The Mechaneer

Chapter 31: Reunion

"Where are you taking me?" Ellie asked.

The marines flanking her said nothing.

At Avalon's orders, she occupied a guest suite aboard the Reformer and received the treatment due a senatorial attache or visiting Oligarch, not the hybrid wife of a salvager suspected of fighting for a renegade company and harboring an imperial fugitive. She dined with the admiral and his senior staff, read, watched and listened to whatever she requested from the destroyer's databanks, fielded no questions, suffered no torture.

Yet she remained a prisoner, and miserable.

The Reformer's crew resented her, she knew. They would have even if most of them didn't consider her an animal, because their magnetic, hypnotic admiral lavished every consideration upon her. He all but waited on her hand and foot.

Why?

Ellie didn't flatter herself that Marcel Avalon was smitten. Maybe in her prime, when her looks had sufficed at least to get her into trouble, but not after fifteen hard years of salvage mechaneering. People said spacers looked younger than their age, but hybrids generally didn't live as long as unmodified humans. When Ellie looked in the mirror, she saw more than thirty-six human years in the smile lines crinkling her eyes and the streaks of early gray in the fur at the tips of her ears.

She'd initially thought the admiral wanted to get to Chloe through her. Perhaps he did. If so, he was a consummate actor, never allowing anything to break through his mask of concern.

Sometimes, she thought he genuinely felt as sorry as he said he did.

Whatever the reason for his solicitousness, she would have traded all of it for a lightless dungeon cell and an intermittently filled bowl of cold gruel if she could have had just a glimpse of Jack or Chloe in return.

"This way," the marine on her left said. He pulled her by the arm as though he didn't think she could figure it out for herself, or as though it was the only outlet he had for his resentment.

Or perhaps, she thought sadly, both.

The marines marched her to an almost identical pair, except that these wore solid gold shoulder pads on their dark green, mecha-like battle armor. Ellie's escorts snapped off crisp salutes.

"Here's the package the admiral requested," the one who had grabbed her said.

"Good work, Corporal," one of the gold-shouldered marines said. "We'll take it from here. The two of you are free to return to your regular duties."

"Sergeant," Ellie's guards said in unison, stepping back. She didn't watch them march down the hallway, but she could hear them all the way to the tube station.

"You," the other gold-shouldered marine said, "come with me."

At least he let her walk under her own power.

He escorted her through the double-doors he and his comrade guarded.

Ellie gasped.

She stood on the Reformer's primary bridge for the first time. She'd seen promotional posters for the Federal Navy displaying non-classified views of their most advanced warship, but seeing it first-hand would ordinarily have eclipsed those. The bridge stretched fifty meters across and its dark green bulkheads were almost luminous with reflected glow from hundreds of screens and holograms and the huge three-dimensional image displaying their position relative to objects within a megameter.

Yet the view through the wall-spanning main screen captured her whole attention. Even the Reformer looked like a toy next to the gargantuan vessel sprawled before it. She recognized it immediately.

Oh, sweet Principle, no, she thought. The Reformer would only have left the Wellach system for one reason, and she knew it.

Because Chloe had.

They had tracked her –

– to where it all began, all those wonderful years ago. To the hulk of a derelict Imperial battlecruiser, and a silvery mecha, and a luminous being who entrusted Jack and Ellie Hughes with the gift and the burden of a lifetime.

"Mrs. Hughes," Admiral Avalon called. In public, it was 'Mrs. Hughes' and 'Ma'am.' In private, uncomfortably often, it was 'Ellie.' "Please join us."

As if I have a choice, Ellie thought. She didn't push Avalon's hospitality. If she did, she knew it would vanish and she would be treated like the prisoner she was. She would take a stand if and when her doing so actually mattered.

The marines didn't bother escorting her to the high-backed chair Avalon commanded the bridge from. He perched on it, leaned forward, muscles tensed, eyes fixed on the screen, a sprinter awaiting the start of a race – or a predator awaiting a moment of weakness in his prey.

He flicked his eyes to her as she approached. "I would offer you a seat, but I fear we are at battlestations and cannot spare one. Please forgive me."

"It's no problem," Ellie said. "But, Admiral, if you're at battlestations, should you really have a civilian –" An enemy civilian, she thought with fierce, irrational pride, though you insist on ignoring it. "– on the bridge?"

"I may need your assistance," Avalon said. "Even the few seconds it would take to connect to your chambers could mean the difference between life and death."

Ellie laughed. "I'm a pretty fair sensor operator, Admiral, but not good enough to win you a battle. My moral support certainly won't do so, even if I choose to give it."

"Not our lives or deaths, Mrs. Hughes," Avalon said. "Your adopted daughter's."

The laugh died in Ellie's throat.

"She is aboard that ship, and in very dangerous company. As soon as we pinpoint her location, we will attempt to contact her and then extract her. She must place her trust in us, Mrs. Hughes. You must convince her."

"You can't expect me to do that," Ellie said. "As far as I'm concerned, you're still Chloe's enemy."

"I've told you many times, I want only to help Chloe."

"You've told me," Ellie said, "but you haven't shown me."

"Nor can I," Avalon countered, preempting an angry interjection from the junior officer seated on his far side, "unless you give me the chance to."

"I guess I'll just have to take your word for it, then," Ellie said, "because I won't help you without some sort of guarantee of Chloe's safety."

"I cannot make such a guarantee," Avalon said, "because she has placed herself in grave danger."

"How?"

"Lieutenant Richards, please display the ship we trailed here." Avalon waited for a holographic image of a large civilian transport, its sleek, bird-of-prey lines painted black and white. The registry information hovering beside the image proclaimed it the Errant Magpie, one of the late-war Garuda-class transports that supplanted the Mother Goose's Balder-class.

"Is this supposed to mean something to me?" Ellie asked.

"This ship is registered to the Seven Stars Trading Company," Avalon said, "which is owned by Lightspeed Joe's Easy Marks, a dubious financier operating out of the Kellermain system."

That company, Ellie recognized. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Those loan sharks. Jack made the mistake of mortgaging the Goose through them and we've never heard the end of it."

"In that case, you may be fortunate we confiscated your ship, Mrs. Hughes," Avalon said, "because 'Lightspeed Joe's' is a front for the Kronistine Syndicate."

"The crime family?" Ellie's gaze flickered from the hologram to the admiral. "You're saying Chloe came here on a ship owned by the Syndicate? That's crazy! She'd never take such a risk."

"She has done so," Avalon said. "I assume she was led astray by the advice of my old adversary the Crimson Phoenix. No doubt Rudy Kaine Algreil believes he has the situation entirely in hand. I assure you, and would assure him, he does not."

"How do I know any of this is true?" Ellie asked.

"You still believe I would lie to you?" Avalon sighed. "Well, I suppose it does not matter. You'll see for yourself when we hail the men occupying that derelict battlecruiser's bridge. I have it on good authority a member of the Kronid family's inner circle leads them."

Avalon tapped a button on one of his armrests. At the wordless command, a communications feed displaced the battlecruiser's image on the main screen.

"Admiral Avalon, I presume," said the black flight-suited figure on the screen. "I'd say it was an honor to attract the attention of the Federal Navy's finest, but let’s be honest. We both know I think nothing of the sort."

"Do I address Stephan Kronid?" Avalon asked. Ellie had to step back to avoid blocking a hologram that erupted at the admiral's side, confirming his supposition. A criminal record longer than Ellie was tall rolled past the projection of the Syndicate man's face. She caught 'mass murder' and 'high treason' and couldn't stomach the rest.

She thought of Chloe in such company and shuddered.

"You do address me," Kronid said. "Which begs the question, what do you want from me?"

"Your life, scum," Avalon snarled.

Kronid either hid his emotions well or held up better in the face of Avalon's wrath than anyone Ellie had met. The Syndicate man didn't even draw back as Avalon's extraordinary voice assaulted him. Calmly, he said, "I suppose you'll settle for the lives of my passengers, though? Or do you want to hold out for the erinyes, too, for whatever good it would do you?"

Ellie's ear twitched. Erinyes?

"Abhorrent as I find it, I will offer you a deal," Avalon said, hate simmering just below the boiling point in his voice.

Kronid nodded. "Which is, of course, the only reason you came within a pentameter of me."

"Perhaps."

"Certainly." Kronid folded his long frame into a command chair much like Avalon's, steepled his hands. The chair seemed to fit him well. He glanced at something below him and his hands tightened on the arm-rests.

The communications window showed only Kronid, his perch, and an empty expanse of carpeted floor behind him. Ellie wondered what the Syndicate man was looking at. Something on the bridge of the battlecruiser? Principle alone knew what carnage lay at the former “brain” of the dead ship.

“But in any case, Admiral,” Kronid said, “why should I make a deal with you… instead of dealing with your little destroyer?” He toyed with controls Ellie assumed tied to the battlecruiser's weapons.

“You're bluffing, and badly,” Avalon said. “Your Errant Magpie could not carry a battlecruiser crew if you packed them elbow to elbow in its cargo hold.”

Kronid shrugged theatrically. “True enough – if only my Maggie were here. I took the precaution of calling in reinforcements as soon as I knew where your prize wanted to go, and why. Really, Admiral, you ought to know we of all people know how to operate this ship. But if you require a demonstration…”

The battlecruiser's external lights flared to distorted life, bending weirdly under its powerful gravitic shields.

“Shields,” Avalon called, but his crew had reacted instinctively to pull them up as soon as the other ship did. “Prepare for evasive maneuvers.”

Kronid laughed. “Now, now, Admiral. This ship is big, but it's also old and damaged. I don't know I could kill every last one of you Federal bastards before you got in here with your mecha. I'd much rather not have to try.”

Ellie watched Avalon wrestle with the decision. He seemed unable to control the way he projected his emotions. His audio-visual empathy might make him an effective leader, but she doubted he could run a bluff to save his life. He cycled through rage and frustration and concern and settled on satisfaction.

"Bringing the shields up and turning on the lights? I remain unimpressed, criminal, and unconvinced. These are simple tasks, suitable for a less than skeleton crew. If that ship's main guns still functioned and you controlled them, you would have attempted to fire before I raised my shields." Avalon smiled grimly. "Although, they would have been up in time anyway; Otto Algreil taught us a painful lesson in punctuality."

"Perhaps I don't need or want to kill you myself, Admiral," Kronid said. "Perhaps all I need is time.

"Perhaps," he said, "I find it much more appropriate to let Madame President's favorite hunting hound catch his quarry and find out how badly outmatched he really is."

"If you intend to use Chloe Hughes and the erinyes against me, Kronid," Avalon said, "you will be disappointed. Her adoptive mother is aboard this ship. The daughter will not harm her."

"An amusing lie, but Chloe will do what I tell her," Kronid said. "She's proven delightfully pliable so far."

"You lying bastard," Ellie snarled. She leaped forward, as though she could throttle him through the Reformer's main screen.

Kronid actually seemed at a loss for words. Then his cool slipped back into place. "Well. Ellie... Hughes, I suppose, now. You really are aboard that ship? I figured it was Avalon's turn to bluff. And, I might add, you're as lovely as ever."

She blinked. "What?"

"I'm a little sad, though not surprised, you don't remember me," he said. "We only met briefly, and we were both quite young. I certainly remember you, though. I would even if your brothers hadn't always spoken so highly of you."

"My brothers –?" She shot a glance at Avalon. "What is he talking about?"

Kronid answered. "Didn't the admiral tell you, Ellie? I know his grossly misnamed comrades in Federal Intelligence are aware of it by now, so I can only assume Madame President passed it on to him. Your family and mine go back a long way."

Ellie stared at the crime lord, picturing the man behind the mask of the black flight suit.

Beanpole thin. Sharp-nosed. And that voice...

Ellie had known a man with that voice in a life so long ago she scarcely thought of it now. Like most free hybrids, she'd been a liegewoman to a noble house. Her lords had answered to a greater house, and the owner of that voice had been its favorite son.

Stephan Kronid?

Stephan Kyrillos.

Psychic. Mechaneer-aristocrat. Hero of the Civil War.

A man who Ellie, and every other girl she’d known, had fooled themselves into thinking they loved, before she learned what a paltry imitation of love that empty crush was.

The last man Ellie would ever want her daughter around – and, maybe, the best hope her daughter had.