Glen Cook
Stars End - Starfishers Triology Book 3
Book One THE HIGH SEINERS
One: 3049 AD. The Main Sequence
The death cry of an exploding sun illuminated a starfleet the likes of which few men had ever seen. There were six great starships in the convoy. The smallest was forty kilometers long.
No drive glow enveloped those ships. No ion wake marked their passing. They were drifting. But they met the flash front of the nova with an inherent velocity approaching three tenths the velocity of light.
Each of those starships looked like a mobile created by a sculptor, looked like someone had visited a planetary junkyard, had welded scraps together, and then had flung the results at the farthest star. Those ships were all angles, tubes and planes, globes, cubes, and what appeared to be silver sails. Whole forests of antennae bristled on the humped mountains of their backs.
Random chunks of debris accompanied the ships, thrown out from jagged wounds in their flanks. Wisps of atmosphere leaked from those great rents, twinkling in the nova light. Smaller ships, like blowflies, fluttered around the rawest injuries.
There had been a battle. A battle at Stars' End. Its fury and magnitude would have beggared the imagination of men who hadn't ever been out among the stars.
These limping, crippled starships were the survivors.
The great lens of the Milky Way sprawled before the starships, cold and silver and bright. Their noses were aimed toward its heart. Like a dying man crossing a desert, the starfleet was dragging itself toward healthier climes.
A patch on the smallest ship began to glow, throwing color back into the ocean of night. It was not a happy color. It was the dull, dark red of venous blood, the red of senescent suns. It brightened, became more intense.
The other ships drifted away. Fate had overtaken their little sister. She was about to lose control of her fusion plant. They did not want to be too close to the explosion. The smaller blowfly-vessels flitted away, carrying evacuees.
For a moment the smaller starship yielded a light which rivalled that of the nearby nova. Fragments as big as pyramids hurtled outward, adding to the clutter traveling with the fleet. The remainder of the ship began tumbling slowly, now little more than a disemboweled corpse. The little ships darted in again, swarmed around the remains. Signals leapt across the ether. Any survivors? Anyone at all? There was no answer from the wreck. But the little ships went in anyway.
Moyshe benRabi slapped the withdrawal switch beneath his left hand.
Agony smashed into his head. A demon slapped a pair of icehooks into his temples and yanked. He screamed. "Clara! Shot!"
He did not feel the needle bite his arm. Its prick was too tiny a pain. He knew it had happened only because blessed relief hit him seconds later.
Hans pulled his helmet. The youngster's face was drawn. Clara patted sweat from his face with a towel. "Bad, Moyshe?" she asked.
"The worst. I can't reach him anymore. He's out there without protection... And we just lost Jariel. They couldn't contain the anti-matter leak. The Service Ships went back... I don't think they'll find anybody to evacuate."
Hans asked, "Drink, Moyshe?" The youth's voice was tremulous. He had had a sister on Jariel.
"Something. Please. I must have sweated a couple of liters. They get through to Gruber yet?"
Clara shrugged. "I haven't heard." She was a plump, grandmotherly, graying woman with rosy cheeks. Her appearance reflected her personality. She was a book which could be read by its cover. BenRabi was in love with her, in a filial way.
"We've got to have help. We can't hide in this nova storm forever. The particle wave is on its way. It'll shred our screens."
"Payne says we're going out. Soon as Jariel is evacuated. The sharks will have to take their chances."
"Oh, damn."
"What do the starfish say?" Hans asked, returning with a fruit drink. He was putting on a brave face. He had been in the fleet long enough to learn how to wait for good news or bad. They would let him know about his sister.
BenRabi swung his feet to the deck. "Like I said. I couldn't get through. Too far."
"Maybe somebody else did."
"Somebody with more experience? I don't think so."
Hans was just nineteen, hardly out of creche. He had not yet hardened to all the realities of the harvestfleet.
"Well just have to do it Payne's way. Fight our way through." BenRabi began shuddering as his body reacted to the massive dosage of anti-pain drug. Clara swept a blanket around his shoulders. It did not lessen the chills.
They still did not know for certain that they had won the battle of Stars' End. They knew only that Payne's Fleet had held the battle space, had survived, and had begun making its way home. They had not been attacked again, yet, but it was only a matter of time till the struggle resumed.
"Look at me," benRabi whispered. "I can't stop shaking."
"Go home," Clara told him. "Get some sleep."
"We might break through. They might need me to go on minddrive. Just let me stretch my legs." He picked at his arm where the needle had broken his skin. The strain of the emergency had begun to show on his flesh. He was getting tracks.
He collapsed when he tried to stand.
"Take him home, Hans," Clara told the youth. "Lester. Help Hans load Moyshe onto a scooter, will you?"
"What's going on?" benRabi demanded as Hans halted the flatbed electric truck outside his quarters. For a moment he did not know where he was. "Why did you?... "
"What happened?" a woman demanded. Worry strangled her voice.
"He passed out," Hans replied. "Just needs rest."
"I told him... "A thin, pale, nervous face outlined by the short blonde hair entered Moyshe's vision, peered down into his eyes. "What's the matter with you, Moyshe? You think you're a superman? Give me a hand with him, Hans. I'll tie him in bed If I have to."
"Somebody's got to... " benRabi protested.
"You aren't the only somebody on Danion. There's nobody like a new convert. I love him, but sometimes he drives me up the wall."
"Take care of him, Amy."
"Don't worry. I've got too much invested in this idiot."
They dropped benRabi into his bed. It surrounded him with a womblike comfort. He felt vaguely guilty. He shouldn't be sleeping while other mindtechs were still trying to make contact.
Amy sat on the edge of the bed. He was asleep long before she finished cussing him out for not taking better care of himself.
She was still hovering around when, six hours later, the cabin comm buzzed. She answered, "Amy Coleridge, Security."
A grey-framed face appeared in the little screen. "Good morning, Lieutenant. Is benRabi there?"
"Commander. Sir. Yes sir." Her voice dropped an octave and seemed to snap to attention. "He's sleeping, sir. But I can wake him if you really need him."
"No. Don't. I wanted to speak to you, Lieutenant. I'm on my way down to see you."
Two minutes later there was a knock on the cabin door. The Commander must have been on the way when he'd called her.
"I've just read your report on benRabi."
"You did? Why? It was just a routine report."
The Commander brushed her question aside. "We may need him for something more than Contact. Coleridge, I want to ask you a question. I want a considered answer."
"Sir?"
"Is your report honest? Did you let your feelings affect it?"
"No sir. Yes sir. I mean, it's honest, sir."
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