Assignment: Avalon

Chapter Three: "That's No Meteorite!"

The lifeslip fell steadily toward Avalon, inert and cold. Inside, the computer patiently counted the seconds to the braking maneuver. Its programming had been perfect; no mid-course correction had been required.

On board the Preceptorate Battle Cruiser Bloodline, a bored ensign once again checked the trajectory of In-System Object 224, as he had checked the trajectory of every one of the two-hundred twenty-three tracked objects before it and the four hundred forty-nine objects after it three times already that shift. If one of those objects unexpectedly changed course, they'd have Swordcraft after it in minutes...but none of them ever did. Even if they did, the computer would surely notice it before he did. But regulations required a human being to doublecheck the computers, so here he sat, staring at a screen full of multicolored lines until his eyes went numb.

He stiffened as the First Officer, making his rounds of the bridge stations, leaned over his shoulder. "Anything interesting, Ensign?"

"No, sir."

"What's that?" The First Officer pointed to the trajectory he'd just highlighted.

"Meteor, sir. We've been tracking it for ten days."

"Looks like it's headed for an Avalon impact."

"Yes, sir. I was just wondering if we should warn them, sir." Actually, he hadn't been wondering any such thing, but suggesting it might earn him a few points...

The First Officer laughed. "Let them worry about it. That fancy AI of theirs, what's-its-name, Skandar, is supposed to be able to deflect any meteors that pose a danger. And if it can't...well, the Baron will want to know, since our whole mission depends on that computer." He straightened. "Don't warn Avalon, Ensign...but keep an eye on that object. I want to know what happens when it hits atmosphere. Carry on."

"Yes, sir." The ensign coded the computer to signal him when the object was two hundred kilometres above the planet, then un-highlighted its trajectory and moved on to the next.

Inside the lifeslip, Melodan slept without dreaming.

#

Ekland Artega kept his face impassive, but his hands, out of sight of the haughty eyes of the dark-skinned young man in his desktop vidscreen, clenched the wooden arms of his worn leather chair. "Really, Strator," the young man was saying in a bored tone, "your problems with petty terrorists are of no concern to the Preceptorate. The Preceptor's fleet can hardly be threatened by plastic rifles."

"The threat is not to the Preceptor's fleet, Baron Markus, but to my control of this province," Artega replied, his voice even, his hands clenching ever-more-tightly. "This should concern you, because I control Skandar. Should I be replaced, you would lose the data link you require to successfully refortify this system before the Preceptor's arrival."

The Baron grimaced, as though he smelled something distasteful. "Exactly what is it you want, Strator?"

"You already know." Artega leaned closer to the vidscreen. "Weapons, space-based reconnaissance, communications equipment."

Markus shook his head. "I'm afraid it's all out of the question. You must understand, Strator, I have only one ship, half-a-dozen Swordcraft, and scant weeks to do what normally takes half a fleet half a year. And need I remind you of the Rebel scoutship I destroyed just ten days ago? I must remain on station near the dimspace nexus in case some other Rebel pilot bumbles into this system in search of his lost comrade. My Swordcraft must inspect every component of the system defenses, effecting repairs as necessary. I simply cannot take time to boost to Avalon to help you do something you should be perfectly capable of doing on your own." He pointed one slender finger at Artega. "And please, Strator—don't threaten me again. If you disrupt my data link, I will boost in—and blow you and your whole decadent city into orbit." He smiled. "After all, if I lose that link, I can't do what the Preceptor has ordered me to do, and in that case, I have nothing to lose. Do you understand?"