DARKSHIP THIEVES

Sarah A. Hoyt

To Robert A. Heinlein, the man who pointed the way to the stars, and who taught me that the future is always better than the past. My work is unworthy of the master, but it is the best I have to offer.

Section I

FATHER’S DAUGHTER

One

I never wanted to go to space. Never wanted to see the eerie glow of the powerpods. Never wanted to visit Circum Terra. Never had any interest in discovering the truth about the darkships. You always get what you don’t ask for.

Which was why I woke up in the dark of shipnight, within the greater night of space in my father’s cruiser.

Before full consciousness, I knew there was an intruder in my cabin. Once awake, I couldn’t figure out how I knew it. The air smelled as it always did on shipboard — as it had for the week I’d spent here — stale, with the odd tang given by the recycling. 

The engines, below me, hummed steadily. We had just detached from Circum Terra — a maneuver that involved some effort, to avoid accidentally ramming the station or the ship. Shortly we’d be Earth-bound, though slowing down and reentry, let alone landing, for a ship this size, would take close to a week.

My head felt a little light, my stomach a little queasy, from the artificial grav. Yes, I know. Scientists say that’s impossible. They say artificial gravity is just like true gravity to the senses. You don’t feel a thing. They are wrong. Artificial grav always made me feel a little out of balance, like a couple of shots of whiskey on an empty stomach.

Even before waking fully, I’d tallied all this. There was nothing out of the ordinary. And yet there was a stranger in my cabin.

Years in reformatories, boarding schools and mental hospitals had taught me that the feeling I woke up with was often the right one. Something had awakened me — a door closing, a step on the polished floor. And my sleeping mind had got it, captured it, and was giving me its impressions now.

Now, why would someone be in my room? Knowing the why determined how I dealt with it.

Three reasons came to mind immediately: Theft, rape, murder. But all of them were impossible. The space cruiser belonged to Daddy Dearest and there was no one aboard save Daddy Dearest, my charming self — his only daughter — and his handpicked crew of about twenty-five, half of whom were his bodyguard goons and half maintenance crew of one description or another. Far more than I thought it would take to run a ship this size, but then what did I know about ships?

Now, whatever I thought of my father, the Honorable Patrician Milton Alexander Sinistra of the ruling council of Earth, I neither thought him stupid nor stupidly inclined to trust people. His goons were the scum of the Earth — only because there were no real populations on any other planet — but they were picked, trained, conditioned and, for all I knew, mind-controlled for loyalty. Hulking giants all, they would, each one of them, have laid down their lives for my father. Not the least because without Father they’d only be wanted men with no place to hide.

As for his other servants and employees, they were the best Father could command, in any specialty he needed. 

None of them, nor anyone who had ever seen Father in a white-hot rage, would ever do anything against Father or his family. Well… except me. I did. I defied Father all the time. But I was the sole exception.

There were no crimes at our home in Syracuse Seacity. There weren’t even any misdemeanors. No servant had ever been caught stealing so much as a rag from the house stores. Hell, no servant broke a plate without apologizing immediately and profusely and offering to pay for it.

So… the three reasons I could think of for an intruder to be here didn’t apply. No one would dare steal from me, rape me or murder me under Father’s roof. And no one — no one — who had even heard rumors about me would do so absent a fear of Father.

Without opening my eyes, I looked through my eyelashes — an art I’d learned through several sojourns at various institutions — and turned in bed. No more than the aimless flailing of a sleeper seeking a better position. The cabin was dark. For a moment I could see nothing. I could turn the lights on by calling out, or by reaching. But either of those would let the intruder know that I wasn’t asleep.

And then, my eyes adjusting, I saw him standing out of the deeper darkness. It was a him. It had to be a him. Broad shoulders and tall. He stood by my bed, utterly still.

My heart sped up. I tensed. I didn’t know who he was, nor what he was about to do, but it couldn’t be good. No one with good intentions would come in like that, while I was asleep, and then stand there, quietly waiting. As if to make sure I really was asleep.

Then I thought it might not be one of Father’s people at all. Our security was good. Really good. But we’d just been on a four-day-long state visit to Circum Terra, where the population were the top scientists in their field. Smart people. Smart people who had been isolated for a couple of years. Smart people who had stared and sighed when I walked around and attended parties and was my most flirty self in the clothes that were one of the few perks of being Father’s daughter.

If one of those people had sneaked aboard … I mean people who lived like that and cared mostly about rational things might not know how to deal with a sudden impulse. And not anticipate what Father would do to them.

Moving slowly, in the same seemingly aimless movements, I clenched my hands on the blanket about an arm’s length apart, and made fists, grabbing handfuls of the stuff. I’d have preferred to twist it around my wrists, so it wouldn’t come loose, but that would be way too obvious.

The man in the dark took a step towards me. He was good. If he was a scientist, he must have been a cat burglar in a previous life. If I hadn’t been awake, he surely wouldn’t have awakened me now.

I sprang. I hopped up to the edge of the bed. The ceramite bed rail gave a better surface for bouncing. I bounced on my tiptoes and flew up, blanket stretched between my hands.

There is this state I go into when in fear or anger. It seems as though I can move faster — and be stronger — than normal people. At least enough to take everyone by surprise. It had seen me through countless battles in boarding schools, hospitals, detention centers. I never understood why people didn’t match it. They didn’t seem able to.

As time seemed to slow for me, I wrapped the blanket over the head of the intruder and pulled, with the blanket still held in both hands. A blanket is the worst garrote possible. I much prefer a scarf or a rope. But even I couldn’t have everything. Where would I put it? Who would polish it?

As my prey started to flail, I knew that however much slower than I he was, he was stronger. And bigger. I pulled the ends of the blanket I had grabbed, as tight as I could around his neck. It wasn’t pliable enough. I needed something big and heavy to crash over his head. But — damn the space cabin! — everything was locked behind drawers and doors in case of artificial gravity failure. And he was thrashing, struggling, grabbing my arm.

I did what comes naturally in these circumstances. I lifted my foot, aiming with my heel because bare toes aren’t very effective, and kicked. Hard. Right at the center of his manhood. He screamed and let go of my arm.

Just long enough for me to find, on the floor, the boots that, according to my bad habit, I had taken off and left by the side of the bed. I mustn’t have been asleep very long, since my maid hadn’t picked them up yet. This meant that most of the people on board should be awake still.

As I thought this, I grabbed the boot. It was more fashionable than practical, a boot designed for walking indoors and looking good. Fortunately, at that time looking good — in the short silk dresses I favored — demanded a fairly high heel, plated all around with a thick layer of silver. And chunky, according to current fashion.

I had just time to weigh it in my hand. My uninvited guest was trying to pull the blanket off and calling out some nasty words that good scientists shouldn’t pronounce.

When hitting someone on the head it’s all a matter of knowing the point where it will do the most good. Or harm. Long experimentation had told me the point above the ear would work, only of course, he was moving around too much to make it exact. I did try. 

I visualized my hand going through his head — because otherwise the blow would lack the needed force — pulled back, to gain momentum, and brought the heel of the boot hard on his head. As hard as I could from the disadvantage of a lower height. If he hadn’t been half-bent, trying to unwrap the blanket, I’d never have managed it at all.

As it was, the first hit made him pause. Just pause. He didn’t fall and I thought I hadn’t hit hard enough, so I hit again, harder.

He made a sound like choking and went down. The blanket, which he’d managed to loosen most of the way by the time he fell, came off his face.

“Lights on,” I said, and jumped back, holding my boot, because if he came back at me, I was going to hit him again, and this time I wanted to be able to see where.

But as the soft glow shone on his pale face, I recognized Andrija Baldo, the head of my father’s goons. And he was very still.

His square face was pasty grey. The brutal lips another shade of grey. There was a drop of blood running from beneath his hair. I wondered for a moment if I had killed him, and exactly how mad Father would be if I had.

Then I realized his chest was rising and falling minimally. So, still alive.

And in his right hand, firmly clutched, was the oval shape of an injector. I knew the color too. There was only one medicine they packaged in those piss-yellow injectors.

Morpheus. The strongest knock-out juice in the universe.

Two

A full injector of Morpheus and I’d have been dead to the world for the rest of the night. Was it really rape after all? Or murder?

I frowned down at the passed-out goon on my floor. Right. Andrija Baldo, who — as far as I knew — had been with Father since Father had rescued him from some correction camp or other, had been about to drug me and… 

My mind stopped there. 

Oh, he could have raped me. And maybe I wouldn’t even have known, come morning. Or he could have killed me. 

But none of us, and Father’s goons certainly least of all, could imagine that we had any real privacy aboard this cruiser. Father had it built to specifications. If cameras and microphones didn’t cover every possible inch of every possible compartment, then Father was not the paranoid bastard we all knew him to be. 

So… Why would Andrija do something this?

Or was it Andrija’s idea at all? Could it be one or more of Father’s enemies manipulating or paying Andrija?

Truth was this whole trip to Circum Terra stank to high heavens. Yes, Father was a member of the Earth’s ruling council. But he was not one of those who interacted with the public or who gave the benighted multitudes the idea that they had any say in their governance. Father stayed behind the scenes. He planned things. He hired people. He saw that plans came to fruition. So, why go to Circum Terra? Why meet with scientists whose influence on the public opinion was slim to none? And why bring me along?

Oh, I was decorative. I’ll admit that. I could be decked out and made up and — at all of five-five, with long wavy black hair and breasts the size that make other women call you fat — I could look like the perfect young lady of Patrician class. For a time at least. Before the next clash with Daddy Dearest made me tear a broad swath of rebellion and rage through Father’s household and possessions. And four days in Circum were a short enough period to allow me to pass.

But why would Father want me with him? And why the trip to Circum at all? And if he had to go there, why not use an air-to-space, which traveled much faster and could get us to Circum in a day? Why the huge, slow space cruiser with its full complement of personnel? I shoved the thoughts out of my mind. Nothing I could do about them now, and I must do something about Baldo.

Alive or dead, an inert goon made for a terrible room decoration. You’d keep stumbling all over him. And honestly, he’d never looked that good.

I stood by Andrija’s unconscious body, holding my boot in one hand. I could shove him into one of the closets that lined the room, under all the gowns, and then lock my door and go back to bed. And hope he didn’t wake up in the night, and come after me. Or I could hope that someone had seen all this on a camera and came to my rescue. 

No. I’d never before waited for someone else to rescue me. I didn’t think it would work if I did so now. For one, I couldn’t really believe Andrija was working on his own. Not in Father’s ship. Not when Father would surely find out.

Someone knocked at the door. It was a tentative knock — the type people give when they don’t want to rouse anyone else. My hair prickled at the back of my neck. If someone had spotted the attack on the security tape and had come to rescue me, the knock would be loud. They would be calling my name and pounding on that door like doomsday came early.

But there was only the tentative knock. Repeated. And then the doorknob shook.

I slid around to the right side of the door. The door was set on a wall at a slight tilt, so that the right side formed a shallow angle with the closet. I squeezed myself against the wall there, as the knob turned completely and the door opened.

A dark head poked in, there was a muffled sound of surprise at seeing Andrija on the floor. I acted on instinct. Before the newcomer could open his mouth to call out, I reached over, and hit him hard with the heel of the boot. He went down.

As he fell, I recognized Friso Sikke, the second-in-command among Father’s goons. What was going on? Had Father’s goons all turned on me? Would all of them be coming after me?

I had to get out of this room. When under attack, a place with only one exit — through which enemies arrived — was the worst possible refuge in which to make a stand.

I could not wait here to hit them one by one as they came in. I took a quick look down at myself. I was wearing only the thigh-long silk slip in which I slept. I cast a longing look at my closet, full of all sorts of work suits which would be much better for fighting or fleeing in.

Steps approached. I couldn’t take the time. I didn’t have a moment. I had to get out before they blocked the door.

Boot still in hand, I ran out of the cabin. Outside, a broad hallway opened. In the middle of the hallway stood two men. They weren’t familiar. Servants. Or at least I assumed they were servants, hired for the trip.

Blurrily, I noticed they were pushing a grey antigrav platform between them. A stretcher, of the type used for hospitals. I ducked under it. They yelled something as I passed, but I had more important things on my mind.

My father’s cabin was at the other end of the hallway from mine — presumably so that if I should decide to hold a party by myself in the dark of night, I wouldn’t disturb him. Across from Father’s cabin was the antigrav well that led to the next level. I ran towards it.

If Father wasn’t in on this, then the safest thing would be to run towards him. I couldn’t imagine why Father would be in on this, but all my instincts warned me off running to his room. At the very least, if Father weren’t there, or if he weren’t capable of stopping their coming after me, I would be stuck in another room with only one exit. Bad strategy. The antigrav well, and the working levels of the ship below it, were the only way open.

I heard screams and running feet behind me, but I’d already jumped into the cushioning currents of the antigrav well. The landing at the other end was soft enough, and I started running immediately, faltering only slightly as I pulled free of the antigrav. I felt more than heard the two men hit the well behind me.

This corridor was the working level used by Father, not his personnel. During our time docked at Circum it had served a mobile embassy for Syracuse Seacity. Three of the doors on either side led to ballrooms and one to an office/workroom. I had no idea what the other three were for. We had never opened them, and I’d been too busy with parties and tours to do my normal exploration. At the other end of the hallway another antigrav well led to the servants’ quarters and, at the end, to the lifepod bay.

In between was a hallway twice as broad as the one upstairs, with the walls covered in holo-windows that displayed sunny Mediterranean landscapes — beaches and olive groves and the gentle slopes or tree-covered mountains.

The ballrooms sprawled spacious, and the office had more places to hide than my cabin, but in the end, they remained enclosed areas. Not a good place to get trapped in. Running full tilt on my bare feet, boot in hand, I wondered if one of the other rooms might hide an armory. Unlikely. Our home had an armory, but Father — being almost eighty years old — never used it.

Still, one of the other rooms might hold something… Or it might lock securely till I could figure out my next step.

In despair, I slowed enough to test the door of the first room I’d never opened. And found myself staring at a state-of-the-art operating room. Father lay on an antigrav stretcher.

I had time to register that he was clearly unconscious before a hand touched my arm. I felt more than heard movement behind me and spun around, in combat mode, that mode in which I felt as if I were going twice as fast as everyone around me.

The boot, clutched in my hand, caught the medtech full force on the forehead. He grunted and stepped back. This surprised him just long enough to allow me to pull my arm free and run again.

No escape there. No escape in the medical rooms. Medical rooms!

Why were there medical rooms in a space cruiser? There was no way we could take a trip longer than a week. There was nowhere to go! The moon bases didn’t take visitors — not even Good Men — and even so, it only took two weeks to get there. What could happen to Father in two weeks? Father was old but not that old. And he was in good health. Father. Why was Father unconscious in a medical room? There had been… trays of instruments. Medtechs. And medical machinery. Why?

I legged it as fast as I could towards the antigrav well. A sudden shrieking alarm broke the silence, and then a strobe light effect kicked in, making the Mediterranean landscapes on the walls look like they would if the Earth was hit by a meteorite cluster. A meteorite cluster composed of hallucinogenics.

The voices that went with the shipboard alarms came in over speakers, seemingly from everywhere at once. One of them was the fire alarm saying, “Fire, fire. Please rush to the lifepod bay.” The other one was the one for piracy and it said, “There are intruders aboard. Please secure your area and do not leave.” And yet another talked about a mechanical malfunction and my absolute need to rush to assist.

It seemed to me that someone had clapped his hand across all the alarm buttons. In my particular emergency — unable to understand what was going on — finding an area I could secure seemed like a really good idea. Perhaps the kitchens downstairs. Kitchens would have knives and cookers and poking implements that could cut and stab and burn. They also contained provisions.

Once, at twelve, I’d held an entire finishing school at bay and barricaded myself in the kitchen for a week, until Father had come to get me. 

I threw myself down the grav well. Landed ready to run. For my money, of all the self-defense, street fighting and other offensive arts I’d taught myself, the best training of all as far as running and staying on my feet and even fighting back had been my time spent at the ballet school in Paris when I was fourteen. It helped me keep my balance now, as I landed on tiptoes and leapt out of the antigrav field.

I loped two large steps down the hallway. And became aware of steps behind me. Coordinated steps. Large, heavy bodies on large heavy boots, hit the floor in the grav well, and fell into a run as easily as I had.

A look over my shoulder showed me what remained of my Daddy Dearest’s goons. They were dressed in full dimatough armor from head to toe. At a casual glance they looked like men in black masks wearing suits made entirely of black scales. Which they were. They were also men protected by material that nothing — not even diamond — could cut.

Nothing I might find in a kitchen could hold them at bay. It would have to be the lifepod bay.

The clump-clump-clump of their boots behind me cut through the mishmash of warnings, sirens and alarm bells. I wondered why no one came out of the kitchen or other dependencies. Where were they? Had some word of warning gone out? Or were most of them in their dormitories and confused by the cacophony of alarms? Of course, Father’s long-time servants knew me. Not one of them would volunteer to grapple with me.

At the end of the hallway, the huge double doors led to the lifepod bay. Next to them was a panel for the palm print that would allow one to open the doors. I lay my sweaty palm against it. I was afraid it wouldn’t open. The law said it had to be coded for everyone aboard. But this was Father’s cruiser, and where Daddy was concerned, laws happened to other people.

Slowly, ponderously, the door started sliding open. One handspan. Two. I slid through into the opening and squeezed into the bay.

Inside, the lifepod bay was cavernous, and lifepods were set in a circle around the bay, each of them in front of its own eject lock. There were thirty-five. Enough for everyone aboard. I dove towards the nearest one.

And saw one of the goons — from the bulk, Narran, another of Father’s favorite bodyguards — near the control panel inside the lifepod bay. He was about to press the button that would lock down the lifepods. Not that I knew there was such a button, but it stood to reason. He could prevent my leaving.

Instinct is a wondrous thing. I turned around, grabbed my slip and tore it, top to bottom, exposing my naked body.

It was a desperate maneuver but, if I knew the male brain — and I did — enough to short-circuit his reactions for a couple of seconds.

Enough for me to jump into the lifepod and push the red eject button. I suspected once that was done nothing could stop it. But still, relief flooded me as the pod shot out into the membrane that divided it from the airlock. The membrane opened to let it through. Then the other membrane opened.

I shot out into space in the lifepod — which was a triangular vessel made of transparent dimatough and barely large enough to hold me — in an awkward position, effectively straddling the central axis of the vehicle, with my knees and legs on the floor of it, and bent forward over controls that consisted only of a joystick and a com button.

Trembling, I took a deep breath. Whatever was going on, I was sure my father’s goons would follow me as soon as they could strip off their dimatough armors and squeeze into the lifepods.

I had to get away from here. I had to get help.

Grabbing hold of the joystick, I pointed myself towards Circum Terra, which hung like a glowing doughnut in the eastern quadrant of the sky. With my free hand I pushed down the com button.

“Help,” I shouted into whatever frequency might be picking up. The cruiser for sure, but perhaps Circum Terra too. “My name is Athena Hera Sinistra. My father’s space cruiser has been highjacked.”

Three

I woke upside down. Opening my eyes, I realized I was in a lifepod, surrounded on all sides by space. So it wasn’t strictly true that I was upside down. Lessons from childhood bobbed up in my mind. In space there’s no up nor down. 

Which was another of those things like antigrav not making you sick to your stomach. It’s fine to say that, but clearly the scientists who thought so didn’t live in my body. In space, with null-grav, with a minimal vehicle between me and the void, everything was upside down. Always.

I tweaked the joystick to bring me “up” the other direction, but I still felt upside down. It must be two hours at least since I’d fallen asleep. The reasons for falling asleep of course were that I was exhausted, Circum Terra wasn’t answering, and the pod moved straight ahead at a constant speed no matter what I did. 

But now things looked more interesting. In front of me, Circum Terra loomed — doughnut shaped, shining with the lights of myriad docking stations and beacons. And behind me… 

Looking over my shoulder, squinting, I could see a straggle of other lifepods, in hot pursuit. Er… in pursuit as hot as they could manage. Which wasn’t much. These lifepods had no speed controls. They had a fixed speed and — I thought — twelve-hour air supply. I wished I’d paid more attention to Father’s lectures about the lifepods. But I knew they all had fixed speeds. And so Father’s goons were as far behind as they’d been when they’d left the space cruiser.

I had to get to Circum, dock and make my case quickly. To be honest, I doubted anyone would take the opinion of the goons over mine, but one never knew.

I looked down at the front of my torn slip. Not much chance of making myself look respectable before I reached Circum. As for my hair, with the best hairdressing in the world, and lots of work, I could tame the wild black curls. With my fingers, in a small space vessel, I’d have to hope I didn’t look too savage to ask for refuge.

My eye on the goons behind me — just in case they magically gained on me — I reached for the button of the com and pressed it. Before I could open my mouth, a voice came from it. Father’s voice. 

“Athena Hera Sinistra,” he said, “has left my space cruiser while hallucinating. She might be in the grip of mind-altering drugs. She must be believed to be armed and dangerous. We’re asking Circum Terra to detain her till she can be retrieved by my employees.”

Several shocks hit me in succession. 

First — the com was two-way? My mind accommodated to this quickly, though. Of course, it was two-way. How else could a base talk a stranded castaway through landing?

Second — my father was talking? My father? Last time I’d seen Daddy Dearest, he looked about as likely to talk as to sing opera. So what had happened? Had he been behind this all the time? 

No. I couldn’t imagine Father being part of any plot that involved his lying there, in a medical room, cold and dead-looking like landed mackerel. I knew for a fact that most procedures he’d had done on him, from minor regen to surgery he had insisted on local anesthesia only, because he didn’t trust anyone to operate on him while he was out cold.

So… no. Father wasn’t behind this. He couldn’t be. But whoever was either had awakened him and forced him to issue this warning, or found a way of faking his voice — not hard with computer generation — so that it even fooled me — a little harder, but possible.

That it was recognizable as Father’s voice was all that mattered. No one at Circum would doubt it. Not for a minute.

And though I’d been on my best behavior while in Circum — the charming socialite Athena Sinistra — I was sure even they got casts. And the casts had been full off and on of my misdeeds. The running with wild broomers. The time I’d flown my broom right up against a wall and everyone had thought I’d die. Drugs? They’d believe that. Psychotic behavior under the influence of drugs? They’d believe that too.

This was the last shock, and the worst of all. Because it dawned on me slowly: I couldn’t go to Circum.

And this was a problem indeed. Because space lifepods depended on the fact that the ship in trouble would have sent a rescue signal. And faster ships would have come to rescue any survivors within hours.

This meant… I had oxygen for a few hours more — I wasn’t sure how many as I didn’t know the speed of the lifepod nor how long I’d slept. Not nearly enough to make it to Earth.

I looked behind me, at the lifepods pursuing me. The formation they were in. I could only go to Circum or into the dangerous powertrees. They’d never catch me before I made it to Circum, but what was the point, if they could capture me without getting there before me?

I thought of my time in Circum Terra. I’d flirted with scientists and befriended techs, but the ones I’d felt most comfortable with were the powerpod harvesters. These men, who risked their lives daily navigating through the thorny, dark labyrinth of the powertrees and harvesting the unstable powerpods, were somehow the same kind of person I was. We were kin. We understood each other.

Now, with Circum up and to my left — well, to my insides everything felt like down and left, but it was relatively above the lifepod, and I knew it — I had the forest of powertrees, the powerpods glowing upon them like captive fireflies to my right. Earth cast its shadow on us and put us in night.

If I couldn’t go to Circum, why not the powertrees?

Fine, fine, any rational person would refuse to consider the powertrees. Ever. But I was never a rational person. And what choice did I have? They wouldn’t pursue me in there.

And if I could find a harvester there, in the forest of coiling branches, if I could get the harvester to take me on, I’d have a chance, wouldn’t I? I could talk to the harvester operator and convince him of my story, and get him on my side before I landed in Circum. I might have a chance. Just a slim chance, but better than none.

I veered off towards the powertrees. Calling them trees is, of course, a misnomer. They have no trunks and no roots. They are rather a conglomeration of twisting branches with what appear to be gigantic thorns growing out of them. And here and there, amid them, the powerpods in various stages of ripeness, radiation glowing through their skins.

What did I know about them? Absolutely nothing. Or nothing more than you learned in your primary programs. That the trees are a biological solar collector, planted and grown in the late twenty-first century during the reign of Earth’s bio-lords. That they were fed organic matter from Earth via the ancient beanstalk that predated the expansion of Circum Terra and which was no longer safe for people, but which still worked perfectly for cargo. That they collected the sun’s radiation into the powerpods which, in turn, brought to Earth, powered our civilization.

How the trees grew in space, in vacuum? No idea. Clearly they were a closed system, their skin immune to the vacuum of space. How? No idea. But then again, neither had our leading scientists any ideas. The bio-lords, fortunately deposed in turmoils long before my birth, had been bioengineered to be well beyond our normal human intellectual capacity. None of us could match it. But we still used the power system. All of our technology was keyed to it. It was so abundant and inexhaustible that it was unlikely to ever get replaced.

Even the harvesters had no idea how the trees grew in vacuum. All they knew was how to pick the pods at the sweet spot between ripeness and instability. Too unripe, and they would have too little power, barely worthy transporting to Circum. Too much and they would blow up and take the harvester with them before ever getting to Circum’s extruding chamber.

Oh, another thing they knew—or said they knew—and that was that darkship thieves, the descendants of a few escaped bio-lords, lived somewhere beyond the stars and stole ripe pods. Or so they’d told me. I wasn’t sure it was a true legend, or the equivalent of stories to frighten a child.

I’d given them no thought at all—not until I found myself flying into the tangle of powertrees.

The joystick was sweaty in my hand, and it was hard to maneuver—even this small a ship—between trunk and powerpod, carefully, carefully. Harvesters had precision controls and computer-aided steering. I had a joystick and an unwieldy lifepod that reacted just a little too slowly.

Down over a branch, I dodged above the next just in time to avoid smashing into it, and then there was a huge powerpod in front of me, the fissures in the skin indicating it was overripe and about to blow. I twisted sideways and barely skidded away from it. And found myself threading a needle hole, barely large enough for the pod to dive through. I hoped.

I swallowed hard, as I went into it. I’d have prayed if I believed in gods.

And then, out of nowhere I hit something. Not hard. And whatever I hit was not as deadly solid as the diamond-hard trunks and certainly no powerpod. For one, it didn’t blow up.

Even after hitting it, I couldn’t see what it was. It was . . . dark. Straining, I could make out a rounded outline, but barely distinguishable from the surrounding gloom.

My throat closed. It was a darkship. It was a darkship piloted by the descendant of the biorulers. The biorulers had been inhumanely intelligent, modified to be that way. They’d also been unable to reproduce—leading to their being called Mules—to ensure that the human race survived. But if this was a descendant, they must have been able to reproduce. Or was this one of the original biorulers? How long did they live? And what did they want with us? Their rule of Earth had been utterly ruthless. They’d moved and eliminated populations without regard. What would they do with me?

In a panic, I looked behind, looked around for a harvester. But there was no one in sight. I tried to move away from the ship, but I seemed to have been caught somehow. All I managed was a long, painful scrape.

And all of a sudden my com button pushed itself down and a voice came over it. A deep, male voice, with an odd accent. “Blazing Light,” it said. “Why are you scraping my sensors?”

I froze. This thing wasn’t a ship. It was a creature. A dark, huge and powerful creature. And I’d injured it.