Timothy Zahn - Angelmass

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Angelmass

ANGELMASS

Timothy Zahn

To my mother: The first angel in my life

CHAPTER 1

There were two of them waiting as Jereko Kosta climbed awkwardly up the ladder through the

shuttle hatch: a young ensign and an equally young crewer second class, both clothed in shiny black

and silver Pax military uniforms, the glistening red and blue threads of the Komitadji's insignia

pattern swirling with arrogant pride across collarbone and shoulder. "Mr. Kosta," the ensign said, his

hand twitching halfway into an automatic salute before he seemed to remember the man facing him

was a civilian. "Welcome aboard the Komitadji. Commodore Lleshi's compliments; he'd like to see

you on the command deck immediately."

Kosta nodded, fighting against a strange fog of unreality as he looked around the docking bay's

spotless gray walls and ceilings. The Komitadji. He was actually aboard the Komitadji.

"Understood," he said, trying to match the ensign's neutral tone and not entirely succeeding. "I have

just the two bags...?"

"They'll be stowed aboard your ship," the ensign assured him as the crewer brushed smoothly past

Kosta and disappeared down the ladder into the shuttle. "If you'll follow me, please?"

The slidecar door was in a protected alcove in the docking bay's rear wall. The ensign ushered him in

and keyed a switch, and they started up toward the center of the ship.

Toward the center of the Komitadji.

It was, Kosta thought, like being aboard a living legend. Not even the crystal-walled towers of

academia had insulated him from the stories of the huge ship's military victories; and even if they

had, the eight weeks of intensive training he'd just finished would have quickly remedied any such

omission. Practically every one of Kosta's military trainers had had his or her favorite story to tell

about the Komitadji, stories that were invariably told with a sort of grim glee. For the military, as

well as most ordinary Pax citizens, the Komitadji was a symbol of pride and glory and power. A

symbol of the protection and strength that was the Pax.

To be traveling the corridors of a legend would have been impressive enough. To be traveling the

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corridors of a ship that had achieved such legendary status in barely five years of active service was

truly awe-inspiring.

The trip to the command deck seemed to take an inordinately long time, even for a ship the

Komitadji's size, and to be unreasonably complicated besides. It added an extra tinge of nervousness

to Kosta's already mixed feelings about his place in this mission; and it was only as they switched

slidecars for the third time that it finally occurred to him that the inefficiency was probably

deliberate. On a warship, it didn't pay to make critical control areas too easy to get to.

The command deck, once they finally arrived, was just as Kosta had pictured it: a long room filled

with consoles and black/silver-suited men and women working busily at them. He looked around,

hoping to spot the captain—

"Kosta?" a voice boomed down from above him.

Kosta craned his neck. At one end of the room a small balcony-like ledge jutted out over the

command deck. An older, silver-haired man stood at the railing, gazing down at him. "Yes, sir?"

Kosta called back.

The other jerked his head fractionally and turned away. Wordlessly, Kosta's escort led the way to a

lift platform beneath the rear of the balcony. The memory-metal cage wrapped around the platform,

and a moment later it opened again on the balcony.

The older man was waiting for him. "Kosta," he nodded gravely in greeting, his eyes flicking up and

down in quick evaluation. "I'm Commodore Vars Lleshi. Welcome aboard the Komitadji."

"Thank you, sir," Kosta said. "I'm—well, it's..." He broke off, feeling suddenly like an idiot.

Lleshi's mouth twitched in a faint smile. "Yes; it is big, isn't it? Did you get your final briefing

below?"

"Yes, sir," Kosta nodded, trying to shake the feeling of being the new kid at school. "As much

briefing as they thought I should have, anyway."

Lleshi eyed him. "They were a little short on details?"

"Well..." Kosta said hesitantly as it occurred to him that sour-mouthing a military prep unit to a

officer of that same military might not be a smart thing to do. "They kept it a bit on the light side,"

he said, toning his comments down to something tactful. "I get the feeling I'm supposed to play a lot

of this by ear."

"You were expecting a script?" another voice put in scornfully.

Kosta turned, his throat tightening reflexively, to see a thin-faced man in a painfully neat, totally

unadorned gray civilian suit striding toward him from one of the command boards at the balcony's

side edge. "I—ah—I'm sorry?" he asked, floundering for words.

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"I asked if you thought you'd be getting a script for this," the other repeated. "You've just undergone

the finest intensive-training course money can buy. I'd have thought the absolute first thing they

would have beaten into you is that spies play nearly everything by ear."

Kosta took a careful breath, fighting against the old automatic submission urge. This man wasn't his

adviser, or his dean, or his department chairman. "I'm sure they taught me as best as they could in

eight weeks," he said. "Perhaps I'm just not good spy material."

"Very few people are naturally that way," Lleshi cut in, throwing a brief glance at the other man.

"But on the other hand, this isn't your average spy mission, either. As Mr. Telthorst has a tendency to

forget. For secret information, you send a spy. For secret academic information, you send an

academic." He favored Kosta with a tight but reassuring smile. "And for twenty years' worth of

secret academic information, you send an academic with a knack for digging nuggets out of froth."

"That person being you, we all hope," Telthorst said sourly. "Otherwise this whole thing will be

nothing more than a colossal waste of money."

Kosta gazed at him, again fighting against the urge to apologize. But at least now he finally had the

man pegged. "I take it, Mr. Telthorst, that you're the Komitadji's Adjutor Corps representative."

There was a faint sound from Lleshi that in a lesser man might have been a snicker. Slowly,

Telthorst turned his head to look at the commodore; just as slowly he turned back to face Kosta. "I

am not," he said, quietly and distinctly, "a representative of any kind. I am a fully qualified Adjutor,

authorized to sit at Supreme Council meetings and to advise the government on any and all matters

dealing with the financial and economic well-being of the Pax, or of any group, sub-group, world,

nationia, district, or sub-district within it."

His glare turned colder. "Including such totally inconsequential matters as the academic debts

incurred by tridoctorum students from small towns on minor worlds of backwater planetary groups.

Your debts, Kosta, and whether they will be canceled or not."

"I'm sorry," Kosta managed, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. The veiled power lurking beneath

that icy disdain was every bit as intimidating as the Komitadji itself. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

"I trust not," Telthorst said. He looked again at Lleshi. "And I, in turn," he added grudgingly, "didn't

mean to imply you were unprepared for your mission. You understand that liberating the people of

this so-called Empyrean from their alien domination and bringing them under Pax enlightenment is

going to be a very expensive proposition. My job is the same as that of every Adjutor: to make sure

the Pax gets its money's worth."

"I understand," Kosta said, his reflexive fear fading into a rather annoyed nervousness. He was about

to risk his life in enemy territory, and all Telthorst could think about was how much money it was

costing. "I'll do my best not to waste the Pax's investment in me."

Telthorst's forehead creased, just a bit—"I'm sure you'll do fine, Kosta," Lleshi put in before

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Telthorst could speak. "But enough talk. Your ship is in the Number Six cargo hold—you'll be taken

there directly from here. You know how to handle it?"

"Yes, sir," Kosta said. He did, too, after a fashion, though almost everything the ship would need to

do should already have been pre-programmed into it.

"Good," the commodore said. "Remember that you're not to leave the cocoon for a minimum of

twelve hours after you've been dropped. That's a minimum—if Empyreal ships are still poking

around you'll obviously need to sit tight longer. Just take your time and don't panic. You should be

totally undetectable inside the cocoon, and if we do our job properly they'll never even notice you

leaving the Komitadji. We should also be getting a data pulse from the automated sleeper drop on

Lorelei as soon as we arrive, provided we're grabbed by the proper net and our timing is on mark. If

there's time, I'll dump a copy to you before you're dropped. Once you're down, go to the coordinates

programmed into your ship's computer and pick up the final current-conditions compilation, the false

identity papers that should be waiting for you, and the access information for your credit line."

"A very limited credit line," Telthorst put in. "Keep that in mind, and try to find ways to be

economical."

"Yes, sir, I will," Kosta said, trying not to grimace. Money again. With Adjutors, it was always

money. "If that's all, Commodore," he added, "I'll get down to my ship."

Lleshi nodded. "Go ahead. And good luck on your little trip to heaven."

"Thank you." Kosta looked the commodore square in the eye. "I won't fail, sir."

"Scintara Catapult Control, Commodore," the man at the communications board called up to the

balcony. "We have signal green."

"Acknowledged." Lleshi gave his status board a leisurely scan. Ship's rotation was at zero, energy

weapons charged and ready, missiles loaded into their tubes and stand-by armed. Everything in place

for a little jaunt into enemy territory. "SeTO?"

"All green, Commodore," Senior Tactical Officer Campbell reported from his console. "Alpha and

Beta both. Ship and crew at full battle stations."

Peripherally, Lleshi saw Telthorst swivel around from his observer's console at one side of the

balcony. "Beta?" he asked, a suspicious overtone in his voice. "What's Beta?"

"It's a simulation run," Lleshi told him. "Fighters at station; that sort of thing. We do intend an

eventual invasion of these systems." He eyed the Adjutor, noting the other's tight-lipped expression.

"Your last chance to get off here if you'd rather," he offered.

Telthorst returned his gaze without blinking. "Your last chance, Commodore, to not risk this ship."

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Lleshi looked back at his board, fighting back a flash of very unprofessional anger. Zero hour was

not the time to reopen old arguments. They had no choice but to use the Komitadji on this, for

reasons Telthorst already knew. "Helmsman: Move us into position."

"Yes, sir."

A visual representation of the focal point of Scintara's hyperspace catapult sat directly in front of the

Komitadji on the helm display: a hazy red ellipsoid hanging in space, undulating slowly as its three

axes rhythmically fed from and into each other. In the early days of catapult travel—and it was a

thought that always intruded into Lleshi's mind at this point—a ship that didn't fit entirely within that

focal area risked leaving pieces of itself behind while the rest was thrown across the light-years.

Without the discovery of paraconducting metal, a ship the size of the Komitadji would never have

been possible.

Such a wonderful thing, progress.

The proximity alarm trilled: the Komitadji's bow had touched the focal ellipsoid. "Stand by," Lleshi

ordered. "Scintara Catapult, you have the timer. Launch at T-zero."

Scintara acknowledged. Thirty-eight seconds later, with a metallic stutter of stress from the

paraconducting underskin, the stars abruptly disappeared from the viewscreens.

Lleshi took a careful breath, mind and body slipping automatically into full combat mode. It was

nearly three hundred light-years from Scintara to the Empyreal world of Lorelei: just under six

seconds of hyperspace travel. "Stand by," he murmured, more from habit than any expectation that

his crew wasn't ready. He settled himself... and, as abruptly as they'd disappeared, the stars were

back.

"Location check," he ordered. The nav display had sprouted multicolored relative-V arrows now:

many of the "stars" on the visual were, in fact, asteroids. But that didn't necessarily put them in the

right net—all the nets around Lorelei seemed to be deep in the system's extensive asteroid belts. "If

we're in the right net, key for data retrieval."

"Focused pulse transmissions from the planet, Commodore," the comm officer reported. "We're in

the right net. Copying now."

"Campbell?"

"Tactical coming up now, sir," the SeTO said. "Defenses as expected."

Lleshi nodded, his eyes on the tac display... and it was indeed as expected. Arrayed in a rough

triangular pyramid two hundred kilometers on an edge around the Komitadji were four small ships.

Each of them carried the pole of a hyperspace catapult; together, they guarded the center of the net

field that had—somehow—snatched the Komitadji from its original hyperspace vector and deflected

it to this precise point. Any three of those ships, acting together, could throw the Komitadji right

back out of the system, in any direction they chose.

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And if they did so immediately, young Kosta might as well not have bothered coming aboard.

"Message, Commodore," the comm officer announced. "They remind us the Empyrean has closed its

borders to ships of the Pax, and request that we state our business here."

Lleshi smiled tightly. So the first part of the gamble had succeeded: the Komitadji's sheer size had

caught the Empyreals off guard. Even now they were scrambling to recalibrate their catapult as they

tried to make the invaders waste time with useless conversation. He threw a glance in Telthorst's

direction, saw only the back of the Adjutor's head. "No return message," he said quietly. "Attack

pattern Alpha."

The Komitadji's lights dimmed slightly as, on the tactical, four lines of blue light lanced out, one

focused on each of the distant catapult ships. Behind the laser beams four yellow plasma jets boiled

out; following right on their heels the red lines of a dozen Spearhawk missiles shot similarly

outward. Lleshi was pushed back into his chair as the Komitadji's engines roared to life, driving the

ship away from the center of the pyramid. The Empyreal ships moved to stay with them, the

Spearhawk missiles shifting vectors in turn to match the movement. The Komitadji's computers

refocused the lasers, launched new plasma clouds—

And a second later, almost in unison and at least thirty kilometers out from their targets, all twelve

Spearhawks exploded.

"Premature detonation; all missiles," Campbell reported. "Plasma and lasers having no discernible

effect; catapult ships still tracking us. Second Spearhawks away."

"Data pulse retrieval complete," the comm officer called as another set of twelve Spearhawks

appeared on the tactical, arcing toward the defenders. "Copy dumped to cocoon."

Behind the four beleaguered catapult ships eight similar spacecraft had now appeared on the tactical,

emerging from cover behind various asteroids. Back-ups, already starting to configure themselves

into catapult arrangement. "Cocoon launch on my command," Lleshi ordered, frowning with

concentration as he watched the second group of Spearhawks climb toward their targets. With the

detonation codes already computed by the Empyreals, this set ought to go considerably closer to the

Komitadji than the previous ones had—

In twelve simultaneous flashes, they did... and surrounded by light and fire and expanding clouds of

debris, the Komitadji was momentarily hidden from enemy view. "Cocoon: launch!" he snapped.

The Komitadji didn't lurch—it was far too big for that—but Lleshi imagined he could feel the dull

thud of the explosive springs as their cargo was blown clear of the Number Six hold. "Third

Spearhawks away," Campbell called.

"Fire Harpies," Lleshi ordered. "Random minus one pattern."

"Acknowledged. First Harpies away."

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On the tactical the twelve Spearhawk trails were abruptly joined by fifty more, bursting outward

from the Komitadji like the time-lapse flowering of a strange and exotic plant. Almost lost among

them was the tiny spot drifting with maddening leisure from the Komitadji's starboard side. "Hard

aport," Lleshi ordered. "Draw the catapult focus away from the cocoon."

He was pushed into the side of his chair as the helmsman complied. With plasma and missile debris

blocking their view it took a few seconds for the Empyreal ships to notice the maneuver and move to

match it; simultaneously, the Harpy missiles began exploding. "They've found the Harpies' code,"

Campbell said. "Second Harpies ready."

"Focus forming," the helmsman called. "Five seconds: mark."

"Hold second Harpies," Lleshi ordered. If Kosta and the cocoon weren't in the clear now, wasting

another batch of expensive missiles on what was little more than a fireworks display wasn't going to

make the difference. "Stand ready for catapult."

And with the usual stuttering from the hull, the universe vanished.

Automatically, Lleshi started counting the seconds; but he'd barely begun when the stars returned.

The stars, and a dull red sun barely visible to one side.

Carefully, he let out a quiet breath. That had been the final gamble of this phase of the operation, and

now it too had come up clean. "Secure from battle stations," he ordered. "Location check, and scan

for the cocoon."

"Location computed, Commodore," the navigator said briskly. "We're fifty-four point seven light-

years from the Lorelei system; running a hundred thirty million klicks out from the local sun. I'll

have an orbit profile in a moment."

"No trace of the cocoon within inner scan limit," the scanner chief added. Shifting to midrange, but

looks like a clean drop."

"Good. Get us some rotation, and have engineering start putting the kick pod catapult together."

The weight warning trilled through the command deck; and as the huge ship started almost

imperceptibly to rotate, Lleshi turned to look at Telthorst. "You see now why we weren't all that

worried about risking the Komitadji."

The Adjutor gazed back, his eyes hard. "Two hundred million kilometers further and you wouldn't

be in a position to gloat," he said pointedly. "Our vector would have passed straight through that star

out there and we'd all be very, very dead."

"Agreed," Lleshi nodded. "Which I imagine is why it took the Empyreals so long to get rid of us.

Laser-point precision on top of a fast field reconfiguration."

Telthorst looked at the dim star on the viewscreen. "I suppose they expect us to be impressed by

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that."

Lleshi shrugged. "I'm impressed. Aren't you?"

The Adjutor looked back at him, his lip twisted in contempt. "Impressed, Commodore? Impressed

by a people who've become so sheep-like that they won't kill even in their own defense? You're too

easy to please."

"Am I?" Lleshi countered, the slow unprofessional burn starting again. "Those Empyreals were

risking their lives, Adjutor—make no mistake about that. If those Spearhawks had hit them they'd

have died, with or without those fancy sandwich-metal hulls of theirs. In my experience, sheep

seldom come equipped with that degree of courage."

Telthorst's expression didn't change... but abruptly Lleshi felt a chill in the air. "Admiration of one's

opponents is said to be a useful trait in diplomats," the Adjutor said softly. "The same doesn't apply

to soldiers. Bear in mind, Commodore, that we're not dealing with men here. We're dealing with men

under alien control. There's a considerable difference."

"I'm aware of what we're up against," Lleshi said, keeping a firm grip on his temper. "But then, that's

why we're here, isn't it? To rescue our fellow human beings from these dangerous angels?"

The lines around Telthorst's mouth deepened. "Don't mock me, Commodore," he warned. "I may not

profess admiration for their soldiers the way you do. But I wasn't the one who set up a dry scorch

run, complete with a full complement of fighters and Hellfire missiles ready in their launch tubes."

Lleshi swallowed a curse. He'd hoped that in all the excitement Telthorst would have forgotten about

the Beta simulation. Not only hadn't he forgotten, he'd obviously even taken the time to monitor that

part of the exercise. "My orders are to subdue the Empyrean and bring it under the Pax umbrella," he

said stiffly. "I intend for my crew to be ready for any contingency that may arise in the act of

carrying out those orders."

"I applaud your foresight," Telthorst said. "Just remember that the operative word is 'subdue.' Not

'destroy'; 'subdue.' "

"Understood," Lleshi growled. No, of course the operative word wasn't "destroy." You could put an

Adjutor into a cold sweat simply by suggesting something with cash value or money-making

potential might be damaged. "Let me remind you in turn that that was the main reason we chose the

Kosta feint over the other scenarios Spec Ops suggested. If he isn't caught, he may be able to provide

us with valuable information on the angels."

Telthorst snorted. "Of course he'll be caught. Isn't that the whole purpose of a feint? To get caught?"

Lleshi nodded reluctantly, feeling a twinge of discomfort. Dangerous situations were hardly

anything new to him, and he'd had his fair share of ordering men onto what were little more than

suicide missions. But always before they'd been military men, who had known what they were

getting into and had had the best possible chance of getting out alive. Not a civilian with barely eight

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weeks of training.

Especially not a civilian who'd been lied to straight from square one about what his contribution was

expected to be. "He may get lucky," he said.

Telthorst eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. "Perhaps. I'd like a copy of that Lorelei data pulse."

Lleshi caught Campbell's eye, nodded. Wordlessly, the other stepped over to Telthorst and handed

him a data cyl. "Thank you," the Adjutor said, getting to his feet. "If you need me, Commodore, I'll

be in my stateroom."

He went to the bridge lift platform; paused there. "By the way, you'll want to do a complete survey

of this system," he added over his shoulder. "As long as we have to leave a functioning catapult here

anyway, we might as well see if there's anything worth coming back for."

"Thank you," Lleshi said. "I am familiar with standing orders."

"Good." For a moment Telthorst let his gaze drift leisurely around the balcony, as if to remind them

all who was ultimately in charge of this operation. Then, without another word, he disappeared down

the lift plate shaft to the lower command deck and left.

Bastards, Lleshi thought after him. Carved-ice bastards, every one of them. He turned back to his

console, keyed for an engineering status report. Work on the kick pod catapult was already

underway, with an estimated completion time of five days.

At which point they would be able to send word back to the Pax that Kosta's drop had been

successful. And the Empyrean would be on its slow, leisurely way to defeat.

"Tell engineering that as soon as the kick pod is away they're to put triple shifts on the main catapult

construction," he instructed the comm officer. "I want it ready in four months."

"Yes, sir."

With a grimace, Lleshi keyed for a copy of the Lorelei data pulse. To be trapped out here for four

months, only marginally in touch with what was going on with his task force, was going to be an

unpleasant exercise in patience. But for the moment, at least, he possessed information that no one

else in the Pax had. Plus five days to decide how much of that information would go out with the

kick pod.

Settling himself in his seat in the ship's slowly returning gravity, he began to read.

The timer pinged quietly, and Kosta looked up from his reading. The twelve hours Lleshi had

insisted on were up, and a careful look at the displays showed no Empyreal ships within inner scan

range.

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It was time to go.

Unhinging the control cover, he turned and then pressed a button; and with an awful racket of

explosive springs he was shoved back into his seat as his tiny ship was thrown forward through a

tunnel that magically appeared in the rock-textured surface of the cocoon. He held his breath,

waiting tensely for the inevitable enemy fighter ship that must surely have been skulking behind an

asteroid waiting for him.

But nothing. Not as the tiny ship oriented itself; not as it began its preprogrammed flight inward

toward the Empyreal world of Lorelei; not even as Kosta breathed a sigh of relief and dared to relax.

The gambit had worked, and he was on his way. Heading to Lorelei, and a rendezvous with a little

automated spy system the Pax had managed to set up before their last talks with the Empyreal

leaders broke off some months back.

And after that it would be on to Seraph. To Seraph, and Angelmass.

Staring out his viewport at the distant crescent of Lorelei, Kosta felt his stomach tighten. I won't fail,

he'd told Lleshi confidently. But now, far from the bright lights and purposeful men and women of

the Komitadji, the words echoed through his memory like so much empty bravado. He was alone

now, in hostile territory, facing an enemy possibly more alien now than it was human.

A little trip to heaven, Lleshi's last words echoed through his mind. It had been something of a

running gag, that, during Kosta's training: the fact that the breakaway colonists who'd founded the

Empyrean a hundred eighty years ago had chosen an ancient term for the highest reaches of heaven.

Question was, had the choice of that name indeed been purely coincidental? Or had it been an

indication, even way back then, of the angels' subtle influence on people's minds?

There were all sorts of questions like that hanging over this mission. Questions currently without

answers. Questions he, Kosta, was supposed to find answers for. Overwhelming, deep, impossible

questions...

And then, as the enormity of the whole thing once again threatened to drown him, the image of

Telthorst's face floated up into his mind. That face, and all that contempt...

"Forget it," he said aloud to the memory, the sound of the words echoed oddly by the displays

curving around in front of him. If Telthorst expected Kosta to land on his face just to accommodate

the Adjutor's preconceived notions, he could forget it.

The pep talk helped a little. A flashing light on his console reminded him that the cocoon's escape

tunnel was still on standby; keying in the proper commands, he watched as the false asteroid sealed

itself up again and then went inert. Briefly, he hoped inert meant exactly what it said, then put it out

of his mind. Surely the masterminds behind this mission had understood that if the Empyreals came

across a ship berth disguised as an asteroid it would be a dead giveaway that the Pax had slipped in a

spy.

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Timothy Zahn - Angelmass

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