Hearts and Swords: Four Original Stories of Celta Read online

  She hadn’t told him everything. But he was better with action, himself. And the first thing he needed to do was secure this room his Fern and his helpless friends were in.

  Every muscle shaking with effort, he rocked forward to hands and knees, biting the inside of his mouth to keep from crying out in pain.

  On Earth, he’d lived and worked with the underground psi movement before they’d put the money together to buy their own starships. Before they left for a new home they would shape better than Earth.

  He was no stranger to pain, but his vision was blurry, his hands trembled, his muscles quivered. This, he was not used to.

  “So many bad feelings.” Chloe rubbed her hands up and down her skinny arms. “The mutineers . . . conspirators . . . here aren’t our worst problem. They’ve been ramming the door every week, but it’s solid. We must go!” She pushed an anti-grav pallet to him. “Get on the cot and we’ll head to the Captain’s Quarters where we can plan. It’ll take a couple of days for you to adjust and be able to walk.”

  Chloe glanced at the main door, still being battered. “That entrance should hold for another day or two. Come on! Something else is wrong. I feel it in my bones. That’s why I woke you.”

  “No cot, and I’m not leaving yet.” He had to protect his wife and his friends from the conspirators. He slid, centimeter by painful centimeter, off the platform. Leaned on it and hauled in heavy breaths. He stood, hunched and hanging on, forcing his feet to take his weight, his blood to pump vertically and not horizontally. He refused to moan again.

  The bay was lit dimly, as if only enough stingy power to keep the cryonics going was allowed. There were no techs. His nose twitched and he thought he scented the odd tang of cryonic nano machines working without supervision.

  Chloe said, “We closed this room down for security reasons years ago to ensure there were no threats to the sleepers.”

  Slowly, slowly he straightened, put his teeth in his cheek again, and let pain sharpen his eyes and stared at Fern’s tube. The roundness of her thigh was visible. He swallowed hard. How he loved her.

  “Come on!” Chloe demanded. “The past is gone. We must see to the future.”

  Turning away from Fern was a hard, hard thing to do. His eyes focused on red lights. The module next to the main security doors showed four red lights indicating failure of defenses and one green, indicating good. He staggered toward the door, robe flapping. The room seemed kilometers long; each step he swayed, caught his balance, and moved on. He had to protect the sixty . . . fifty-nine . . . other sleepers. Fern. His friends.

  “By the Lady and Lord, you’re walking! Eh, your reflexes were always good. Going in the wrong direction, though.” Chloe caught up with him, her bony fingers curved around his biceps. Throwing him off balance. He stumbled, plowed on.

  “We can’t deal with the security door now!” she whispered.

  “We will deal with the door’s defenses now,” he croaked.

  His ears cleared enough to hear echoing voices outside the door. “Get the sleepers; they suck our energy. Us or them!” A wild laugh.

  Shouts of agreement. Pounding.

  Kelse fell against the door. Now he felt the punishing vibration. He had to protect. Somehow. Protect. He felt a small drain of energy, his head went muzzy. Blinking away the fog, he angled to straighten and saw that the security indicators had gone from four red lights and one green to three red lights and two green.

  A harsh intake of breath from Chloe. “You augmented the shields with your psi power!” She passed her hand near the door and he could almost see forcefields—tech and psi. Which he couldn’t before. He didn’t understand it, but he’d felt it. Panting, he decided to think about that later.

  When Chloe turned back to him, her face was grim. “Please, Kelse, we need to go. The doors will hold. You’ve given them enough energy for a week.” Staring into his eyes, she waited three beats and said, “You’re needed elsewhere for other problems. I feel it.”

  Always the same, he was needed to fix problems.

  He pivoted, reeled away. The pounding seemed to lessen on the door.

  As he wove toward the emergency access hatch where Chloe stood, he saw her slump, shake her head. She leaned against the wall.

  “What’s happened?” he asked. “What did you foresee?”

  “Nothing. I’m not a prophet. Just follow hunches now and then, is all. I’m the ship’s Exec. The Captain’s Exec.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. For a moment her phrasing tugged at his memory—ship, intelligence—then it was gone.

  She stowed the anti-grav cot, gestured to the emergency hatch and the dark hole leading to the guts of the ship.

  He hesitated, but there were no more blows against the door. Yells were fading. Staying here wouldn’t bring him the information he needed to counter any threats. He had to act. He wasn’t a sleeper now, someone helpless and at the mercy of a mob. Nothing he hated more than a mob hunting psis.

  “The Captain’s Quarters is secure and runs the ship?” he asked. He could get answers there, check on the conspirators, wring info from a less distracted Chloe.

  “Yes. We’d be there by now if you hadn’t lingered.”

  His steps went thump, thump, thump. He wasn’t walking well, couldn’t summon the grace to prowl as he had in the alleys of greater NJNY when he lived off the grids.

  Chloe slipped a strand of her short white hair behind her ear. Tear tracks silvered her cheeks. “Whatever’s happened has happened. Too late now,” she murmured. “We must focus on the future.”

  Her narrowed gaze swung to him. “I was right to Wake you. I know it. You’re walking well. You always had good psi—Flair, we call it now. And we’ve found it increases while in cryogenic stasis. We all get a boost in personal psi.”

  “Nice,” he croaked, but his mind was clearing and zooming in ten different directions. The adrenaline reaction to threat—kicking in too late as far as he was concerned. His physical reactions were off. Unsurprising but unwelcome. He’d always prided himself on his reflexes.

  Though she pretended calm, anxiety tightened Chloe’s aged skin, sharpened her rounded features. She stood aside as he approached, whispered, “Now that they know they can’t break in, they’ll leave soon, probably to one of the entertainment lounges. Battering the door is just fun for most of them.”

  He gritted his teeth against fury. Liking to wreck things was fun. Threatening helpless lives was fun.

  There were thrumming footfalls near, running people—away from the cryonics bay door, along the corridor beyond this space. Retreating!

  With infinite, silent slowness he lifted one foot over the low bottom sill of the panel, drew in the other foot, slipped sideways behind a foam metal girder, around a huge tube that radiated heat. Chloe pulled the panel close, and Kelse angled, watching the faint shine-under-dust of the cryonics vanish, straining for the last sight of Fern. Then it was dark and the only sound was Chloe’s shallow breathing and his own less even breaths.

  He was Awake and without his woman.

  Fern was asleep, maybe dreaming of their life together, unknowing of danger.

  He hurt. “What happened?” he asked. His words were barely a breath of sound.

  Her smile was more a mouth-turned-up rictus. “You want to read the histories, they’re available. But I always thought you were a bottom-line guy.”

  “I am. Give me the short version.”

  “Something harmed the ships after we exited the second wormhole. We think either the hole vortices or space warped our fuel cells. Or our fuel might have been substandard.” Her smile was vicious. “We wouldn’t be around to complain to the seller, would we? We couldn’t make our original planet, and that section of space had been mapped. There were no Earthlike planets within reach of our drives. But there was a relatively close wormhole and our main astrophysicist had heard that the space beyond was very promising for colonization. And unpopulated by Earth assholes. We decided to risk it.”


  Kelse frowned. “A wormhole screwed with the ships—we still have three ships?” They’d all been refurbished, all different designs. What the Colonists could find and afford.

  Chloe nodded.

  “Good. So a wormhole screwed with the ships and someone decides to go through another wormhole?”

  “Kelse, you’ve been in situations of certain death and risk. That’s what we had then. That’s what we have now.”

  Everything in him chilled. “And that’s why I was Awakened.”

  “Yes!” Chloe said, as if she’d just realized that herself. “You never give up,” she said simply.

  He’d believed with all his heart when he’d entered the ship hand in hand with Fern that they were on their way to a bright new future, a green planet where they wouldn’t have to fight other people, only nature.

  He’d been wrong.

  Fighting was his life. Why had he thought he’d ever escape that? Chill slithered through him. “How long has it been?”

  She looked back over her shoulder. “Two hundred and fifty years.”

  He lost his balance and bumped into girders. They gave off low, hollow sounds. Fear pitched in his gut like biting poison.

  They’d planned for the journey to take, worst-case scenario, a century and a half. Had hoped for seventy-five years. With seventy-five years, even a century, they’d have had elders in the crew who’d lived on Earth.

  Chloe said, “We’ve passed by ten star systems that had unviable or marginally habitable planets. No other spacefarers. Maybe because of the bad wormholes.” She shrugged. “Maybe not.”

  He managed to weave around the next few girders. His muscles were warming, working, moving more smoothly than jerks. He was thankful.

  Chemicals and cryonics, psi and magic had kept him well. That had gone right, at least.

  Finally Chloe and he reached another emergency access panel. It had security features, a keypad, DNA scan, retina scan. All looked clean and functional.

  Chloe jerked her head at the setup. “I programmed it for you when I left the Captain’s Quarters.”

  He swiped his finger, stared into a blank panel. “Kelse Bountry recognized,” said a flat metallic voice. Then the keypad lit.

  “Code is the day you proposed to Fern.” Chloe gave an old woman’s cackle. “Not in any of our records, but you won’t forget the day.”

  No one who’d fought the mob out for psi blood in NJNY would forget that day. He’d nearly lost Fern. Had decided that he must speak after all, though loving and marrying was crazy under the circumstances. He’d never forget the bruise on her cheek, or the feel of blood running down his face from his scalp, when they finally reached safety and he asked her to marry him.

  Yes, he remembered the day and he entered the date. The door panel glowed and Chloe pushed it. “Only you and I and the Captain are authorized.” She went into the room and gasped.

  He stepped through the door and smelled blood and death.

  Two

  Chloe rushed to a large red stain on the rug before the command center. Stooped and brushed the fibers, lifted bloody fingers, and began keening. “Kiet! The Captain!” she wept.

  “Hang on for a minute and let me think,” Kelse said.

  The main door of the Captain’s Quarters was slightly open. Memory clunked in Kelse’s mind. This door wasn’t a double metallic one that could be short-circuited or jammed. His glance went to the hinges. The reinforced shielding around them was still good. Someone inside had opened it.

  Walking toward the door, he looked into the dim light of the corridor indicating night hours. No one. The security pad next to the door showed no forcing. Where were the cameras?

  He shut the door and moved back to Chloe, who was rocking and whimpering. Again foul scent wrapped around Kelse, the first was the odor of poison, usually delivered by dart. Then he smelled the fragrance of a man he’d known. A tall, elegant man, beautiful in the way of so many mixedrace people. “Kiet Moungala.”

  Chloe nodded, tears trailed down her creased cheeks. She shuddered, pulled a cloth from a hidden pocket, and wiped her fingers. She circled the command center, touched the surface panel, wheezed out a breath. “The console locked down.” Her fingers flew across the glass. “I’ve opened it with my code.” She tapped the large screen. “Locating Captain Moungala immediately by his geo wristband.”

  Kelse joined her to view the map on the console in time to see a human icon show up, colored black.

  “Black! He’s dead!”

  Kelse stepped close. Put an arm around her waist. “I’m sorry.”

  Her hands fisted. “They did this. They killed him.” She trembled with rage. “Mutineers,” Chloe said stubbornly. “They may not have taken over the ship,” her voice broke. “But they killed the Captain.”

  As they watched, the icon blinked out, leaving only a tiny orange glow.

  “What does that mean?” Kelse asked.

  Chloe hunched a shoulder. “They put his body in the decomposer. They couldn’t turn off or destroy the Captain’s wristband.”

  “That’s the orange glow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s the security force?” Kelse asked.

  “Show Moncrief, Rye, and Beranik.” Nothing happened. Chloe paled. “They’re gone, too.”

  “Gone?”

  “Disappeared, probably also dead and composted.”

  “What of their geo wristbands?”

  “Show security wristbands,” she ordered the computer. The screen split in two, on one side there were two bands close together, the other showed a single one.

  Kelse could read the map well enough. “Two are right down the hall.” He wanted to get them, do something active, but if there was any physical threat, he couldn’t handle it. Not yet. He had to get in shape. And get a weapon. And discover who his enemies were.

  “I’ll send a cleaning bot to get all three.” Her fingers tapped and dragged on the console.

  “Why are there only three security people? What happened to the other seventy-seven?”

  Her face set in furious lines. “Until the latest trouble, we didn’t need many. We were a good community, not the psi barrio or NJNY. So as they died out, they weren’t replaced. We only needed three for decades.”

  “How many crew do we have now?”

  “We capped the birthrate at twelve hundred. That’s what we have.” Then her face went immobile. “No. We have eleven hundred and ninety-six.”

  “And you don’t know the numbers of the core conspirators?”

  “No. Like I said, the majority of folk trust them, born on the ship. Not us. And most don’t try to break into the cryonics bay. Don’t do that violence.”

  “Can anyone locate anyone by their geo bands?”

  “They have privacy settings. Only this computer and the nose bridge can locate security officers. Only this computer and my and Captain’s handhelds can locate the Captain.” She swallowed hard and her mouth tightened; she placed both palms on the console and closed her eyes.

  More tears dribbled down her face.

  He held her close and she smelled of powdery old woman, and his image of her as young vanished. Not much he could say would make her feel better. “I never give up. I promise I won’t give up on justice for Kiet and the guards.”

  His knees began to tremble. Up too long, too much drugs and psi spikes and natural adrenaline flowing in his bloodstream. He stepped away from Chloe, half fell into the chair behind the command console. It felt good.

  Chloe nodded. “Thank you. We’ve had a little fighting. Not much; the morale is bad, but this goes beyond.”

  “Killing always does.” He’d had to kill to defend himself and Fern, and a lot more than four people. It marked you. Marked and scarred an honorable man.

  Chloe cleared her throat, opened her eyes, and her fingers danced across the console. “This is Exec Officer Hernandez. Note that Captain Moungala is dead and I am transferring command to the recently Awakened Kelse
Bountry, who formerly occupied cryonics tube twenty-one. His stats are already coded.”

  “Done,” the computer said.

  His pulse leapt. Captain of a starship. Nothing he’d ever anticipated being. And if these were good times and Fern was with him, he’d like it, he supposed. But if these were good times, he wouldn’t have been Awakened.

  “So as far as everyone knows, the Captain and the security force have disappeared,” he said.

  “That’s right.”

  “Will the conspirators claim responsibility for the deaths?” he asked.

  Her forehead furrowed. “I don’t know.”

  “Because violence has been rare. Wonder how much they’ve studied the past or if they’re making it up as they go along.” He grunted. “Attack on the cryonics bay.” He couldn’t think of that now, of Fern being helpless. Move on. “Killing Moungala. Pretty obvious that they don’t want the sleepers in power. Two hundred and fifty years.” He shook his head. “They’ve all grown up here. Who else alive now were sleepers?”

  “On Nuada’s Sword, only you and me. You know the Captain of Arianrhod’s Wheel, the astrophysicist Julianna Ambroz. The Captain of Lugh’s Spear is Umar Clague, who ran a cell of the rebellion on Earth. Who else they woke, I don’t know. They don’t have a conspiracy on their ships.”

  Chloe whimpered, drew herself straight. “We can say Kiet’s heart failed,” she offered in a broken voice.

  “I’m not lying to my people.” He remembered the continual lying of the USTATES government. No, he wouldn’t start down that road. “Too easy to be caught in a lie.” He considered the angles. “Best if the crew knew there were dangers. Better that I do some sort of address.”

  “We’ll transmit it live for this shift, but also record it and send to individual computers, quarters, and handhelds as a special notice for people when they wake—it’s about midnight. We’ll send the speech to the other Captains.”

  “All right. What do the conspirators want?”

  Chloe rubbed the back of her neck. “We’re heading toward two systems with planets. Great potential according to our astrophysicist, Julianna Ambroz, but we’ll burn the last of our fuel to get there. One of our young scientists, a genius—now co-opted by the mutineers—located a wormhole in a different direction. He extrapolated that it would shoot us back into civilized space. Where we could refuel—”