted to shrink from the clammy surface, but could not.
Yet this is no nightmare, he thought, his mouth dry with fear. It is happening. And I must find a way to warn my people.
Mustering all of his concentration, he began to work at getting his eyes to open.
The Wyal dropped into the sidereal universe. Alarms began to ping.
"Detection," Rand's voice said. It was a little louder than usual. "Multiple power-plant neutrino signatures. Details follow."
Joat stared at the readouts and shut her mouth with a click. She gasped, fighting against the steel band that seemed clamped around her chest, feeling the clammy trickle of sweat down her flanks.
"What am I seeing?" she whispered.
"Between ninety-five and one hundred ships, depending on your definition of that term," Rand said. "Classes-"
Schematics came up on the screen. One of the ships was enormous, in the two-fifty kiloton range, a bulk carrier or possibly one of the seed-ships used to found planetary colonies back in the old days. The others were a wild mixture, but far too many for comfort had the neutrino-signatures of huge power-plants and drives, and the sleek build of warships designed to transit atmosphere. Constructs and habitats floated among the ships, and the com channels were buzzing with activity.
"Trouble," Bros said leaning over her shoulder. "That's what you're seeing." He pointed to one ship's image on the screen. "You recognize her?"
"I do," Joseph said grimly. "By its outline, it is the Dreadful Bride. Belazir's ship."
Joat nodded with a quirk of her lips.
"Well, good," she said firmly.
Both men straightened and looked at her.
"That is what we wanted," she explained. "No sense in complaining that our plans worked out just the way we expected them to." Her hands danced over the panel before her, broadcasting her identity.
"They're coming into visual range," Rand said. "Shall I put them on screen?"
"By all means," Joat said. "Let's be thoroughly intimidated."
"Ah, Boss." Alvec's voice came over the auditory system from the engineering spaces. "I can squeeze maybe three, four more lights out of this rustbucket, if you need 'em."
The Dreadful Bride, Belazir's own ship, sprang into view, heading the vast armada of smaller warships. The ship boasted new weapons pods, and showed signs of having used them, often. Long star-shaped ripple patterns-damage from beamers firing at extreme range-slashed the hull, and irregular patches laid over the worst damage marred its sleek length from stem to stern.
The marks only added to the Bride's menace, like battle scars on a human face.
Several of the warships were slovenly-looking. Probably freelancers-cum-pirates. Behind them loomed the vast bulk of the freighter, its great round belly blocking from view any other ships in Belazir's fleet.
"I can understand they'd need freighters," Seg muttered, "but that thing has to be a liability. It's completely vulnerable and look how slow it is." He shook his head. "I don't get it."
"That's the mothership," Bros explained. "Where the Kolnar keep their children and their pregnant wives. They breed like rabbits. That's not a joke, they're incredibly fertile and they never stop reproducing-twins, triplets, and the gestation period is only four months. They start breeding at ten standard years. So if that thing isn't full of baby pirates yet, it soon will be."
Seg looked mildly disappointed.
"Well, if they've got their children with them, they obviously don't want to make trouble."
The others stared at him.
"I mean, they wouldn't put their children at risk…" Everyone turned away, gazing studiously at the boards before them, into the forward screen, anywhere but at Seg.
"Well, we could be dangerous!" he snapped in exasperation.
"And what are we going to use to hurt them?" Joat asked sweetly. "Cutting remarks?" She smiled at his mulish expression. "We're barely armed, kid, which is more than most freighters can boast. But if you look out there," she indicated the forward screen, "you'll see the latest and best weaponry available on the black market."
"In other words," Bros said, "they don't have to make trouble, they are trouble."
"They're hailing," Rand told them.
"Forward screen," Joat said tensely, bracing herself in expectation of confronting a Kolnari.
The face on the view-screen was human-standard. A woman's face, bony, sallow, with the eyes of a dead fish, but human, Joat realized. More or less human. Not only a pirate, but willing to work for the High Clan of Kolnar.
"Captain Joat Simeon-Hap, cargo ship Wyal, we're here to pick up cargo for Nomik Ciety," she said as calmly as she could.
"Stand by for cargo transfer," the woman said, her voice as expressionless as her eyes. "And traveling instructions."
"Al," Joat asked, "will you and Rand take care of receiving those? I'm going down to supervise the loading."
"Will do," Alvec said crisply.
"Bros, Joe," she said, "will you come with me, please." Her heart was hammering in her chest, but her voice was flat calm. They were being treated like just another underworld courier. But they weren't "just another" anything and Joat was scared. Her name alone would be ringing up flags onboard the Dreadful Bride. Belazir t'Marid would be glad to see her, if not quite as glad as Channa or Simeon would make him.
She was in the hatchway, Bros and Joseph bunched up behind her when an all too familiar voice filled the bridge.
"One moment, Captain."
Joat could feel the blood draining from her face, vision dimming, her tongue thick enough to choke her. She turned to the screen.
"This is a most valuable cargo," Belazir said, with a gentle smile.
Joat leaned against the hatchway casually and raised an eyebrow. It was better than falling down, and she hadn't the strength to speak. When she'd known him before she'd had places to hide. Here there was nowhere to run.
He looked much older than she would have expected. Dangerous still, but much changed. Yeah. They age quickly, too. The face had lost its fallen-angel beauty, but none of the strength. And the golden lion's eyes were utterly mad.
"I've never damaged a cargo yet," she said at last.
"Still," Belazir said, steepling his hands before him, "I must ask that you leave one of your crew here as hostage. To insure that you will effect delivery with all care and speed."
Joat crossed her arms and walked forward, towards the smiling face in the screen.
"No," she said, calmly. "That's unacceptable. I need all of my crew. If that's unsatisfactory, I'm sure Mr. Ciety can find you a shipper more to your liking." She took her seat and looked up at the screen with her arms crossed, face a mask. But I'm glad he can't smell me.