Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine by Jeanne G'Fellers (reading tree TXT) 📗

wall controls, bringing up a large diagram of the Sarian system. Five distinct dots appeared on the dis-play—four blue, the other a fiery orange. Malley indicated the four blue ones. “These are the authorized launch flights, and this”— Malley pointed directly to the swift moving orange marker—“is a rogue.”

“It’s moving too quickly to be a planetary launch,” observed Chandrey.

“Not if it’s been fitted with hyperburners,” countered Firman. “Is it a full launch or personal two-passenger?”

“Two-seater by my estimate,” Malley replied.

“Then it’s not what we’re looking for.” Belsas slapped the table in frustration. “Damn!”

“Hold on.” Firman leaned to his sibling. “Think Cance might’ve outfitted it like the old land launch we tinkered with when we were kids?”

“It’s possible,” said Krell. “Very possible. Where is the craft headed, Whellen?”

“At present course, it will reach the Blackmore’s pre-retreat coordinates in three hours.”

“Point of origin?”

“The tracking beacon has been deactivated, but its flight path suggests Langus.”

All eyes were on Krell and Firman. “What are you two brewing?” Chandrey prayed she was reading their expressions correctly.

“We once had an old two-passenger land launch,” explained Firman. “We rebuilt it when we were youths, ripped out the cargo area behind the standard seats and installed additional seating. Why couldn’t Cance have done the same to a planetary launch? It’s faster than a standard four-seater, especially if you add boosters.”

Belsas clenched her fists by her side as she rose. “Ockson,” she said officiously, “have your crew set an intercept course. We’ve found LaRenna.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Mother Maker has her own way of righting any wrong.

—Taelach reasoning

“Watch it!” Cance centered more firmly in her seat. The screen before her was smeared with blood, the impact point between her shoulder and the front console when the launch had lurched forward.

“You want I should hit the next one?” Trazar dragged his tunic cuff across the smear so he could read the launch’s status. “I’d be more than happy to oblige. Your body would add to the rubble.”

“Watch your mouth, sentry, or I’ll pop your sister’s lip for your insolence.”

Trazar leaned back in his seat and gripped the flight stick a little tighter. The coordinates Cance had required him to program into the flight program were coming up, so he concentrated on the heading, jerking the craft as another slab of floating debris crossed their path.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Cance pulled from the side bulkhead. “I thought you were pilot qualified.”

“I am!” bellowed Trazar, struggling to maintain control of the craft. “We’ve come across some kind of wreckage.”

Talmshone, taut muscles braced against the rocking, peered out the side viewport. His breath fogged the window. “Battle remains,” he sighed. “Iralian vessels. Are we near the proper coordinates?”

“All but.” Trazar glanced at the console screen. Saria Four cast an impressive blue and green reflection off the launch’s transparent metallic windows. It had none of the gray pollution bands of the Autlach home world, save for the smudge surrounding the port city of Polmel.

“Where’s the ship, Talmshone?” Cance flicked her dagger from palm to palm. “Where’s the Blackmore?” She turned full around, looking expectantly at the Iralian as she pointed the blade like a finger.

“Obviously delayed,” he answered in the most unfazed of voices. Suddenly, the launch gave a violent heave that cracked Cance’s chin on the seat back. LaRenna winced as her own jaw bounced hard against her chest.

“Dammit!” Cance slid back around to cuff Trazar’s upper arm. “Keep this thing under control. That’s not a request.”

“Then buckle in!” Trazar ducked a second blow meant for his face. “I’m not responsible for the ride being rough!”

“Dodge me, will you? I warned you about having a smart mouth.” Cance gave LaRenna’s bobbed hair a cruel yank. LaRenna squealed then caught the side of Cance’s hand and bit down.

“OW!” Cance jerked back to examine the line of cuts. “So you want to bite, little girl?” Her expression was half-amused, half-wanton. “I’ll teach you all about it as soon as we dock. I promise to make it a lesson you’ll never, ever forget.” She sucked at the wound and sat back, incensed as she watched Saria Four spin. “Ungrateful whore. I should have let Brandoff screw you to death. You’ll learn soon enough, or die in ignorance.”

Trazar stifled a cheer for his sister’s diligence as he slowed the launch. “We’re at the coordinates.”

“They’re not here!” Cance’s smile reversed to a livid scowl directed at Talmshone. “Where the fuck are they?”

“How should I know?” Talmshone was beginning to lose the ominous calm he normally maintained. “I have been out of contact with the Commitment for over a Sarian cycle. Steady communications would have been impractical.”

Trazar cringed as he eyed the lowering charge indicators. If he alone had been captive, he would have said nothing and simply let the launch and his problems burn in Saria Four’s atmosphere. But he wasn’t, and if LaRenna could fight he would do the same. “We don’t have the fuel to stay here long. What do you want me to do?”

“Take orbit.” Cance clicked her tongue. “Now the damned fuel’s low. Nothing seems to be going as you assured me it would. You didn’t double-cross me, did you, lizard man?”

“Lizard man?” Talmshone blinked at his accomplice through angry red eyes. “May I remind you that we are in the same proverbial boat.”

“Then we wait.” Cance leaned forward to check the launch’s main data banks. Tapped into Taelach military channels, they were an excellent means of information provided one knew the correct access codes. The lower-level codes were often changed but were easily circumvented, a skill Cance had learned from Brandoff. “Your boys aren’t faring well at all, Talmshone. In fact, they’re taking quite a thrashing. Give me the Blackmore’s frequency so I can check its position.”

“Iralian transmissions are encrypted and shielded.” He surveyed the wreckage for identifying markings. “You can neither read or track them.”

“Yeah, right.” But Cance was at a loss for what to do without further codes. “What’s the Kinship’s high-security call sign for the