Free Space

by Scott Bartlett

  “No, that’s perfect.”

  He would have had her pack a bag for him, if he trusted anyone enough to access his quarters, on the sixth floor of Frontier HQ. Instead, he packed it himself, all the while unable to stop thinking about one man. The man at the center of all this.

  Simon Moll. Why would he help build a super-alliance that was so clearly designed to fail? Based on the intelligence provided to Mittelman by his sources throughout the northwest, the Daybreak Combine was riddled with at least a dozen rival factions, who hated each other for one reason or another—nationality, long-running corporate competition, and so on. One of those rivalries was bound to eventually serve as the powder keg that would blow the Combine apart.

  What’s your end game, Moll?

  He finished packing and arrived at the New Houston Spaceport with twenty minutes to spare.

  “Kreng Region, is it?” The merchant was a stocky, bearded man with a gruff way of speaking. He seemed a little harried. He’d been going over a preflight checklist with his pilot when Mittelman showed up. “We’re headed to Yu, but we can drop you off pretty much anywhere you like in Kreng. Though if it’s too far out of the way, it’ll be extra.”

  “Not too far out of the way. Valkyrie Station.”

  “Valkyrie? We were planning a stop there anyway. Welcome aboard.”

  Mittelman offered a tight smile, the sort he hoped communicated he wouldn’t want to be bothered during the voyage except for matters strictly pertinent to the trip.

  It had been a while since he’d visited Valkyrie. The station was similar to the superstructures built by various nations in the Sunrise System, where the wormhole had been. It was less of a tangled mess than most of those, though. Mostly because its construction had been a joint corporate venture, rather than a government one.

  Twenty-nine corps maintained their headquarters on Valkyrie Station, but Mittelman was interested in visiting only one of them.

  Meridian.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Quad System, Lacuna Region

  Earth Year 2290

  Thatcher stood outside the cargo bay hatch, hands folded behind his back, taking deep breaths. Suddenly self-conscious, he glanced down the passageway to see if anyone was there to witness his hesitation. There was no one.

  Just get it over with.

  He reached for the hatch’s handle and pressed downward, opening it with a clank before pushing it in. “Ms. Rose?”

  From the entrance, her desk was concealed by stacks of steel pallets and crates of various sizes, containing everything from ammunition to spare shipsuits to freeze-dried goods.

  “Come in.”

  He picked his way past the stacked cargo. Rose had refused his offer to have a more permanent office installed for her in the New Jersey, and she also wouldn’t hear of bumping an officer out of his or her office to make room for her. “I have an office on Oasis,” she’d said. “My presence here is temporary, and I don’t want to interfere with your ship’s day-to-day operations.”

  Her presence was feeling more permanent every day, but he did admire her restraint. There was nothing stopping her from taking the best office on the Jersey for herself—his office. It was her ship, in the end. Her company. But she understood the importance of allowing him to keep his station, along with the few trappings that went with it.

  “Tad.” Rose sat with her hands folded on top of the desk, having pushed whatever she’d been working on to one side.

  “Ms. Rose.” He saluted, unsure what else to do.

  A smile tugged at her lips. She returned his salute from a sitting position.

  “I came to apologize.” The words marched out like cardboard soldiers, but he got them out.

  “For what?”

  He cleared his throat. “My behavior at dinner. I shouldn’t have lost my cool like I did.”

  She shook her head slightly. “Tad, it’s perfectly reasonable to become upset during a discussion of the possibility you might never see your family again.” Her coy smile returned. “I’m relieved that you did, actually. It tells me that you are, in fact, capable of human emotion.”

  “But I breached decorum.”

  “Not really. Besides, whether you and I believe the wormhole will reopen or not, it doesn’t matter. We still have the same goals. We’re both motivated by protecting people we care about.” Her smile broadened. “Stabilizing the Dawn Cluster and uniting it. Seems like a fine plan to me.”

  “Agreed.” Now that he’d apologized, he wanted to move on as quickly as possible. Luckily, there was a topic of conversation close at hand, and he leapt to it like a man jumping from a sinking ship onto a life raft. “The new polarization sensors, which you insisted be installed—they’re proving much more useful than I expected. It seems some of the pirates have antimatter engines. Enough that we’ve been able to tell which systems have seen traffic and how recently. That tells my CIC crew how cautious we need to be when crossing each system.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I’ve always been a big advocate of adopting new technologies. Even when it’s unclear at first how we’ll use them. With a captain like you working for me, I’m sure each new tech will be turned to our advantage.”

  He nodded. The compliment was unnecessary—he’d been trying to compliment her, after all—but he appreciated the gesture.

  His comm buzzed from his holster, and he plucked it out, answering a call from Candle. “Thatcher here. Go ahead, XO.”

  “Sir, we have a large group of pirates who’ve locked down the jump gate we were hoping to use, into Nankeen System.”

  “Have they made any sign of moving on us?”

  “Negative. They’re keeping close to that gate. My guess would be they’re keeping something valuable in Nankeen. Something they don’t want us messing with.”

  Thatcher sniffed. “How many extra jumps will it take to get back to our planned route?”

  “Just three, sir. The first one is into Hapax, and that jump gate seems clear.”

  “Then head for that gate, and notify me if the pirates show any sign of giving chase.”

  “Aye, sir. Candle out.”

  Thatcher’s gaze settled on Rose once more. “It seems our voyage just got even longer.” He frowned. “I’m beginning to worry about supplies. Who knows how long we’ll be stranded in Lacuna, with so many enemies near the regional jump gate. I think we should take the first opportunity to restock that presents itself.”

  Rose drummed her fingers on the desk. “I see the sense in it. But can we really afford to stop moving through this region, even for a few hours? Isn’t it safest to assume we’re being pursued, or at least tracked—followed to make sure we don’t damage anything the pirates value?”

  “Probably. But I don’t see an alternative. If we run out of supplies, we’ll be just as finished.”

  She frowned. “Well, I’ll leave this to your judgment, Commander.”

  He nodded. “Thank you. I…should be going. Commander Ainsley’s report is waiting for me on my desk, and it won’t review itself, I’m afraid.”

  “Thank you for coming to apologize, Commander. Even if it wasn’t necessary. Most men wouldn’t have been able to bring themselves to do that.”

  That’s funny. I’ve had the same experience with most women.

  He decided not to say that, however. Instead, he inclined his head and took his leave.

  Chapter Twenty

  Valkyrie Station

  Herward System, Kreng Region

  Earth Year 2290

  Life aboard the merchant freighter was dull, but Mittelman found ways to amuse himself.

  He had no need to follow the shipboard routine, and he didn’t, instead coming and going as he pleased. The merchant who owned the vessel, a man named Grimes, let him share the crew lounge and facilities, since the ship wasn’t big enough for separate passenger compartments. Taking passengers at all was a sideline for a ship like this.

  The crew spac
es were well-kept, and Mittelman considered that lucky. When you take the first vessel leaving a planet, you don’t get to be choosy, and he could have just as easily ended up in a bacteria-infested, spacefaring cesspool.

  By happenstance, one of the deckhands worked for Mittelman, though he didn’t know it. His spies rarely knew who they truly reported to. Instead, he used a network of trusted intermediaries to relay pertinent intel to him, and often they didn’t even know.

  He didn’t talk to his spy aboard this ship, except in passing, but the man seemed ordinary enough. The ordinary ones made the best informants. The ones who looked like they were made for the shadows were best avoided, since everyone suspected them from the outset.

  It would be the epitome of foolishness to try to extract information from the crewman directly. But Mittelman had taken the liberty of placing listening devices throughout the vessel, and he occupied himself by eavesdropping on the crew’s conversations.

  Mittelman had been born for the shadows. Born to peep through keyholes and listen through walls. He did everything he could to hide it, but his nature was his nature, and he knew he wouldn’t have made a good spy himself. He made a much better spy master.

  The talk of the merchant freighter for the last two days had been the news that Kibishii’s CEO was calling for Herwin Dirk, leader of Daybreak Combine, to expel Meridian from the alliance for their transgressions against the Japanese corp.

  “Dirk’s pretending like he doesn’t know anything about it,” Mittelman’s spy said in one such conversation, his voice captured by the near-microscopic device Mittelman had placed under the lip of the table in the middle of the crew lounge. Mittelman lay on his bunk, staring at the overhead and listening through an earpiece.

  “The bastard knows Meridian did it.” The spy gave a braying laugh. “Everyone knows. But Dirk’s corp has been in bed with Meridian way too long for him to actually do anything about it. Kibishii’s barking up the wrong money tree.”

  Mittelman barked a laugh of his own, then frowned. This spy was more clever than he would have expected, or wanted. And he was too free with his gossip. Perhaps he would need to be cut loose.

  He was right about Dirk’s corp, Paragon Industries. It and Meridian had had been partners for decades, propping up each other’s bottom lines and burying each other’s dirty laundry. Meridian probably had plenty to hang over Paragon, and vice versa. There was no way Dirk would act against them.

  Which was why Mittelman had elected to take another approach altogether. When they reached Valkyrie Station, he disembarked with barely a word to the merchant or his crew. He’d already given the merchant the Frontier account he should charge for payment, and the account had been charged days ago, well before they’d entered the destination system.

  Though Valkyrie was less of a tangled mess than the analogous stations built by nations in Sunrise System, it was still a nuisance to navigate. Mittelman had spent yesterday afternoon with a diagram of its layout, visualizing his path from the landing bay to Meridian HQ, so that he wouldn’t have to stop and ask for directions. Anything was better than having to ask someone for directions.

  Gaining access to Meridian was easy enough. “I have an appointment to see Ezra Yates. My name is Harold Wills.”

  The receptionist pursed her lips at him, then checked her comm, where she would find the appointment one of his underlings had hacked into the Meridian computer system. She nodded at it. “ID?”

  He produced his card.

  “Go on in. Take the fourth left. His waiting room is at the end of that hall.”

  “Thanks,” he said, trying not to wince at her use of the term “hall” aboard a space station, rather than “corridor.” Some people had no respect for precision in language.

  As he rounded the corner, he heard a man raising his voice behind him, saying that he was sure he had an appointment with Mr. Yates at this time. Must be the guy who got deleted to make room for me.

  He strode through the waiting room with barely a glance for the uncomfortable-looking chairs shoved against the wall. Instead, he yanked open the door and found Ezra Yates sitting behind an industrial-looking metal desk that took up one half of his cramped office. Clearly, life aboard a space station is for the birds.

  Yates looked up from a holoscreen wearing an indignant expression, which quickly turned into confusion. “Mittelman? What are you doing here?”

  He settled into the chair opposite Yates, which proved slightly more cozy than the ones in the waiting room had looked. “Oh, Ezra, you should know that I always make a habit of keeping up with my counterparts in other corps. Even when they don’t know they’re being kept up with.” A grin curled his lips.

  “That sounds a lot like a threat.”

  “Well, I’m glad someone in this office has a grasp of the English language.”

  Yates snorted. “Mittelman, whatever you think you have on me, it’s useless, and nothing compared to what I have on you. Like your identity, for example. Try to spread something about me, and I’ll let the Dawn Cluster know who you are, and what you do for Veronica Rose.”

  “That’s bound to happen eventually anyway,” Mittelman said with a shrug. “But if I reveal my tidbit of information, your life will burn down, and there’s a good chance your daughters will never speak with you again.”

  The color began to drain from Yates’ face. Finally, you begin to understand. “You’ve been breaking the first rule of spycraft, Ezra. Don’t shit where you eat. I’m aware you’ve been sleeping with your little birds. And you can trust that I have ample evidence to make this reality clear to your wife. Video, audio. It won’t be pretty.” His grin widened. Unlike most adulterers, Yates had managed to keep his infidelity from his wife. Not surprising, given his profession.

  But he hadn’t kept it from Mittelman.

  “What do you want?” Yates choked out.

  Mittelman leaned forward. “Meridian is poised to deploy its next generation of stealth tech, yes?”

  The poor man’s eyes widened even further.

  “Please don’t feed me the ‘I can’t discuss proprietary information’ line,” Mittelman said. “The information is no longer proprietary for Meridian, since I possess it as well. But not to worry, I wouldn’t dream of sharing it with anyone who shouldn’t have it. For the purposes of our conversation, suffice it to say that I know Meridian has developed it, and I know every detail of how it works.”

  Yates continued to give him that unblinking stare. His chin began to tremble slightly. The look of a man who knows he’s owned.

  “Here is what you will do, Ezra. You will approach Kibishii officials with Meridian’s current generation of stealth tech. As a peace offering. You must keep this from your bosses, though Kibishii has to think you’re sharing the information with their full blessing.”

  “Mittelman, even you must know what you’re asking is impossible.” A tremor ran through Yates’ voice. “I can’t share proprietary stealth tech with our number one corporate rival.”

  “You can, and you will. Trust me, this will work out best for everyone. Kibishii will be mollified for a time—how could Meridian possibly mean them harm if you’ve just handed over every detail of how your stealth tech works? And when Meridian goes after Kibishii again, after implementing your new generation of stealth, Kibishii will be caught completely off guard. Totally unprepared. This is good for you, Ezra. Good for Meridian. You will do it. Unless you’d like Samantha to learn of your little dalliances.”

  A long silence passed between them, Yates’ lips a trembling line. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll do it.”

  To his credit, Yates didn’t ask Mittelman why he wanted to protect Kibishii temporarily, only to throw them to the wolves a little later. He must have known that Mittelman wouldn’t tell him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Kava System, Lacuna Region

  Earth Year 2290

  They’d been in Kava System a little over a
n hour when Lucy Guerrero spoke up. “Sir, I’m getting some sensor data showing seventeen vessels clustered together in the asteroid belt.”

  Thatcher’s eyes snapped to his holoscreen, where he called up a scaled-down tactical display. “How far from our location, Lieutenant?”

  “Nearly seven hundred million kilometers. If we overlaid Sol System on top of this one, its asteroid belt would be about halfway between the Kuiper Belt and Earth. So, a bit of a haul for us to reach them.”

  He felt safe assuming the ships in question were pirates. Anyone who’d been unlucky enough to get caught in Lacuna without the teeth the Frontier ships had were probably dead by now.

  Guerrero was right. It would take hours to make the journey out to the pirates’ location. Hours that would potentially be wasted, depending on how the bastards react. Plus, heading out there would risk Rose’s hypothetical pursuers catching up to them and cornering them in this system. Maybe even locking down the jump gates so they couldn’t escape.

  That would require a lot of ships, though. Probably more than they’d want to pull away from other duties, like guarding the entrance into Lacuna, or protecting whatever was in Nankeen System.

  And this might be the best chance to resupply we get.

  He took a breath. “Set a course for those ships’ location, Sullivan. Guerrero, relay the course to the others.” There still hadn’t been time to establish the necessary protocols for giving his orders directly to the other vessels.

  “Aye, sir,” both officers said, and Guerrero continued: “Will we be executing a Hellfire barrage this time?”

  “Negative. Too many asteroids for our missiles to get caught up on, and too many places for our targets to hide. We’d also risk damaging the supply cache, if that is indeed what they’re clustered around.”

  No, this would be an old-fashioned slugfest in the middle of an asteroid belt. Unless the pirates fled, which they wouldn’t if they valued whatever they’d stashed out there.