Blaedergil's Host by C.M. Simpson (reading well .TXT) 📕

getting an all-too-clear picture of what was going on.

Since when did the Corovani have high rises?

“Since they’re arrogant sons of bitches, who think they’re an exception to Costral rules,” Delight snapped in my head, and began to speak. “Clan Corovan formally requests the assistance of Clan Hazerna and the Lord Skymander, to preserve its bloodline. Request is urgent. Clan Corovan begs for swift mercy at your earliest convenience.”

She paused, and then looked straight into the camera.

“That’s the formal part. Now, I’m asking. Mack get your ass down here and do your worst!”

She pulled a second weapon from beneath the desk, and started firing with a weapon in each hand. Her head snapped from side to side as she sighted targets, her vision moving to the next potential, even as she pulled the triggers. A figure dropped down in front of the camera, and I caught a glimpse of others, and then the feed went dark.

For a second, the screen flickered to show what Delight was seeing, and I had pulled the Glazer, before I’d registered what I was doing.

“Stand! Down!” roared across the control center and through my head, and my finger froze on the trigger.

“Stand down, Cutter. Stand down.”

I stopped, and then I stood down. I stood down so far, I was sitting on the floor with my back to the console, when Mack spoke.

“It’s okay, Cutter. We’ll re-run the footage, and try to identify if that was the same clan. After that, we’ll have Delight donate that, and anything else for the training sims.”

I felt ten times the idiot.

“After what you’ve faced in the last forty-eight?” Mack said. “That’s a normal reaction. You didn’t see Tens, just then, did you?”

And he flashed me an image of Tens coming out from behind his console, a very big blade in his hand. I wanted to know where he’d pulled that from... and if I could have one, too, but Mack was having none of it.

“No—and Tens will be removing the scabbard from under his console, and keeping that thing out of the control center from this point on.”

“You and whose army?” I heard Tens mutter, followed by a resigned, “Fine! It goes.”

“Skymander,” Mack said, and it was almost a command.

The viewscreen went live, and Skymander turned to face it. He did not look pleased.

“You were told to wait.”

Mack didn’t bother apologizing, he sent a clip of Delight’s request through, and I watched Skymander’s expression change from affronted annoyance, to action.

“You will follow the Skymander’s Shadow to Costral,” he said. “Your people will port in using the coordinates the Shadow’s master provides. I will add the necessary clauses and payments to your contract; there will be some room for negotiation.”

“Done. We will await the...” Mack’s voice dwindled, as the screen went blank, and proximity alarms began to sound.

Case swore, and I felt the ship’s attitude make a swift adjustment as Case banked steeply to the left.

“Heaven’s balls! Where the fuck did that come from?”

“Tens!”

I might have found that funny, except I was too busy plotting a path for Case to follow. I’ll give her this, she was fast, adjusting the ship’s attitude and course so that we fell in to the starboard lee of the battle cruiser that had been sitting, cloaked, a hairsbreadth off our flank.

It was smaller than the Flag, but it still dwarfed us. I was very glad Mack had ordered our weapons kept off-line. We’d never have known what hit us. Starmander’s Shadow, indeed. I wondered if this meant the Flag was unprotected.

“Unlikely,” but I didn’t have time to explore that, because the Shadow set a hard pace, and I had to keep us on a course that kept us on station. We were lucky that Case flew like a maniac.

We hit the sky above Costral, in less time than it had taken to reach the gate, not surprising, given we’d been returning from chasing arach in the opposite direction at the time. As we settled into orbit not far from the Shadow, the screen went live.

“Mackenzie Star?” The man on-screen looked towards Mack, but not before his gaze had swept the room with a military precision that told me he had seen, and noted, each and every one of us.

“Master of the Shadow?”

“Master Manreiden. My Lord Skymander says you will be joining us on the raid?”

“It is in our contract.”

I watched as Manreiden’s lips tightened, and he looked Mack up and down, as though assessing him for combat. He must have approved of what he saw, for he continued.

“Our instructions are that two of you will join us in administering Corovan mercy, and rescuing Odyssey. Which one is Cutter?”

I lifted my hand in a half wave of acknowledgement, and received the same assessment, he had given Mack. It was a relief to know I’d passed, when he spoke, again.

“Have your communications officer insert the following coding where it can be seen in a scan of your equipment,” and he hit a button, as though executing a send command.

“Received,” Tens confirmed. “They’ll be flashing when they arrive.”

Manreiden dipped his head in acknowledgement, and then turned to Mack.

“We port in five. When will you join us?”

“Five,” Mack confirmed, and I forced my expression to blankness.

Five? Was he crazy?

“See you on the ground,” the commander said, and the screen went dark.

Mack looked at me.

“Gear is in the port center. Run,” and we both bolted from the control center, Tens jogging in our wake.

Five minutes?

“We have to show that we are as prepared as they are.”

“But we’re not.”

“You’d be surprised.”

37—Pest Control

I have to admit: I was surprised. Not only did we make the teleport center in less than a minute—which was easy with Mack taking point, and the crew still in their pods—but our gear was waiting, and we were dressed and kitted in another three.

Tens had gotten his teleport team out of their pods, and into the center ahead of us, and they knew what help we needed. We had thirty seconds to spare when the silver light wrapped