by J. N. Chaney
Thorn sat up. “What’s up?”
“Bertilak needs your assistance.”
Now Thorn stood. “Why? Where is he?”
“On the bridge.”
Thorn considered just saying to hell with it and letting the big alien take care of whatever problem he faced himself. But he didn’t. Not only was this request from the AI unprecedented, but there was also the chance that it was something dire or dangerous, and Bertilak genuinely needed his help—maybe to keep them both alive.
Thorn went to the bridge and found Bertilak sitting in his seat, slumped over, his head in his hands.
Okay, this wasn’t right.
“Bertilak, what’s going on?” he asked.
The alien lifted his head and gave Thorn a mournful look.
“It’s your daughter, Morgan. I’m afraid she’s in terrible danger.”
25
“Are we actually making any progress here, Damien? Like, any at all?” Kira asked.
Damien leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. He seemed to ponder the question. Kira waited, the only sound the soft rumble of the Venture’s machinery.
She finally leaned back. “I guess the fact that it’s taking you so long to come up with an answer is the answer.”
Damien smiled. “Not necessarily. It’s just that it’s a complicated question.”
“Uh, no, it’s not. ‘Are we making any progress’ is pretty straightforward.”
Now Damien laughed. “Sometimes I forget you’re not actually part of the diplomatic corps, Kira. There are no straightforward questions in the world of diplomacy.”
“Then answer me like you’re answering a soldier. Which you are, I might add,” Kira said.
“Okay. Yes . . . and no.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
Damien, still chuckling, waved her off. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. But it still really is the best answer I can give you. Yes, we’re making progress, insofar as we’re still here and still talking to the Danzur. But also no, we’re not making real progress toward signing something with them. Or, if we are, we can measure it in millimeters.”
“So at what point do we just give up and go home?”
“We don’t.”
“Damien, if we’re wasting our time here, then let’s just say that and move on.”
Damien shook his head. “As long as we’re talking, we’re not at war with the Danzur. So, believe it or not, every hour we’re here, engaged in what to you must seem like endless talk and bureaucracy, is another hour we don’t have to redeploy part of the fleet to a second front against these guys. And that, I want to emphasize, would be a disaster.”
“Disaster is a pretty strong word,” Kira said. “The Danzur aren’t that strong.”
“Hey, I’m not making this up. Feel free to call out the latest encrypted traffic from back home. Pay particular attention to the assessment from your bosses at Fleet. They’ve done extensive wargaming, and they’ve come to the conclusion that having the Danzur open a second front would force the Allied Stars to sue for peace—and on their terms, not ours. I don’t need to tell you that’s far from our intentions. We need to call the tune in any negotiations, let alone a glorified surrender instrument.”
Kira had admittedly fallen behind in terms of keeping up with the most recent diplomatic traffic from home. In fact, she’d come to count on Damien to encapsulate it for her. There was just too much information, coming in too fast, for her to be able to absorb it all, and it was in such shades of gray that at times she wanted to scream. Never had she imagined an entire job description devoted to telling such beautiful lies, and yet, here she was, right in the middle of it.
There was also the matter of Thorn. Her abject fear that he might be dead hadn’t lasted long. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d finally sensed a flicker of him in the ether, as familiar as the hint of his voice in a nearby passage. Thorn was out there somewhere, but for reasons she couldn’t fathom, she just couldn’t reach out to him. Some stubborn barrier, a pervasive psychic static, seemed to be blocking her. She’d tried to burn through it, but to no avail. Who or whatever was causing it was much stronger than she was, which probably meant it was Thorn himself. Whatever he was up to, he obviously didn’t want to be disturbed while doing it. Still, it was another distraction from the task at hand.
“It’s that bad?” she finally asked.
“Sure seems so.”
“And when were you going to tell me this?” She held up a finger. “And don’t say you were trying to spare me or anything like that, or so help me I will kick your ass in a most undiplomatic way.”
Damien managed to look suitably hurt. “I’m definitely not in the business of sparing you, Kira Wixcombe. This latest message traffic only came in an hour or so ago. I’m telling you about it now because this is the first chance I’ve had.”
“Oh.” Kira grimaced. “Shit. I’m sorry, Damien, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Understood, and don’t worry about it. Instead, let’s focus on what it means.”
“What it means is that we can’t let the Danzur enter the war.”
Damien nodded. “It does. The question is, how to accomplish that? I can’t help but feel that the Danzur might be playing nicer with us, but they’re still not playing straight, even in the game of statecraft. They’ve got some other agenda for trying to drag this out and keep us here.”
“But what?” Kira asked.
“I don’t know. That’s what we’ve got to figure out, and fast.” He gave Kira a weighty look. “I know you’ve been holding back. Maybe it’s time to stop doing that.”
“Holding back . . . from using Joining?”
“That’s right.”
“That might help us a lot. Or it might make everything go sideways. It depends on the Danzur, and if they’re able to tell what I’m up to. If they are, then they could turn against us pretty fast.”
Damien spread his hands. “I’m open to suggestions, then.”
Kira leaned back and looked up at the overhead above her. “I’ll let you know if I have any.”
Kira didn’t.
She and Damien tried different approaches with Tadrup and the other delegates over the next couple of days, but nothing seemed to gain any traction. The Danzur were extremely good at taking the most innocuous-sounding thing, the vaguest statement, or the most off-handed comment, and turning it into long bouts of fruitless discussion. They fetishized reports, loved meetings like Kira liked cake and coffee, and found endless joy in codicils, which gave them a chance to revisit everything that had been discussed in the previous hours or days.
They remained experts at talking at length without actually saying anything, and when Kira thought they were about to take a breath, some other functionary would step in—politely, of course—and say the dreaded phrase if I may add something here, for clarification. Damien was usually able to refocus things, but it took time and effort, and the uncertainty was wearing on them. They were two oars pulling against a current that was slow, but wide and steady.
Kira read the diplomatic transmission they’d just received, then lowered it and scowled at Damien. “A deadline? The Allied Stars Council is giving us a deadline?”
Damien returned a helpless look. “Apparently, they’re holding back a large reserve fleet as a hedge against the Danzur suddenly turning against us. That’s forced the ON to stay on the defensive against the Nyctus, despite the fact that they still seem to have gone dormant. And that’s driving everyone crazy back home, especially in the senior ranks of Fleet. They desperately want to launch an offensive before the Nyctus finish doing whatever it is they’re doing over there.”
Kira handed the document back over to him and slumped into one of the Venture’s seats. “Yeah, I get that. They’ll be worrying that the squids are going to suddenly come across the Zone with new tech or tactics, or even new magic. They want to hit them before they’re ready.”
“Which makes sense, sure. But w
ith all those reserves tied up, it appears they can’t. Anyway, they’ve given us five days, and that’s it. Once that time elapses, we’re being recalled.”
“But why? What good does that do? It leaves the whole question of the Danzur hanging open. They’re still a threat. It doesn’t make any sense!”
“Oh, I suspect someone, somewhere has a cunning plan, and we’re just a small part of it,” Damien replied.
“Cunning plan my ass. What they’re really saying is that the ON brass are only prepared to keep that reserve fleet dawdling around in the rear for five more days, and then they’ll attack the Nyctus anyway,” Kira snapped. “In other words, they’re going to throw the dice and try to defeat the Nyctus fast, as a way of keeping the Danzur out of the war.”
“That would be risky,” Damien said, pulling at his chin. “If it works, though, it would be brilliant, and it would leave the Danzur out in the cold.”
“Sure, and if it doesn’t, we suddenly find ourselves facing a second front with nothing available to defend it. Or, for that matter, even if we do win against the Nyctus, we might be so depleted in strength that the Danzur will swoop in anyway, just to grab some territory,” Kira shot back.
Damien scratched his cheek, thinking. “I guess their reasoning is that the Danzur are a threat, but not an existential one. They don’t seem interested in exterminating us the way the Nyctus do. So we risk taking the hit from them to accomplish the bigger goal.”
“Sure. But it more reflects how the military thinks, not the diplomats. Go big or go home. Throw the dice. End the war by Christmas.”
“End the what?”
Kira smiled. “Sorry. It’s an old joke. The surest way to guarantee a war is going to drag on and on is to say that it’ll be over by Christmas. Of course, Christmas was a bigger deal back then, when we were only living on a single planet. So it kind of falls flat today, I guess.”
“I get the point.”
“So what do you want to do?” Kira asked.
Damien sighed. “Honestly, Kira, I’m just about out of ideas. If you’re counting on me to come up with something, then you’ll get to enjoy those swanky quarters of yours for another five days, and then we’ll be going home.”
“Yeah, I know. Joining. Speaking of throwing the dice,” she said, shaking her head.
“Well, what it comes down to is this. We throw the dice here and maybe manage to keep the Danzur out of the war completely, or we can let the Fleet throw the dice and just hope they don’t do too much damage when they do enter the war,” Damien replied.
Kira stood, crossed her arms, and walked to one of the viewports. She stared out at the sprawling vista outside, which included most of the orbital platform, and the luminous blue-green expanse of the Danzur’s home planet backdropping it. It really was pretty spectacular.
She was also getting sick of it.
“Well, as much as I like those quarters, I really don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to.” She turned back to Damien. “Fine. I’ll start pushing with my Joining. Who knows, maybe we’ll find out Tadrup and his people aren’t actually stalling us, and they just enjoy bureaucracy.”
“Or, if they are stalling us, knowing why would be nice.”
Kira nodded. “It sure would. I do have one suggestion, though.”
“What’s that?” Damien asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“Let’s put the Venture on ten minutes notice to move out. Because, if this goes wrong, we’re going to want to be able to haul ass out of here.”
Kira settled herself into a more comfortable position, wishing she had access to a sensory deprivation rig. She’d experimented with one back at Code Nebula, a sealed tank full of neutrally buoyant fluid, heated to body temperature. Just hanging there, weightless in the silent blackness, wearing nothing but an air mask and enough clothing to cover her modesty, had been an amazing experience. People apparently used it to delve into their own subconscious, usually for therapy, but sometimes just for entertainment. For Kira, though, it had allowed her to focus her Joining in a way she’d never before managed. She’d gone flying through the ether, borne on wings of a shimmering magical force, soaring and swooping here and there, into first one mind, then another. It had taken almost no effort at all, and the collective effect had been nothing short of electrifying.
Here, aboard the Venture, the best she could manage was a rack in a darkened room. The ship’s Chief Tech had been able to reduce the local gravity enough to reduce her weight. It left her resting lightly on the bed instead of bearing her full weight down onto it. So that, plus stripping down to her underclothes, was as sensory deprived as she was going to get.
Kira took a deep breath and let herself sink into her reservoir of magic, immerse herself in it, then sync her awareness with it and let it radiate outward in tendrils that snaked away in elegant possibility. Her perception immediately expanded, sweeping over the Venture’s crew, and Damien—
He stood out like a beacon in the darkness. Familiarity did that, turning an otherwise cold and distant presence into something warm and comfortable. Before she could move on, something caught her.
Damien was there, his thoughts clear and linear, which surprised her, given his chosen occupation. His mind was complex, but his path was not—he radiated competence, a tinge of frustration, and a general sense of industrious will, applying his intellect to one aspect of their problems, then another. After a moment, she’d seen enough, and her presence felt voyeuristic.
Kira let her consciousness continue sweeping outward, soaring through the orbital platform. She grazed the minds of myriad Danzur, but they were like dim, flickering bulbs to her. She didn’t know them, hadn’t ever interacted with them, so she could see only their most superficial thoughts. Out of curiosity, she picked three at random and, one after another, pushed deeper into the consciousness of each. It gave her a chance to test herself against a Danzur mind, while also giving her a peek into their motivations. After all, if there was some grand conspiracy at play here, then any, or even all of these aliens might be in on it.
These three weren’t, though. Two were just ordinary individuals going about their routine, their concerns and motives rooted firmly in whatever task or problem they were facing—one had to figure out why a fusion reactor was running hotter than it should, while another seemed fixated on a disagreement with his superiors. The third was a little more interesting. Kira delved deeper into her mind and discovered a treasure trove of ambitious bitterness. She was hungry for promotion but was being repeatedly denied. Of course, it was everyone else’s fault because her performance was top-notch.
Kira backed out. There was nothing to learn from her besides her own petty and somewhat narcissistic concerns. She pushed on, seeking the one mind that should practically ring like a gong among the Danzur.
There. Tadrup.
Kira reigned in her expanding thoughts and put her focus on Tadrup. She applied magic carefully, slowly increasing the pressure behind her own awareness. It was, she’d once told a class of recruits at Code Nebula, like electrical current. Her perception was the amperage, the actual stuff of Joining, while magic was the voltage, the force enabling it to enter the minds of others. The trick was to apply just enough of the magical voltage to get the depth of entry she wanted, but not so much that she triggered arcing—spillover effects that would alert her subject to what she was up to.
Tadrup’s current concern, his most immediate thoughts, were focused on her and Damien. That wasn’t surprising, nor was it very useful. Kira worked her way in a little deeper, applying a gentle nudge of magic, then another. She passed further into his mind, where the interesting stuff would be.
Stall them.
There. Kira zoomed in on that thought. Tadrup had been told to stall them. Why?
Stall them for as long as possible. Keep Wixcombe from—
Tadrup’s thoughts abruptly changed trajectory, and Kira hastily fell back. Had he sensed something? Detected her?
N
o. Someone had entered Tadrup’s office. Another Danzur. She watched as Tadrup’s superficial thoughts morphed and changed in response to what the other alien was saying. It was something about some bureaucratic thing or other. It meant nothing to Kira, but Tadrup’s reaction certainly did.
He loved this bureaucratic shit. Loved it.
She pushed again, re-entering his deeper thoughts. Against the clamor of whatever this particular task was all about, she could feel Tadrup’s satisfaction. Bureaucracy was order. It made sense of a chaotic universe. The right form, filed at the right time and in the right way, made it all make a little more sense. It actually gave Tadrup a feeling of fond, warm stability, and a sense of control. Kira didn’t get it, but she didn’t have to.
Okay. Gingerly, she probed deeper, trying to latch back onto that thought about stalling, and apparently stalling her in particular. Tadrup’s distraction as he dealt with other Danzur made it a little easier. More of his thoughts were focused elsewhere, thinning the amount of his conscious mind she had to burrow through.
Stall them.
Especially Wixcombe.
Wixcombe must be kept away.
Kira allowed herself a mental frown. Away from what?
Tadrup didn’t seem to know. He’d been given his marching orders—delay and stall the human diplomatic mission and keep her there, away from something, somewhere. He hadn’t been told why, though.
Wait.
There was something else, something deeper. Kira had to draw upon more magic, carefully crafting a sliver of her own awareness into a tendril of inquiry, one that would reach even deeper into Tadrup’s mind.
Wixcombe must be kept away.
It was part of the deal for reparations.
Paid by the Nyctus.
The Nyctus want her delayed.
The Nyctus. They made Tadrup uneasy. Frightened him, even. It was—
Their magic. It made the Nyctus powerful. Enigmatic. Dangerous. They must be respected. Placated.
A sudden surge of anxious awareness engulfed her. Tadrup had sensed something. He’d feel as though he was being watched, that someone lurked nearby, spying on him.