Orion Arm

by Julian May

  When I rejoined Matt Gregoire in the observation booth, she gave me a plastic case.

  "Here are two data-dime copies of Lee's deposition, witnessed by me and encrypted to Phase XII as you requested. The computer is swept clean. Is there anything else you need from us?"

  I did my best to match her detached professional demeanor— a tough job when you're suffering from terminal fatigue, semistarvation, and a lively collection of physical miseries and emotional collywobbles. "Keep one of these dimes in a safe place. Give it to Eve or Simon if you get word that the bad guys have stopped my clock. Karl will take the other copy to Earth."

  She seemed unperturbed at the renewed prospect of my demise. "Is that all?"

  "I'd like the use of a private-channel subspace com. I'll have to tell my sister Eve about the results of this interrogation. After that, I need to eat and sleep. I could use your help recruiting seven or eight volunteers for a highly unorthodox and very dangerous operation of mine. My old Special Projects gang didn't have quite the right people."

  She frowned. "What kind of operation?"

  I put my finger to my lips. "Can't tell you."

  "How long will the operation last?"

  "Maybe a week, if all goes well. If it doesn't—" I shrugged. "The mission will be Rampart-deniable. The participants will earn four million each, with double indemnity in case of death."

  "Good grief! Who's paying for this?"

  "Simon. He doesn't know it yet, but he will after I've talked to Eve."

  "I see," she said doubtfully. "What type of personnel do you require?"

  "I need one pilot with combat experience and seven others with special weapons and assault training. Familiarity with the Qastt race would be a plus. The people can't have any connection to Rampart. Former Zone Patrol agents would be ideal."

  "I might be able to round up a short list of possibles. When would this operation begin?"

  "As soon as I can get my broken ass in gear. No later than noon tomorrow."

  "Then you aren't going back to Earth with Karl and the prisoner?"

  "No. I'm needed elsewhere."

  She finally smiled. "Poor Helly. And you thought you were home free when you resigned from Rampart! Are you sure you can't tell me what this is all about?"

  "I'm a free agent embarking on an unsanctioned and very illegal mission with a handful of low-life henchpersons. First I'm going to Nogawa-Krupp. You'll be asked shortly to authorize the release of certain notorious prisoners being held there. A mysterious benefactor is about to bail them out of the hoosegow."

  She stared at me, mystified. A wild surmise began to dawn. "Those Qastt pirates? Don't tell me that—"

  "Stop right there! Don't even think it."

  She gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh, Helly."

  "Oh, Matt," I replied sadly.

  She is my age, thirty-six, although she looks ten years younger. Her hair and eyes are very dark and her skin is the color of cinnamon. She had been Chief of Fleet Security at the time of Eve's disappearance and had directed the early, fruitless search for my sister. An impulse that was at least partially hormonal had inspired me to ask Matt to join the team of Baker Street Irregulars that had engineered Eve's rescue. Post-Cravat, while I concentrated mostly on the Ollie hunt, Matt took over Schneider's job and cleaned out the moles and incompetents in Rampart Security like an avenging angel.

  Matt Gregoire had been my professional colleague, my companion in peril, and my lover. The day I quit, I asked her to come away with me and share my carefree life in the islands. She had turned me down without an explanation.

  "I have a secure SS unit in my inner office," she said, "in a cabinet on the right-hand wall. I'll tell my secretary to expect you."

  I nodded meekly. "Since I'm officially dead, I'll have to hide behind a scannerproof visor. Will this badge Karl gave me serve as a laissez-passer for a masked weirdo?"

  "No one on this floor will stop you. There's a sofa bed and facilities in my office's little back room if you'd like to stay there. It's totally secure. You can order whatever kind of food you like through the servitron and then get some rest. If you like, I'll come and wake you at"—she consulted her wrist unit—"say, oh-six-hundred hours. I'll bring you the list of eligible candidates for your team of commandos."

  "Pick eight of the best. I trust your judgment. Send them to Mimo for kitting out and briefing. He's aboard the stolen Bo-dascon Y700 prototype that snuck into Starbase for a clandestine refit."

  "So Mimo's going on this mysterious mission with you."

  "He invited himself. You know how he is."

  "Yes. And I know how you are, too."

  As she turned to leave the observation booth, I said, "One last thing, Matt."

  "What is it?"

  "I don't want to find your name on the volunteer list. This isn't the kind of mission a Rampart executive can participate in. And I won't have you quitting your new position to qualify."

  She smiled, once again distancing herself from me behind a facade of remote professionalism. "No danger of that happening, Helly. The circumstances are entirely different now, aren't they?"

  Before I could reply, she was out the door and gone.

  I skulked down the corridors of the 220th floor of Rampart Central, ignored by uniformed InSec agents and civilian personnel alike, and finally came to an impressive executive suite with a silver plaque that said,

  MATILDE GREGOIRE—VICE-PRESIDENT FOR CONFIDENTIAL SERVICES.

  The flunkies in the outer office didn't even look up from their computers as I slipped in. Mart's secretary, Boris Brago-nier, glanced at me incuriously and silently pointed to a familiar door, which stood ajar. I went inside, engaged the manual lock, and stripped off the overly warm hooded jacket.

  The room was large, with a window overlooking a panorama of snow-dimmed city lights. Mart's crowded desk held an antique green-shaded reading lamp, a brass cup full of computer stylomikes, pens and Hi-Liters, a data-reader, three e-notebooks, an overflowing tray of papers, a magslate entitled DEPARTMENTAL BUDGET---THIRD QUARTER, and a slender ceramic vase with a small spray of brown-and-gold hothouse orchids. The framed holo of Matt and me standing arm in arm on the aft flat of my submarine was gone.

  I got something to eat on a tray, then pulled the private sub-space communication unit down into position and flopped into a swivel chair in front of the screen. During the twenty-five minutes it took to establish the encrypted subspace link to Earth without benefit of corporate priority, I gobbled a rare sirloin steak, six baby red potatoes, and a side of steamed broccoli in Dijon mustard sauce. I washed the food down with a tall glass of Rainier ale and then began to nod off. The sight of Eve's face abruptly appearing on the com monitor shocked me back to alertness.

  "Good God, Asa," my older sister said peevishly. Didn't you check the Zebra Clock? It's the middle of the night in Arizona."

  "It's evening here at Rampart Central. Wintertime, too."

  She did a double take. "What are you doing on Seriphos?"

  "Poking into Rampart business again. Can't you tell by looking at me?"

  Her eyes widened in dismay. Their irises were still human— green with amber rings around the pupil, like my own. Unlike mine, her "whites" were a vivid, alien azure as a result of the partial genen procedure she had undergone. "What happened?"

  "I'm stabbed, fish-bit, punched to a pulp, and mad as a peeled rattlesnake. But I've got good news all the same. We caught us a Galapharma agent, Evie."

  All sisterly concern vanished and she snapped, "Tell me!"

  Once again I recapitulated the events of the long day, adding the results of Garth Wing Lee's interrogation. From time to time Eve broke in with questions to clarify my slightly muddled narrative.

  When I ran out of steam, she said, "This is fantastic! But.. . you do realize that we'll have to keep this man on ice, rather than turn him over to CCID immediately when he arrives on Earth."

  "I've thought about that—"

  She swept on
urgently, telling me what I already knew. "Lee is a stellar witness for Xenoaffairs, implicating the five Concerns in crimes against the Commonwealth. But his evidence doesn't bolster Rampart's case against Galapharma the way Oliver Schneider's would. From what you've told me, it seems plain that Lee operated in an entirely different province."

  "Evie, we can't just sit on this deposition. It's too important. Rampart might even lay itself open to an obstruction of justice charge—"

  "And what do you think will happen when Alistair Drum-mond discovers that Galapharma is about to be indicted for a Statute 50 violation, based on evidence that Rampart submitted? He will find out, you know."

  I just shook my head.

  Eve's voice fell to a harsh whisper. "Asa, he might try to have Pop killed, or Mom. Thinking either death could force an immediate merger. Pop has willed his majority stake in the Starcorp to Dan, Beth, and me in equal portions. I'm certain Dan and Beth would cave in if Pop was gone. Mom's entire stake will be inherited by her Reversionist Party charities. They'd approve the merger because of the financial incentive. Once Rampart is swallowed by Gala, Drummond will find a way to suppress or impeach Lee's deposition. He'll certainly destroy the other evidence we have."

  "I don't see how he'd be able to quash this confession," I said stubbornly. "Not with Mart's certification and Karl as interrogator of record."

  "Drummond might think he could. The man's not sane, Asa."

  Neither was he a certifiable nutcase. Megalomaniacs like Alistair Drummond have become emperors and fuhrers, served by underlings who never questioned their most irrational orders. Eve was probably right about the potential dangers, but I felt we had to accept the risk.

  "I'm not going to stand by and let another cover-up happen, Eve! You can't hide this evidence the way you've hidden your demiclone condition. We have an obligation to humanity—"

  She pressed ahead with relentless logic. "Suppose that we blow the whistle. Drummond commands his minions to do their worst. One or more members of the Frost family die. Rampart is absorbed by Galapharma. All of the other circumstantial evidence we have pointing to a Haluk threat is suppressed, but Gala and its cohorts are indicted for illegal trading as a result of Lee's deposition. I don't think a treason charge would stick. What happens next? Your average Commonwealth bureaucrat sitting on the judicial panel might look at the Haluk trade conspiracy and see only an insignificant technical violation of Statute 50. A Mickey Mouse rap! Galapharma and the other four Concerns might very well be able to beat it or escape with a wrist-slap by using that legal principle Carnelian cited when it conspired to peddle robotics to the Joru twenty years ago."

  I groaned. "Non detrimentum—no harm done. It could happen."

  "Of course it could. Because thus far, trading human high technology to the Haluk hasn't hurt anyone. Garth Wing Lee can't help us prove that the aliens have a secret agenda hostile to humanity. Not even my mutation proves that conclusively. Our other evidence is even less persuasive. Secondhand statements by Emily Konigsberg—a dead woman! Our personal observations of a suspicious Haluk genen facility, now inconveniently demolished. A Haluk body that's been genetically engineered with human DNA. What do they really prove? Nothing! I say that we should keep Lee under wraps at least until—until you go to—" She fell silent.

  "Until I go to Dagasatt," I finished. "And find Ollie. And save Rampart from Galapharma. That's a lot of eggs you're putting in one ratty old basket, sis."

  "Are you going to the Qastt planet, Asa?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you know I'm right! So we hold back Lee's deposition."

  "Evie, the mission to Dagasatt could fail. It's possible we'll never get any solid proof of malicious intent by the Haluk. Not until the xenos decide to put their secret game plan into operation. Then Drummond and his shortsighted greedy buddies will be shocked by the wicked underhandedness of their clients. And the Commonwealth could find itself fighting a war."

  "Asa—"

  "You and I have to make certain that what we believe to be true about a possible Haluk threat becomes known to the Commonwealth. Even if Rampart goes down the drain. Even if Alistair Drummond destroys our whole family. We've got to tell someone in the government about this right now. No more goddamn waffling and agonizing and—"

  The anxiety drained out of her face and relief bloomed as suddenly as springtime flowers in rainwatered desert. "Sontag!" she said.

  "What?" My head seemed stuffed with cotton wool. I had no idea what she meant.

  "We'll tell your friend, Efrem Sontag. The man you wanted me to show myself to . .. earlier."

  Yes. Before Simon had convinced her to remain in seclusion. Before I'd abandoned Rampart in disgust.

  Efrem Sontag, Commonwealth Assembly Delegate, Chairman of the Xenoaffairs Oversight Committee, was more than an old friend from my law school days. He was also a powerful legislator and one of the few people who hadn't believed in my frame-up. He'd keep the Lee evidence confidential for a few weeks while I tried to nail Schneider, but he'd have no compunction about blowing the lid off if worst came to worst.

  "It'll work," I told Eve.

  She was radiant now, full of renewed confidence. "Tell me what I should do."

  "I'm sending Karl Nazarian to Earth with Lee in custody. He and his people should get to Toronto in about ten days, flying Mimo Bermudez's Y660 smuggler's pride. Ask Sontag to meet them in Rampart Tower, under conditions of strictest secrecy. Karl will have a data-dime with the original deposition we took on Seriphos. I'd prefer that we didn't show that one to Ef because I'm one of the interrogators. A Throwaway could taint the evidence—and besides, I need to stay dead, even to Ef. So we'll have Karl repeat the most critical phases of Lee's psychoprobe interrogation. Ef can witness it personally. Karl will make three certified holovid copies—one for Ef, one for Rampart, and one other that's to be kept sealed unless some 'accident' befalls Sontag himself."

  "Who gets the third copy?"

  "A former colleague of mine, Chief Inspector Beatrice Mangan of the ICS Forensic Division."

  "The one who helped you finger Bronson Elgar as a Gala mole?"

  "Right. Now listen! The news of my alleged accidental death on Kedge-Lockaby will be webcast within a few hours. Use that as an excuse to call Sontag in Toronto—on a phone without video, of course. Tell him Galapharma ordered my death as part of the overall Haluk conspiracy. It's the truth, and Karl will see that Lee's new deposition corroborates it. I want you to also tell Ef why Gala feels it has to grab Rampart, no matter what: in order to hand over those fifteen hundred Spur planets that Drummond promised to the Haluk. Strictly speaking, that's not illegal. But it's imprudent as all hell and tends to bolster our contention that xeno hordes covet T-class worlds in the Milky Way."

  "Can we be sure Sontag won't feel obligated to go public with this information at once?"

  "I'm certain he'll be willing to wait, if there's a chance we can come up with additional substantiating evidence within a reasonable period of time. Convince him! Tell him a team of freelance agents has gone to a certain Spur planet to try to get the vital skinny. Just don't say that one of the agents is me. Rampart must officially deny invading Dagasatt."

  "Asa .. ." Eve paused. Her petite alien form on the communicator screen, incongruously garbed in a thin nightgown and negligee suited to the high desert summer night, leaned closer. She was smiling, and for an eerie moment I seemed to see her as she had been before the mutation. "In view of all this, I'm going to ask Simon to call an extraordinary meeting of the Rampart board immediately. I'll have him renominate me to the CEO position. I'm going to accept this time, without condition, and the board is going to vote me in. By acclamation."

  "Christ! Do you think you can you pull it off?" "I don't see why not. The Gang of Three and Aunt Emma will see it as a last futile gesture of defiance before the inevitable." She gave an ironic chuckle. "Besides—what can I possibly accomplish in six weeks, hiding out at the Sky Ranch?" "You tell me."

&n
bsp; "Well, for starters, I'll ask Gunter Eckert and Dan to come to Arizona and help me work out details of my new financing strategy."

  "You've got a strategy already! Fast work, Madame CEO." "I haven't just been brooding among the cacti for the last half year, you know," she remarked tartly. "I've considered a number of sneaky ways to get hold of the venture credit Rampart will need for major expansion."

  "Does a rank outsider get to hear how you intend to pull off the miracle?"

  "Not until I've firmed my ideas with Gunter." He was Rampart's Chief Financial Officer and another charter stakeholder, a board member whose progressive ideas had too often run afoul of Simon's conservatism, Zed's lack of vision, and my older brother Dan's penchant for micro-management. Dan, Chief Legal Officer of the Starcorp, would have to approve any plan of Eve's before Gunter attempted to implement it; but I had confidence in my sister's ability to twist his arm. She'd been doing it since we were kids.

  "By the time I get the financial business squared away," she went on, "Karl should be in Toronto with Garth Wing Lee. And do you know what, Asa? I intend to be there for the meeting with Assembly Delegate Efrem Sontag. In person." I gaped at her like a dumb damn flapjaw demon. "My God." "Why not? As long as we're sharing secrets, I'd like to let Sontag see for himself what the Haluk did to me on Cravat. Karl Nazarian can hook me to the psychoprobe machines to prove the truth of what I say about my condition. Hey! Don't you think it would be a hell of an attention-getter if I gave my deposition first? The reinterrogation of Lee can be Act Two ... and a bit of an anticlimax, if I do say so myself."

  "You know, Evie, that's rather brilliant."

  Her expression was almost smug. "Of course it is. And as the newly elected Rampart CEO, I'll have additional credibility."