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  Nor did he hope they would hit the Yk.64 enemy ship. They would make lousy projectiles—too slow and too small to do any damage, and anyway the Yk.64’s vector field would just shunt them away.

  No, Valk had fired off all his microdrones for another reason. He had disengaged their standard programming, specifically the collision avoidance algorithms. One by one, then in great numbers, they shot away from the Z.VII on perfectly flat trajectories that had them smash right into the walls of the wormhole.

  They were annihilated instantly, torn apart and converted into pure energy. Hundreds of impacts all in the space of a half second, each one giving off as much light and radiation as a nuclear blast.

  “Hellfire!” Lanoe shouted, which was apt whether he’d meant it to be or not. “Valk—I can see that right through my eyelids! What did you just do?”

  The pilot of the Yk.64 hadn’t been warned ahead of time to close his eyes.

  The Yk.64 was a smart machine. A microsecond after the flareup, its canopy polarized until it was completely opaque, blocking out every bit of that horrible light.

  It was an open question whether the pilot was permanently blinded before that happened. An academic question—with the canopy opaqued, there was no way he could see anyway. For about nine-tenths of a second, he was flying blind.

  Plenty of time for Valk to line up a good, solid shot, even at a distance. Of course Valk had been facing the light-blast, but unlike Lanoe or the pilot of the Yk.64, he didn’t need his eyes for what came next. He reached out into the raw code of the Z.VII’s sensors, synthesized the ones and zeroes into a perfect firing solution. He didn’t need to be able to see his hand to pull the trigger.

  PBW fire hit the Yk.64 enemy machine dead-on, cutting right through its vector field. The fighter broke into pieces, airfoils and weapons and thrusters all tumbling away from each other as the particle beam cut them apart like a scalpel.

  “Got another one,” Valk said.

  “As soon as I can see through all the spots in my eyes,” Lanoe told him, “I’d love to know what just happened. That was a great trick.”

  “Yeah,” Valk said. “Too bad I can only do it once.”

  Lanoe blinked and squinted and shook his head to clear the tears out of his eyes. The tunnel ahead of them was as crooked as a dog’s leg and he was taking it at top speed. If he wasn’t careful he’d brush the walls and finish the enemy’s work for them.

  Not that they needed much help. The remaining two fighters were catching up with them, fast. Lanoe had been lucky so far—well, he’d been lucky enough to have Valk crewing the guns for him—but the law of averages was running after them just as fast as their enemies. The two Yk.64s were firing indiscriminately now, wasting ammo on long-range shots that had very little chance of hitting the Z.VII as it wove through the corridors of the maze.

  “There was a side passage, back this way,” Lanoe said. “Remember?”

  “No,” Valk said.

  Lanoe laughed. “Yeah, well, it’s there. No idea where it leads but if we can get out into open space we can at least maneuver a little more. I’m going to make a hard turn in a second here. It might hurt a little.”

  “I’ll survive,” Valk told him.

  Lanoe nodded. Well, the big guy was probably right about that. He could take a lot more g forces than Lanoe could, after all.

  Still, this was not going to be fun.

  Most people thought of the wormhole network as a kind of superhighway system, a grid of streets that connected all the stars in human space. Pilots knew better. The system was a chaotic mess at best, a tangled and endlessly branching collection of tunnels with no clear semblance of order. Wormholes crossed each other at junctions, split off into dead ends and long loops that doubled back on themselves. Making it worse, there was no real map of the entire system, because it changed over time—only the widest and most heavily traveled routes stayed constant for long, and even those twisted and knotted themselves up when nobody was looking.

  You passed junctions and new tunnels all the time. Pilots had learned not to go exploring, in case they found themselves in a wormhole that went nowhere, or, worse, one that narrowed down until it was too tight a squeeze for even small ships like the Z.VII.

  Of course, sometimes you just had to take a chance.

  The two Yk.64s were almost on them. Valk laid down salvo after salvo of suppressing fire, but the fighters had velocity to spare—they swung and jinked back and forth as they came on, refusing to let themselves be decent targets. Lanoe studied the tunnel ahead, looking for the side passage he vaguely remembered. If it was farther down the tunnel than he thought—

  No. There it was. The ghostly vapor that steamed from the walls grew thicker up ahead. The sign of a junction. Lanoe pulled up his engine board and scrolled through a menu to the gyroscopic control settings. He had to confirm twice that he was really sure he wanted to disengage the rotary compensator.

  He was sure.

  “Hang on!” he said, and stabbed the virtual key.

  The recon scout twisted ninety degrees to the right in the space of a few milliseconds. The fuselage groaned under the stress as the engine tried to rip its way off its own mountings. There was a good reason you had to confirm twice to pull this stunt—there was a very real chance it would tear your ship in half.

  The effect on a soft human body could have been much worse. Lanoe’s inertial sink slammed him down as if he were being hammered into his seat. He couldn’t breathe. The blood in his body stopped moving and for a split second he went into cardiac arrest. Even his vision blurred to nothing as his eyeballs were flattened inside his head.

  Then the compensators snapped back on as alarm chime blared in Lanoe’s ears and his heart thudded in his chest as it started beating again. He made a horrible choking, gasping noise as his lungs reinflated.

  Up ahead of him, through his canopy, he could see the side passage. It wasn’t very long. He goosed his main thruster and sent the Z.VII rocketing down the tunnel, barely worrying about twists and turns.

  “Valk, you okay back there?” he called.

  There was no answer.

  Right behind him the two Yk.64s copied his turn perfectly. They didn’t so much as skid as they twisted around to follow him.

  Bastards.

  He would have to worry about Valk later. For the moment, all he could do was fly fast. Something he was very good at.

  Up ahead the tunnel ended in a lens of pure, unadulterated spacetime that looked like a glass globe, through which he could see only darkness. A wormhole throat—one of the exits from the maze. Lanoe had no idea what lay beyond. It could be a star with nice planets to hide behind, or it could be some forgotten corner of deep space, light-years from anything. It could open out into the event horizon of a black hole.

  Lanoe would have to take his chances. He punched through the lens—it offered no resistance—and into bluish-white light. His eyes adjusted and he saw stars, stars everywhere—speckles of white on a black background.

  Real, normal space. The kind that made up most of the universe. The void.

  For a fighter pilot like Lanoe, flying free through open space was the closest he ever felt to being home.

  He wasn’t safe, though. Right behind him, the two Yk.64s shot out of the throat side by side, their weapons still glowing in the infrared. They converged on him, a classic pincer maneuver, and then—

  They stopped. For a second they just hung there behind his shoulders, ready to blast him to smithereens. Then they twisted around and shot back through the throat. Back into wormspace.

  A second later Lanoe realized why. A green pearl appeared in the corner of his vision, his suit telling him he had an incoming call.

  “Reconnaissance scout, please identify. This is a Naval installation and off-limits to unauthorized personnel. Repeat, reconnaissance scout, please identify. This is …”

  Some of those twinkling lights all around him weren’t stars after all. His displays showed him mag
nified, light-enhanced views of dozens of spacecraft, all of them military. Patrol ships, command vessels, destroyers, and cruisers. Plenty of cataphract-class fighters, all of them painted with the three-headed eagle of the Navy of Earth. Clearly, Centrocor’s pilots had no interest in tangling with that much firepower.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy to see his own people.

  Chapter Three

  There wasn’t enough air.

  The planet wasn’t habitable, not by civilized standards. Little water, very little infrastructure. The air was so thin Ashlay Bullam needed to sip at an oxygen pipe just to keep her head from swimming.

  A dusty little world orbiting a dim little star. A hundred thousand people lived on Niraya, but she was damned if she could figure out why.

  Bullam had been forced to bring all her creature comforts with her. A table in her cabin had been laden with a variety of foodstuffs for her to choose from. “These,” she said. She jabbed one gold-encased finger at a tray of canapés. Locally sourced meat wrapped in lettuce that had to be shipped in from another planet, because of course Niraya couldn’t support real agriculture. Well, the dainties she’d picked weren’t completely inedible. The drone zipped away and Bullam walked out onto the open deck of the yacht where her guest was waiting.

  Niraya didn’t have a functional government. No bureaucracy to work with, no local warlord to flatter or threaten. Religious officials were the closest thing to actual leaders on the backwater world. So Bullam was forced to deal with a woman named Elder McRae, who represented the Transcendentalist faith. It wasn’t going to be easy doing business with that sort, but Bullam was very good at her job.

  The Elder stood at the wooden railing, looking down. At the moment the yacht was just drifting along, twenty meters above the only real city on the planet, a place called Walden Crater. Just like the Nirayans to name their capital after a hole in the ground.

  “Elder McRae,” Bullam said, putting on the smile she used for people she wished to show official deference. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me. I apologize—do you embrace on Niraya, or shake hands? So many different planets, you know, each with its own customs. I do like to get them right.”

  The old woman turned from the railing and looked at Bullam without any sign of emotion. She wore a simple tunic and skirt and she could have been a thousand years old or only sixty. A religious functionary, from an order that rejected any kind of cosmetic therapy. On another world that lined and craggy face might have frightened children, but here it was apparently a sign of wisdom and restraint.

  Bullam wondered how the Elder must see her, in her fractal lace dress and her gold finger stalls. She had sculpted her features until she looked just like she had at twenty-five, and had her hair streaked with white and blue. Most likely the Elder would see a decadent plutocrat. Well, if the woman underestimated her, that could be turned to Bullam’s advantage.

  “I would think,” the Elder said, “that you would have been briefed before you came here. We shake hands.”

  Bullam laughed and held out her right hand. The Elder grasped it for a moment, then released it. “Of course, but there’s so little time in the day. I just had so many things to do I couldn’t get through the whole file on Niraya. There were other parts of it I found much more interesting. It’s not every planet I visit that’s been attacked by aliens.”

  The Elder shook her head. “Alien drones. There’s a difference.”

  “Certainly. Will you sit and have some refreshment?” Bullam led the Elder to a low table at the prow of the yacht. Together they sat down on cushions and took flavored water and little nibbles. The Elder ate sparingly. “You’ll be wondering why I asked for this meeting, I’m sure.”

  “I imagine I have a good idea. You’re a Centrocor executive. Customer relations?”

  Bullam demurred by lowering her chin. “My position is a little more fluid than that. You could say I’m the poly’s head troubleshooter. I do odds and ends, but if you like, today I’m speaking to you as a customer support representative. Centrocor has a deep interest in keeping you happy.”

  “Centrocor has the monopoly on Niraya’s resources and products. For many years your poly ignored us as an unprofitable investment of little value or interest.”

  “Come now,” Bullam said. “We’ve provided you with everything you needed for terraforming your world. We’ve shipped you food when you couldn’t grow enough on your own, provided you with construction equipment to improve your infrastructure—”

  “Because we are legally required to purchase such things only from you. Enough,” the Elder said, and raised a hand for peace. “I have no interest in the economics of interstellar trade. That’s your job. The point is that Centrocor is suddenly very interested in Niraya because a few months ago a fleet of alien drones arrived here. For the first time in human history, contact was made with another intelligent species. You’ve come to determine how your poly can make a profit out of that.”

  Bullam shrugged. The woman had it mostly right, after all. “Naturally,” she said, “the financial implications matter to us. I won’t pretend otherwise. Yet we also want to express our deep concern for the people of Niraya, and make sure you’re recovering well from this dreadful invasion. We value our clients.”

  “Do you?” The Elder set down her cup. “When the aliens first attacked this planet, we begged Centrocor for help in keeping us safe. We were utterly ignored.”

  “A terrible oversight, and one we regret—”

  The Elder wasn’t even looking at her. “We weren’t valuable enough, then. You would have let us all die.” There was no tone of reproach in her voice. It sounded more like a dry statement of fact. “If it weren’t for Commander Lanoe and his squadron, we wouldn’t be here now.”

  “I think you’re being modest there, by failing to mention your own part in the defense of Niraya,” Bullam said. “From what I’ve been told, you acted quite heroically.”

  “I did my part, that’s all.” The Elder put a hand on the yacht’s railing and looked over the side, at the city below. “On this planet, we respect plain speech, M. Bullam. Perhaps you’ll simply tell me what you want with us.”

  “To help! Really, that’s why I’m here. Centrocor knows what you’ve been through. We can provide all kinds of services, from emergency aid to grief counseling to—”

  “We need a new power plant.”

  Bullam smiled. Finally, the negotiations could begin.

  “One of our plants was destroyed in the fighting. We’ve been struggling with energy shortages ever since. We don’t have the ability to build a new one on our own.”

  “Of course. I can have a construction team here tomorrow.”

  “Good. What will it cost us?”

  Bullam drew in a deep breath. “A signature. Just one,” she said.

  That got the Elder’s attention. The old woman’s lips pursed as if she’d tasted something sour. “Explain,” she said.

  “You’re the closest thing to a civilian authority on this planet. I need you to sign a form—a standard waiver, nothing complex—that frees Centrocor from any liability stemming from the invasion.”

  The Elder watched her with those emotionless eyes.

  Bullam lifted one hand and let it flutter in the air dismissively. “We can’t stop you from taking legal action against us, of course. The charter that let you settle this planet preserved that right. You could file any number of official charges against the poly, either individually or in a class action. Of course, you would never win anything. You would spend what little money you have simply to file all the necessary forms and you would never get close to scratching the wall of legal protections Centrocor has woven around itself. We have a standing army of lawyers just for cases like this, and—”

  “Stop,” the Elder said.

  Bullam chose to keep going. “The point is, you wouldn’t get anything out of legal action except to bankrupt an already suffering planet. But
Centrocor is willing to be generous here, and save both parties a great deal of time and expense. If we can all come out of this friends, well—so much the better. So I’m authorized to give you what you want, in exchange for a simple promise.”

  “You want me to prevent my people from filing lawsuits against your poly.” The Elder nodded, slowly. “For a new power plant? I can do that.”

  Lanoe put up his helmet and punched the key that opened his canopy to the void of space. The flowglas parted over him with a rush of escaping air, then melted back into the fuselage until he could climb out of his seat and onto the hull of the recon scout. He swung himself around and then, using handholds welded to the fuselage, made his way back to the observation blister. Within, he could see Valk sitting in the gunner’s seat. At least, he could see Valk’s suit. The helmet was down, and the empty suit had crumpled forward, one arm drifting in the lack of gravity.

  That wasn’t good.

  Lanoe opened the blister. He braced himself against the fuselage and reached inside with one arm. Valk’s suit flopped away from him as he touched it. Only the crash restraints kept it from floating out of the open blister. Cursing and stretching, Lanoe eventually managed to grab on to the suit’s collar ring. He found the recessed key that manually controlled the helmet and jabbed it with his index finger.

  The helmet expanded like a black soap bubble. The polarized helmet was the closest thing Valk had to a face, and when it was up he looked a lot more lifelike. Knowing what to expect, Lanoe pulled his arm back. After a second, the suit jerked and went rigid, and over his suit radio Lanoe could hear Valk gasp and sputter as he came back to life.

  “Hellfire,” the big guy whispered. “Lanoe—how long was I out?”

  “Just a few minutes. I considered letting you stay down for a while, but I’m afraid we still have work to do.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Valk sounded like a man who’d been woken from a sound sleep. As if the g forces of their escape from the wormhole maze had knocked him unconscious, and he was just now coming to.