“A Marshal usually has a specialty,” Arland added.
“Yes,” Soren confirmed. “Typically they concentrate on whatever aspect of warfare presents the greatest threat to the House in the foreseeable future.”
Maud turned to Arland. “What’s yours?”
“Ground combat,” he said.
“Arland was trained to lead us into battle on Nexus,” Soren said. “We had anticipated being embroiled in that conflict several times over the next few decades, but thanks to your sister, it’s no longer a concern.”
It was just as she thought. “How likely is it for the Marshal to have other pursuits?”
Arland’s thick blond eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”
“If you wanted to devote a lot of your time to something not vital to the House, could you do it? For example, if you enjoyed target shooting, could you spend a significant chunk of your time practicing it?”
“Would I have time to devote to hobbies and leisurely pursuits?” Arland frowned, pretending to think. “Let me ponder. Two weeks! I took two weeks off in the last six years, and my uncle came to fetch me as if I were a wayward lamb. Because the great House of Krahr cannot endure without my constant oversight. My job, my hobby, my off time, my ‘me’ time, all my time consists of taking care of the never-ending sequence of mundane and yet life-threatening tasks generated by the well-honed machine that is the knighthood of House Krahr. I haven’t had a moment to myself since I was ten years old.”
Lord Soren stood up, took a small blanket off the back of the nearest chair, walked up to Arland, and draped it over his nephew’s head like a hood.
Okay. She hadn’t encountered that before.
“He is giving me a mourning shroud,” Arland said and pulled the blanket off his head. “Like the mourners wear at funerals.”
“So you may lament the tragic loss of your youth,” Soren said.
Arland draped the blanket over Helen, who’d fallen asleep on the pillow. “To answer your question, my lady, no. A Marshal has no time for any significant pursuits outside of his duties.”
“Tellis of Serak has logged over three thousand hours in a small attack craft,” Maud said.
Both men fell silent.
Years ago she watched a science fiction epic with its fleets of small attack crafts spinning over enormous destroyers. The reality of space combat vaporized that romantic notion about as fast as an average warship would vaporize the fleet of individual fighters. Even if the fighters somehow managed to make it through the shields, the damage they would inflict would be insignificant. It would be like trying to attack an aircraft carrier with a fleet of row boats. They could spend their arsenal, resupply, spend it again, and still the capital vessel wouldn’t be disabled.
“It’s my understanding that small attack crafts are used only for one thing,” Maud said.
“Boarding,” Arland said, his voice a quiet snarl. “Once a ship surrenders, the fighters deliver the boarding crew to take charge of the vessel and secure its cargo.”
“Explains the flying acrobatics,” Soren said, his face grim.
Maud glanced at Arland.
“After the battle, there is usually a debris field,” Arland said. “Chunks that used to be escorts flying in all directions. The pilot needs a maneuverable ship and quick hands.”
“Is there any reason House Serak would ever board pirates?” Maud asked. The question sounded ridiculous even as she said it, but it needed to be voiced.
“No,” Lord Soren said.
“Pirate ships are glass cannons,” Arland said. “They’re modified to inflict maximum damage and rapidly scatter when necessary. Most of them are held together by hopes and prayers. The vessels have no value, and the crews have even less. I wouldn’t waste time or resources on boarding. I’d simply blow them out of existence.”
“So, who is he boarding?” she asked.
Silence reigned. All three of them were thinking the same thing. There were two kinds of vessels in the vicinity of Serak system: pirates and traders. And if Tellis wasn’t boarding the pirates…
“This is a hefty accusation,” Soren said. “We have no proof. We might even be mistaken.”
“I heard it quite clearly,” Maud said.
Soren raised his hand. “I don’t dispute that. But we don’t have all the facts. Perhaps Tellis is indulged and he simply likes to fly around Serak dodging asteroids.”
“Three thousand hours?” Arland asked.
“Stranger things have happened.”
“There may be a way to obtain confirmation,” Maud said. “I would need an untraceable uplink that could reach beyond this system.”
Arland walked over to Soren’s desk and placed his palm on its surface. A red light rolled over the desk. The screen blinked, and the blood-red symbol of House Krahr appeared on it. Maud blinked. Arland had just taken over the entire communication node. The power of a Marshal on display.
Arland recited a long string of numbers. The screen went black and winked back into existence, a neutral gray.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Bounced the signal off the lees’ cruiser,” he said. “They encrypt their communication origins, so they can’t be traced. I’m hitching a ride on their encryption system. If the call’s recipient tries to trace it, the signal will look like it’s bouncing around from random spots in the galaxy.”
Wow. “Impressive.”
Arland shrugged. “Nuan Cee spies on us every chance he gets. I’m simply balancing the scales.”
She was suddenly acutely aware of the data sphere hidden in the inner pocket of her robe.
“Whom would you like to call, my lady?” Arland asked.
“Someone from my other life.” Maud walked over and sat on the other of the two couches, away from Helen. “It might be best if you stay silent and remain offscreen.”
Soren grimaced but stayed by his desk. Arland dragged his fingers across the desk’s controls, turning the screen toward her. A second screen appeared in the wall, showing a duplicate image, a one-way feed. They would be able to see what she saw but they would be invisible to the other person. Which was just as well. The last thing she wanted was to introduce everyone to each other.
“I need the names of two cargo ships,” she said. “One from your House and one from Serak.”
The names popped into her harbinger.
Maud pulled up a long sequence. Not a call she thought she would ever make.
From where she sat, she had an excellent view of both vampires and the screen. This would suck.
The screen remained blank.
She waited.
A long minute passed.
The screen flared into life. The bridge of a spaceship came into view. Renouard sprawled in the captain seat. He looked the same—older than Arland by about a decade and a half, long dark hair spilling over his back and shoulders onto jet black armor without a crest, a ragged scar chewing up the left side of his face. The bionic targeting module in his ruined eye focused on her. From this distance, it looked filled with glowing silver dust.
Renouard leered at her. A familiar shiver of alarm gripped her. Ugh.
“The Sariv,” he said. If wolves could talk in the dark forests, they would sound like him. “Karhari’s gentle flower. So you managed to get out after all.”
Arland narrowed his eyes.
“No thanks to you.”
“I made you an offer.”
Yeah, there wasn’t a mother alive who would have taken him up on it. “You told me my daughter would fetch a good price on the slave market.”
“I was joking. Mostly. I heard you bagged yourself a pretty boy Marshal.”
The pretty boy Marshal went from annoyed to furious in an instant.
“The word is, you haven’t managed to seal the deal yet.” Renouard leaned forward. “Does he not do it for you? I could give him some lessons.”
Arland’s face went stone hard.
“I see the scar on your groin wants a twin,” she told him.
He bared his teeth and laughed.
“I have a job,” she said.
“I’m all ears.”
“I need cargo retrieved from two ships. They’ll be passing through the quadrant at the following coordinates.” She tagged the section of the quadrant near the Serak system and sent it to him. “Not a large volume, two crates off the first vessel, one off the second, less than three cubic meters and roughly one hundred and twenty kilos of mass.”
“Who is hauling this precious cargo?”
“The first ship is the Silver Talon.”
Renouard checked his screen. “House Krahr. So the rumors are right. You’re playing the Marshal. I always knew you had it in you.” He winked to make sure she got it.
Ugh. “Can this be done or not?”
“It can be done,” he said. “For the right price. I won’t do it, but I’ll act as an intermediary. What’s in the crates?”
“That’s not important.”
He smiled. “Second vessel?”
“Valiant Charger.”
“No.”
He hadn’t even bothered to check the screen this time.
“It’s a barge,” she said. “You can do it with your eyes closed.”