by Dan Moren
“Yes, sir?”
“You did good. Boyland would have been proud.”
Addy watched Kovalic go in a daze. They want me… She couldn’t remember the last time someone had expressed that sentiment. Or anyone, besides Boyland, really. Even Schenk, back in their youth, hadn’t seen beyond the utility of Addy’s small frame being able to fit through a window or a crawlspace. When staying alive had consumed so much of her energy, friends had been a secondary concern at best.
Her head wasn’t quite spinning, but it was close. She found herself wandering forward to the cockpit where Brody was staring out the viewport, feet up on the dashboard. He started at her appearance, his feet hitting the deck with a clump.
“Oh, hey. Sorry, not much to do right now,” he said with a sheepish air. “Just watching the flashing lights go by – you all right?”
Addy had sat down into the flight engineer’s station somewhat more heavily than she’d intended. Everything she’d been carrying over the last few days had caught up with her at once, like she’d just stepped onto a high-gravity planet. She felt wiped.
“Sayers?”
“Huh?”
“I asked if you were all right?”
“Oh. Yeah, just… tired.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Brody’s mouth. “Post-mission crash. Yeah, I’ve been there. After the first time, I think I slept for two days straight.” He nodded to the seat. “I think there’s a recline control there. On the side.”
She flailed until she found the control panel and a smile crept across her face as she stretched out to her full length. “This is the best thing ever.”
“Perks of a luxury ship, I guess,” said Brody. “You don’t get these on an Illyrican naval ship, let me tell you.”
“Illyrican naval ship? How do you know about Illyrican ships?”
Brody froze, then laughed awkwardly. “Ah. Me and my big mouth. Well, it’s a long story. And maybe one I’m not supposed to talk about?”
“S’OK,” said Addy, feeling the warm waves of tiredness wash over her, like she was lying in the surf at a tropical beach. It was pleasant in the cockpit, the thrumming of the engines lulling her. “Kovalic says I’m on the team,” she said sleepily.
“Hey, that’s great! Welcome aboard. I guess that means you’re cleared for all of this now.”
“Guess so,” murmured Addy, turning on her side to face the pilot. “So you can tell me your story.”
“You sure?” said Brody, raising an eyebrow. “You look pretty comfy there. If you just want to go to sleep, that’s fine. I’ll keep an eye on things.”
“Nah, I’m awake,” said Addy. “Really. And I don’t mind hearing you talk. It’s, uh, kind of soothing, actually.” Dimly, part of her brain registered that as the kind of thing that she once would have been caught dead before admitting, but she was too tired to care. It was just so cozy. “Go ahead.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” said Brody, turning back to the console. Even with the blue-toned light illuminating his face, she thought she caught a hint of a blush. “Well, I grew up on Caledonia, and since I was a kid, I always wanted to be a pilot…”
Addy was asleep before the second sentence.
The door to the cabin slid aside for Kovalic, just in time for him to catch Nat exiting the bathroom, wrapped in a white bathrobe so fluffy that it might have been spun from clouds. She was toweling off her hair with an equally luxurious looking towel.
“Oh,” said Kovalic, stopping short. “I didn’t mean to interr… wait, did you just take a shower?”
There was a tinge of guilt in Nat’s laugh. “You got me. But you have to see the refresher unit in this thing. It’s unreal. Like eighteen different jets, instant hot water that doesn’t smell like it’s been recycled six million times over.”
Kovalic grinned. “Don’t worry, I can leave this all out of my after-action report.”
Nat perched on the end of the bed, still drying her hair. “Speaking of which, how did we do, major?”
Kovalic waved a hand. “I know denying the Illyricans the tablet was the best outcome we had in front of us, but damn it if I didn’t want to get the thing.” He let out a breath. “Maybe it really could have ended the war.”
Nat laughed quietly. “It’s not that easy, Simon. You know that. No such thing as a magic bullet. Developing the information on the tablet would have taken years and required a huge investment from the Commonwealth. Who knows what would have happened in the meantime?”
“You sound like the general.”
“I think we both just take the long view. Not all of our jobs are about shooting what’s right in front of us.”
Kovalic’s eyebrows went up. “Is that all I am, Commander Taylor? A hired gun?”
“Oh no, you’re a very smart hired gun, major.”
“Well, I’ve got a good team behind me. Including an executive officer that I rely on to tell me when not to shoot what’s in front of me.”
Nat finished toweling her hair. “An XO that you don’t always listen to.”
“Look, I might not always take the advice that’s offered, but I always listen.”
Nat’s lips thinned. “You brought Sayers aboard.”
“I did, but in my def–”
“I think it’s the right call.”
Kovalic blinked. “Sorry, I think I misheard you.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
He put up his hands. “OK, OK. I thought you didn’t like her?”
“She’s… an acquired taste. Raw and rough around the edges for sure, but I’m starting to get what you see in her. I can’t argue with her skills, and she’s eager to prove herself. I think she just needs… someplace to belong. Someplace safe.”
“Uh, I’m not sure I’d describe what we do as ‘safe.’”
Nat gave him a look. “You know what I mean, Simon. Someplace where she won’t feel judged, where she can be herself. And I… I didn’t exactly help matters.”
Kovalic shook his head. “It’s not on you. I think I picked her in part because… well, because she wasn’t Page. Maybe part of me expected her to fail and figured if she did, at least I wouldn’t be disappointed. Again.”
A chuckle escaped from Nat. “So I guess she let you down by not failing.”
“Seems on brand for her.”
Kovalic sat down next to Nat, feeling the damp heat radiating off of her. “I’m sorry I didn’t consult you on Sayers. I’m used to making decisions on my own and dealing with the fallout myself. It’s been an adjustment.”
“I understand. I do.” Any levity that had been on her face had vanished.
“But you still won’t stay?”
Nat sighed. “I won’t pretend I didn’t miss being on the front lines, getting my hands dirty and feeling like what we do actually makes a difference. It’s not sitting behind a desk analyzing reports, that’s for sure. But I meant what I said before, Simon. I’m an intelligence officer, and as good as I am – and I’m fucking good – I can’t do my job if you keep me in the dark.” Her eyes met his. “This doesn’t work any other way. Secrets already destroyed us once. I can’t let that happen again.”
Kovalic looked down, his hands worrying against each other. Twenty years of being a soldier, half of it in intelligence. Secrecy had been hammered into him, a part of his mind that he’d walled off from the rest in order to be able to do the job. And now he was supposed to open the gates from the inside? Inviting Nat in was one thing, but he was under no illusions: crack the door and other things would worm their way in as well. Second guesses. Doubts.
He stood, pacing to the other end of the compartment, aware of Nat’s eyes on his back the whole way. The team had been chugging along just fine. Him, Tapper, Page. Now everything was different. First they’d dragooned Brody, then the general had brought in Nat, then Page had gone, and now they had Sayers. The only constant had been the cold comfort of the secrets he’d kept, trying to serve a higher purpose, that some days, to be honest, he had t
rouble wrapping his head around.
Nat was still watching him when he turned around, and if her blue eyes were unwavering, they were softened by an edge of sympathy.
He took a deep breath. And suddenly there was no decision at all.
“OK,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything.”
Nat sat on the bed, listening silently, as he read her in on everything that had happened over the last year or so. It took a while, and he had a hell of a time gauging her reaction. When he finally reached the end, she took a deep breath.
“That is… a lot, Simon.”
“I know.”
One hand covered her mouth, and she shook her head slowly. “I’m going to be honest,” she said between her fingers. “It’s going to take some time to process all of this.”
Kovalic nodded. “Understood.” He’d done everything he could do: the decision of whether or not to stay was up to her. But he hoped she would. He couldn’t fathom doing this job without her. Not anymore.
Nat rose, hesitated for a moment, then reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “But thank you. I’m glad you told me.”
Looking up at her, Kovalic offered a crooked smile. “Yeah. So am I.”
After she’d left, he let out a breath that he felt he’d been holding for months and then hit the shower.
Nat’s assessment of the yacht’s shower proved indisputable: it was pretty impressive. Every square centimeter of his body felt like it had been scrubbed thoroughly, sloughing off the weight of dirt, sweat, and grime that had accumulated over the past few days and turning him almost literally into a new man. He felt lighter, unburdened – though he supposed he couldn’t attribute all of that to the shower.
By the time he was toweled off, the autofab unit had produced a simple shirt and pair of trousers in his size; after getting hosed down, putting on the grimy, torn clothes he’d been wearing on the Queen Amina sure seemed like a step backwards.
Making his way into the yacht’s lounge, he found Tapper sitting at the table, drinking another cup of the ship’s excellent coffee and skimming a tablet. “Boss.”
Kovalic crossed to the coffeemaker and poured himself a cup. “Tap. Everything good?”
“Copacetic. Brody said we just exited the wormhole. Should be home in another few hours.”
“Excellent.” Kovalic peered over at the sergeant’s tablet. “What’re you up to?”
“Just writing a letter of recommendation for Maldonado. They helped us out of a couple of tough scrapes back there. Personally, I think we could use some technical support on the ground back home. What do you think?”
Kovalic smiled. “Still looking out for people, huh, Tap?”
“It’s what I do.”
“Something I’ve always admired about you.”
Tapper laid down the slate, drumming his fingers on it. “So, you think this mission was a success?”
“Could have gone better,” Kovalic admitted. “But our primary objective was accomplished. Plus, tough to argue that we didn’t break in our new recruit.”
The sergeant snorted at that. “Yeah, didn’t exactly throw her a softball.”
Kovalic frowned as the sergeant’s fingers resumed their rhythm. Twenty years was more than long enough to recognize the man’s tics. “Something bothering you?”
“Probably nothing.”
“Oh, yes, your hunches are usually total garbage. Come on, spill it.”
“I dunno,” said Tapper. “I’m not some expert in alien artifacts, but it sure seemed like that tablet was pretty damn durable. Lasted millennia on that moon before people found it, in who knows what kind of environmental conditions. Plus being traded around the black market, changing hands probably dozens of times. And, from what you said, it seemed to be in pristine condition for all of that.”
“What are you getting at?” said Kovalic, even as he could feel doubt worming its way into the back of his brain.
“Just surprised, that’s all. Concussion grenades, well, the shockwave will knock you down, but it doesn’t really have the explosive force to do much damage. That’s why you can use ’em shipboard. Don’t have to worry about pieces going everywhere, puncturing your hull…”
“But it managed to totally destroy what was, by all accounts, a pretty robust ancient artifact,” said Kovalic, finishing the sergeant’s thought.
“Like I said, I’m no expert. But yeah. Seems weird, doesn’t it?”
“So, you think what? That it wasn’t the real one after all?”
“Except you said that professor confirmed it was.”
“Yeah,” said Kovalic slowly, thinking back to al-Kitab’s palpable excitement. If it had been feigned, the man was a hell of an actor. “He did, didn’t he?”
“Ah, well,” said Tapper. “Could be he was wrong. We all make mistakes sometimes. Even me. You want another cup of coffee, boss?”
“Huh?” Kovalic looked down at his cup, half empty. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Tapper walked back over to the galley.
Kovalic stared into the coffee, as dark as the vacuum of space. Maybe al-Kitab had been wrong. But the man had spent his life studying every detail about the Aleph Tablet; if he was wrong, who the hell would have known any better?
And if he was right, well, then maybe it was Kovalic who wasn’t quite as good at his job as he thought was. And maybe the real tablet was still out there, somewhere.
Kovalic shook his head to clear it. Go down that rabbit hole and pretty soon he’d be watching all of Brody’s conspiracy theory videos. No, he dealt in the concrete, not the hypothetical. The tablet had been destroyed; he’d seen it himself. If he couldn’t trust his own eyes, what could he trust?
But sometimes trust wasn’t enough. He’d trusted al-Kitab, but he had no way of knowing what the professor had said was true. He’d trusted Page, and look where that had led him. And he’d trusted the general, ever since he’d put his life in the man’s hands back in a house on Illyrica nearly seven years ago.
Talking to Nat, telling her everything, had given him some perspective – painted things in a different light. Trust was important, but it wasn’t everything.
Sometimes you just had to see for yourself.
Rubbing his chin, Kovalic flipped open the lounge’s terminal and initiated a secure connection to the nearest Commonwealth communications repeater, routing it through the most circuitous, convoluted path he could manage until it looked like it might have originated from anywhere in the galaxy.
He typed the request, then hesitated for a moment, fingers poised over the keyboard. There wouldn’t be any turning back after this.
Yes, the doubt had wormed its way in to his mind, just as he’d predicted. But he was already starting to realize that what he’d feared would weaken his resolve had only strengthened it. The general had said he valued Kovalic’s skepticism, and blind loyalty didn’t do anyone any favors. Trust, as the old saying went, but verify.
He hit send, then sit back to wait as his request bounced through the labyrinthine connection, scouring every single database he had access to, legitimately or otherwise, and returning any mention of a project codenamed LOOKING GLASS.
EPILOGUE
The sun was just rising as the man stepped through the doors of the spaceport, shading his eyes against the orange glare. As promised, the black hovercar was waiting for him, a driver opening the door silently before loading his meager luggage into the trunk. Moments later they were speeding away from the hustle and bustle of arriving passengers and disappearing into the sprawling metropolis.
It wasn’t a city he’d visited before, which was rare in and of itself, so he spent the ride staring out the window, taking in every detail. His hand draped across the smooth, cool leather of the case that sat on the seat beside him.
Forty-five minutes later, the car turned onto a side street, gliding up to a heavy metal gate set in a white stone wall. At some unseen signal, the gate rolled aside, allowing the car to pull throug
h. The house at the end of the drive was not ostentatious, but it was elegant, with sharp cut corners of steel and glass. Clean, too, and situated among a well-tended garden of small trees and flowering shrubs, awash in color that contrasted the house’s stark, monochromatic nature.
The car’s door swung open and he stepped out, still keeping a tight grip on the case. The morning air was cool at this elevation, a slight chill rippling across his skin.
A woman emerged from the house. She was dressed in a smart, practical suit, the collar open at her throat to show a brown stretch of collarbone. The same touch of elegance in the house’s design was visible in her bearing; she moved like one trained in poise and grace. A coif of glimmering chestnut hair was drawn up in a simple chignon.
“I trust your trip was uneventful.”
He bowed his head. “Very pleasant, madam. It’s not often I get to fly first class.”
“I promised no expense spared, Mr Sadiq.” It wasn’t his real name, of course. “And I follow through on my promises.” Her hazel eyes, which had been studiously avoiding looking at the case he held, now drifted to it. “I presume that is the item.”
“Indeed. Shall we?”
The house’s interior was no less chic than the outside, though it felt on the decidedly sterile side – there was no sign that it was occupied regularly, by his host or by anybody else. A safehouse, then; he’d seen more than his fair share.
Not that his employer’s habits were of material concern to him. He was here because he was being paid, and paid well.
“This way,” said the woman, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she led him into the house’s central space, a large room with a glass-topped coffee table in the middle. A fire flickered in the grate and he felt himself gravitating toward it, reaching out a hand for warmth.
The woman sat on a snow white couch on one side of the coffee table and, after a moment of warming his hands, he took a seat in the matching armchair opposite.
Placing the case gently on the table, he pressed his thumbs against the dual biometric readers in the locks, then punched in a code on the keypad in the center. With a click, the case popped open; he spun it around to face the woman, and lifted the lid.