Jules believed her, because she had nothing else to hang on to, but the truth was she had no idea what she was looking at. The lie she told the scientists might as well be true, for all she fucking knew. Maybe they were trying to increase intergate communication. Marya’s pictures leaned in that direction.
She could ask the scientists. Not directly, but she could ask them what sort of machines the amplifiers would be capable of communicating with. It wouldn’t be a complete answer, but it’d be something. A direction for her to look, to push. She’d ask them now, while she still had the nerve.
On a whim she pulled up the shell program she used to set up the deadman’s switch on the shuttle. Lolla was still there, the program still running, so she was pretty sure it worked. She opened another path and added the data on the research for the amplifiers to it, set to send to an ident Arden used to use as a dump box. If she died, they’d receive everything the researchers had come up with so far, plus what little information she had on the ascension-agent, along with a single line—to wake Lolla.
She had to do this alone. But if she failed, Arden might be able to pick up the pieces. She stood to make her way to the lab, when an incoming message flashed onto her wristpad from Marya: Hey, girl. Look I know you’re pissed but let’s talk. I just landed, but there’s a ship incoming that I gotta scare off. Let me deal with it then we’ll chat in the kitchen, ok?
Jules clenched her fists, but typed back: Okay.
CHAPTER 26
PRIME STANDARD YEAR 3543
CHARTER REVOKED
Janus Station spun a short flight away from them, a single point of metal and light in a sea of black teeming with human intrusion. Sanda tried not to gawk, but it was impossible to keep the wideness of her eyes to herself. Even on the fringes of the system, the viewscreens displayed ships the size of small planets, stations in the dozens, and asteroids corralled into orbit around the tiny planet that was Ordinal.
The scale of the Ordinal system was something she’d only read about, a sensation that visual media failed to convey. Her home, Ada, was so small, so pointless, in the churning chaos of humanity stretched across the stars.
“Berserker drone field,” Conway said, dragging her attention away from the infomatics for the whole system and back to the screen devoted to Janus. “It’s subtle, but it’s a complete net around Janus.”
“Are they live?”
“On and waiting. No way to know the trigger, but I’m guessing they’re under control from station HQ. Anything running on automated sensors would have taken down a civilian craft accidentally by now.”
“Get me station ATC.”
“Calling,” Arden said.
Arden didn’t wear the Prime uniform well. Their wild hair and a tendency to shove any old bit of electronics in their pockets ruined the constrained lines of the jumpsuit, but they played the role of ship comms director convincingly. A lot of allowances were given for the personal proclivities of techs, so Sanda didn’t think their presence would set off any alarm bells in Janus. Nox wore the uniform like he was born to it. Graham was the only one she worried about.
He kept reaching up to tug at the wrists, the neckline. Subtle, quick movements that betrayed he wasn’t used to wearing the thing and was desperate to get it off. She’d stuck him in a nav chair toward the back, and put Nox, Conway, and Knuth camera-forward. Arden, by nature of their job, was dead center in front of Sanda, but lower to access the comms panel.
For better or worse, Sanda had opened the door to the captain’s quarters to find a trim, dark grey major’s coat with a set of bars for her jumpsuit waiting. Anford didn’t miss a detail and, as the stiff fabric of the coat pressed down on her shoulders, that worried her.
The center viewscreen switched from a view of the system to a woman wearing a comms headset, complete with HUD monocle, her narrow face pinched in irritation. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she’d been running.
“This is Janus Station. Please identify yourself and be advised that you are entering restricted airspace.”
Sanda sat straight, as she’d seen Anford do, as if her spine were made of metal so dense nothing in the ’verse could bend it. She’d thought a lot about names during the transit to Ordinal. The gunship had needed a name.
Part of her didn’t want to force a name on anyone—or anything—but when she considered, she realized people got to choose their name only if they changed it later in life. Her own name was as common as hydrogen, Sanda being a version of Alexandra, and Maram a version of that woman’s lover, Maria.
Names shouldn’t matter, she’d told herself, especially ones that were given, but she still couldn’t bring herself to call the gunship by its call sign. The ship itself didn’t care. It repeated its call sign when she asked what it would like to be called, and the others had no input.
So she’d thought back to Bero, and the story he’d been told about a young prince traveling the stars looking for a friend, having left his only love—a rose—behind, and decided it was time to grow some thorns.
“Janus Station, this is Major Sanda Maram Greeve in command of the gunship Thorn. Please instruct your berserker shield to stand down and prepare for boarding.”
The woman’s eyes bulged. “This is a private research station, we are off-limits to—”
“Janus Station exists under the forbearance of the Keepers and, by extension, the fleet. Your research charter allows for inspection by Prime operatives at any time. If you fail to conform to the letter of your charter, then Janus will be recategorized as a subversive station and I will be forced to engage.”
She licked her lips. “I-I’m not qualified to—” Something drew her attention away, down low to the right, some superior monitoring the feed sending her orders, no doubt. Sanda did her damnedest to look bored.
“What—” The comms woman cleared her throat. “What is it you need, Major Greeve?”
“We are auditing your personnel. Instruct all station staff to prepare for inspection.”
“You can’t—”
“Ma’am,” Sanda said in the coldest tones she could muster. “I can, and I am going to. You have scanned my ship, correct?”
The woman nodded, mute.
“Then you understand that the Thorn can take out your berserker drones in…” She pretended to check a data stream that didn’t exist. “Seven point two five seconds. After that, we will force boarding. If you attempt further resistance, this ship will bust your station by the administration of a railgun to your engines.”
“We are civilians.”
“With berserker drones, and a charter in place that allows your existence only on the condition that you submit to fleet law and fleet inspection. Prepare for boarding. Greeve out.”
She waved a hand, blanking the screen.
Nox whistled low and leaned over to nudge Graham in the arm. “Your kid is terrifying, you know that?”
“She didn’t get that from me,” Graham said, but he gave Nox a sly smile.
“No, I didn’t.” Sanda thought of Bero, sucking the atmo out of his hab while Tomas’s head lolled, and pushed the image away. Memories would only slow her down, and she could not afford to miss a single thing.
Conway said, “That berserker shield will chew us to fucking bits.”
“They don’t know that.”
“You sure?”
“Betting our asses on it, aren’t I?”
A green all-clear light flicked across the screen. The ship’s AI said, “We are cleared to dock at habitation ring seven.”
“So they’re trying to keep us out of one through six,” Sanda said. To the ship, she said, “Initiate docking procedure. Conway, keep the guns pointed at the nearest drones. Make it look like we’re ready to smash and burn.”
“Heard,” Conway said.
Sanda counted her breaths as they sidled up to the station. The docking clamp took the ship in hand with a gentle shudder. The local view switched over to pure diagnostics, cutting off her view of the s
tation and the clamps.
“Live fire remains locked in,” Conway said the second the switchover happened.
“Hold on,” Arden said, tapping at their wristpad. “They may have blocked me from their systems, but this close I can use the ship’s scanners to get us a little more data. What’s below level seven…?” they muttered, squinting at the screen. “Huh. The Thorn thinks they’ve got a high-end cooling system down there.”
Sanda schooled her expression to keep from giving away the shock of that statement. She didn’t have all the pieces, but she was beginning to see the shape of this puzzle. Lavaux’s incredible physical endurance, Rayson Kenwick living far longer than possible—if the records were correct—sketched the edges of an idea that bordered on conspiracy theory.
According to Tomas’s research, both had been members of the Imm Project before it was pulled for being a failure. High-end coolers went well with a large supply of evac pods and NutriBaths. She needed to see what Rainier Lavaux wanted kept on ice.
“Send me that schematic,” she said calmly. “It could be important.”
Arden said, “Sure, but that’s not the big concern. They’ve got signal scanners on the docks. Those will be a problem.”
“How so?” Sweat pricked between her shoulder blades.
“My Trojan is always listening for its activation signal. Those scanners will notice tech that’s looking for a connection. We need control of their computers, because there’s no way they’ll trot out Jules for you on this inspection. You just gotta get the code into their systems, then bug out. After that I can talk to her, get a better idea of what’s going on.”
“If we walk in with a Trojan scanning for a backdoor, all bets are off,” Knuth said. “These people don’t seem to have a light hand on the trigger.”
“They’ll kill her, and us,” Graham protested. “I’m sorry, Arden, but we can’t take that risk. Sanda can force them to bring all souls out—”
“No fucking way. I have not gotten this close only to—”
“Quiet,” Sanda said. “Arden, give me the Trojan.” She extended a hand to them, palm-up.
“Sanda—” Graham started, but she cut him a look.
Arden unstrapped and didn’t bother to grab ground with the mag boots. They kicked off the bulkhead and arrowed toward her, a sleek micro-drive in their hand. They slapped it into her palm. She closed her hand around it, fingers tangling with Arden’s for a breath.
Their palm was so, so cold. Sanda met their gaze, and they stiffened, unused to being scrutinized. But she had to know that… yes, they were scared. Frightened straight down to their bones. She let them go and they grabbed a ceiling handle, pushing back toward the comm seat.
Sanda undid the jumpsuit seam on her prosthetic leg, revealing the hastily sealed SynthFlesh. It took a bit of wiggling, but she got the chip wedged through the sealant and hidden.
“There,” she said, closing the calf back up. “No one’s going to wonder at a smart prosthetic listening for a signal from the owner’s wristpad, are they?”
Arden grinned. “No, they’re not. I’m pushing the control program to your pad now. Get as deep as you can into that station, then hit the activation button. You won’t have to do anything else.”
The ship shivered as it locked into dock. A yellow light flicked on above the airlock door—the station asking permission to hook up.
“Here we go,” she said, undoing her harness. She slammed her mag boots down and clicked them on. “Boarding party to me: Nox and Knuth. Conway, keep a light finger on that trigger. Knuth, I want your eyes up—look for oddness in the station’s design. Arden, monitor everything. Nox, you know what you do.”
Nox checked the two blasters strapped to his hips, then selected a larger rifle from a side panel and cradled it in front of his chest.
“I should go with you,” Graham said, reaching for his harness.
“No. You’re staying here. You look like a civvie, Dad. Sorry.”
His hand hesitated on the harness buckle, then came to rest in his lap. “Nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I got her six,” Nox said, and dropped a hand on Graham’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, Papa.”
Sanda rolled her eyes and selected a handblaster from the open weapons panel before clicking it shut. She checked the sights and the charge, then slipped it into a harness at her side, aligned so it wouldn’t bulge against her major’s coat.
A woman in fleet armor waited for her on the other side of the airlock, flanked by the woman who she had spoken to over comms. Both had the fakest, most strained smiles Sanda had ever seen. The fleet woman did not salute. Fake armor, then. Even on civilian duty, protocols were adhered to. Nothing on this station would be what it was dressed up to seem.
“Major Greeve,” the comms woman said, extending a hand. Sanda eyed it and did not shake. The woman swallowed and jerked her hand back. “I’m Marya Page. Welcome to Janus Station.”
“Let’s make this quick,” Sanda said.
CHAPTER 27
PRIME STANDARD YEAR 3543
CHANGE OF MISSION
Tomas had his nose buried in a diagnostic readout when chaos erupted. He looked up from the data, blinking the ghost of numbers from his eyes, and tried to figure out what all the shouting was about.
On the viewscreen against the exterior wall, the camera feed changed to the immediate vicinity as a Point-Class gunship sliced into view. For the past two days those cameras had been pointed at the nearest Casimir Gate, a constant reminder of what they were working toward: better, clearer, faster dissemination of information through the gates. Now, a ripple went through the researchers, each one reacting like they’d seen a shark in their calm, tropical waters.
“We’re too busy to deal with this bullshit,” Liao snapped into her wristpad. Her eyes narrowed at the response from the other end of the line. “You understand that a single Point ship is not powerful enough to blow us out of the sky?” A ragged sigh. “Yes, yes, very well.”
She picked her head up from her data and stood, clapping to get everyone’s attention. “Some bigwig up fleet command has decided Janus is overdue for an inspection.”
Groans all around. Tomas leaned back and furrowed his brow, attempting to look annoyed, while he catalogued all the exit points on the station. An inspection was one thing. Sending a gunship to do it was another.
“Tidy up,” Liao was saying, and his colleagues fell to the work, blanking displays and stowing instruments. Dal grumbled to himself as he closed all the screens he’d been working on.
“Hey, Dal.” Tomas leaned across his desk and sat his tablet down on the Velcro. “This a usual thing?”
Dal whipped his head around, eager to put words to his misgivings, and squinted at Tomas through his HUD monocle. “Never, ever, in my years on chartered stations have I had to endure something so banal as an inspection.”
“Cool your heels, Dal,” Liao said. “Prime’s going to flex its muscle on us civs every so often. Our poor luck that we were with you when they finally caught up.”
“How long do we have?” a researcher toward the back of the room asked.
Liao sniffed and tapped at her wristpad. “Station, get me visual on our visitor, please. Throw it up on central.”
Sanda Greeve stepped through the airlock.
“Fuck,” Tomas said. Out loud. Everyone looked at him.
“That’s… that’s a major,” he stammered, praying to every atom in his body that they’d buy it. That his singular lapse in decades of service to the Nazca would not get him spaced right here, right now, because Sanda—Sanda fucking Greeve—had walked through that door and turned his world upside down. Again.
Dal laughed and clapped the tabletop with an open palm. “That’s good news! It’s just a political circus, set dressing. Not a real inspection.”
Tension fled Liao’s shoulders. Tomas stopped listening. Couldn’t pay attention to anything but Sanda, moving and breathing, a few hundred meters aw
ay from him.
She threw a glance to the cameras in the hall, a microsecond of a motion, so small he doubted she was aware she had done it. Bero had changed something deep within her. Rearranged her instincts and eroded her trust, thrust her on the path that led her here, in her major’s uniform, flanked by a grim-looking fleet soldier and… Nox.
Tomas dimly knew that his pulse was climbing through the roof. He didn’t know Nox, recognized him only because Laguna had shown his picture alongside Jules, Lolla, and Arden, but if Nox was nearby, Arden was too, and there was only one thing they’d be here looking for. Jules.
His new colleagues were engaging in the time-honored tradition of bitching about bureaucracy. This inspection was a waste of time. Political theater. Didn’t the majors of the fleet have something better to do?
For one tantalizing moment, he allowed himself to entertain the idea that this was exactly that, political theater. Petty posturing. If Sanda had a gunship under her command again, then she’d made nice with General Anford and was acting under her orders. Anford wouldn’t risk putting Sanda back on the front lines, so sending her on risk-free missions like this made sense, at least until everyone in the fleet got used to their new major.
He almost laughed at the thought. Sanda wouldn’t play puppet for anyone, even Anford.
She had to be here for Jules. Because if she wasn’t, then she was here because the coordinates in her head led her here, and he couldn’t fix that. But Jules… He could make sure she found that woman.
Hoping she’d go home after he left her on Atrux had been a colossal mistake.
“Where’s Valentine?” Liao asked, scowling at something on her pad.
“Can’t you get ahold of her?” Tomas asked.
Liao shook her head so aggressively her long, black sheet of hair flipped back and forth across her face. Odd style choice for station life, but the habs were under grav. She must not be used to living off-planet, but that was a detail for Tomas to pick at later. Sometimes the cataloguing part of his spy-brain could get in the way.
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