by John Appel
“What do you mean?” Noo asked.
“I see three, maybe four options,” Zheng said, holding up four fingers. “One, we stay here aboard Amazonas until the situation sorts itself out. I’m not inclined to that course,” she said.
“Me either,” Noo said immediately. “No time for a holiday.”
“Right.” Zheng tucked one finger away. “Two, we beg a ride to the station, or maybe groundside, and pitch in to help put down the coup.”
Meiko chose her words carefully. “Distasteful as Miguna seems to be, that’s your fight, not mine,” she said. “Not that I want to see him win, of course, but I think having a known Commonwealth operative working against him would be problematic.” She motioned to indicate the ship around them. “Captain Gupta had no problem with mounting a rescue, the Spacer’s Covenant gave zer plenty of cover for that. But actively providing assistance to one side in an Ileri internal conflict, even if that’s just reuniting you with the government forces? I’m not sure ze will go for that.”
Teng looked up from the news window. “What are you proposing, Zheng? That we continue the investigation?”
The constable tucked down two more fingers, leaving her index finger alone pointing at the forward bulkhead, which under thrust would be the ceiling. “Exactly. We still have suspects at large and a case to solve. A case,” her eyes turning to Meiko, “that includes the assassination of a Commonwealth diplomat, so definitely still in your purview.”
“I’m not done until those dust-sucking turds are clipped,” Noo said heatedly.
In Meiko’s heart there was only one answer. I’m in this to the finish. “I’m in,” she said.
Zheng looked at Teng, still tucked into his bunk. “What about you, Captain?”
Teng shrugged. “M. Ogawa is my charge. Until I’m relieved, wherever she goes, I follow. Unless it becomes necessary to keep her out of somewhere she’s not supposed to be.” He wiped the news window closed. “I have one question, though. How do you propose we continue the investigation from here? We’ve got no equipment, and no access to our organizations, who are all busy with the coup. We don’t even have infonet access.”
Meiko opened a shared AR window and set it for whiteboard mode. “Why don’t we start by listing the investigative threads.” She put Trace aircar first, followed by Aye Tuntun. Zheng added Kochi safe house to the list. Noo contributed Explosives source. They spent a few more minutes brainstorming potential avenues of investigation.
Zheng circled the first three. “These seem like the most promising.” She frowned. “Teng’s right that our resources are limited.”
Something niggled in the back of Meiko’s brain, and she tried talking it through. She tapped the window and highlighted Trace aircar. “We’re talking about tracking it after we crashed, right?”
Teng snorted. “Hardly makes sense to track it before, from the Constabulary garage,” he said.
Noo waved him down. “I know that kind of look,” she said. “You’ve got something.”
“Maybe.” Meiko chewed her bottom lip in frustration. Exhaustion clouded her thinking and made it hard to pull things from memory. “What’s the best way to track a flying vehicle?”
“The transponder,” Zheng said immediately. “But you said they’d disabled it.”
“Or eyes on it,” Noo said. “Visual surveillance, or radar, or something like that. Those Constabulary cars aren’t stealthed, are they Zheng?”
Zheng confirmed they weren’t. “No one to see it in the backcountry, though,” she said. “Though maybe from orbit...”
The memory surged forth in Meiko’s head like a breaching leviathan. “That’s it,” she said, her voice tight with excitement. “Satellites. Scientific ones.” She trawled through her djinn’s storage until she found it. “I might have a way to tap into some.”
Teng opened his mouth, then closed it. “I don’t suppose you’d care to disclose how you came by that information?”
“My public career provides me with a great number of interesting contacts,” she said, the evasion as smooth as if she’d practiced it. “Let me talk to the signals officer.” She ducked into the corridor to make the call while Zheng fetched drinks and snacks from the wardroom.
The cruiser’s communications chief was intrigued at the prospect of tapping into the Ileri landsat array and authorized the link on her own authority. She even coughed up a set of hand terminals for the others to which Meiko could download the data, along with access to the public media feeds Amazonas intercepted.
Meiko returned to the bunk room, activated the backdoor into the satellite network, and began pulling data. The team pounced on it.
It was Noo that spotted the anomaly in an infrared scan of the region a dozen kilometers up the main gorge. “What’s this?” she asked, highlighting a cluster of hotspots, bigger than anything natural.
Zheng checked the map but found nothing. The four of them pored over the image. “It looks like a trekker’s base camp,” Teng said after a moment. “I went a few times in university. There’re bivouacs like this scattered around the backcountry, some run by clubs, others by individuals or family concerns. People fly in and then spend a few days hiking, or exploring, or sometimes just spending time in camp, away from the infonet.”
Meiko hunted through the available data and pulled the records from the last several days. “Here,” Noo said. “There were only two cars there at sundown yesterday, but three this morning.” She checked the most updated image. “Still three there now.”
“You think they landed there? And are still hanging around?” Meiko asked, feeling rising excitement.
“It’s certainly possible,” Zheng said. “I’m certain our people hit some of them during the firefight. They might be holed up, recovering.” She jabbed one finger at the image. “We haven’t found any other sign of a vehicle entering the area during the storm or leaving afterwards.”
“What can we do with this information?” Teng asked. “I don’t expect the Kochi Constabulary can spare the resources to check it out. I’ve checked the feeds, and the fighting there is only a little less chaotic than the capitol.”
Noo swept them all up by eye. “I propose we pay them a visit.” She locked eyes with Meiko. “I think it’s time we met with the captain.”
Noo
CPC Amazonas,
Ileri Orbit
Captain Gupta met them in the forward wardroom as zer executive officer guarded the hatchway. It was a wide, low-ceilinged space, filled with tables and chairs bolted to the deck that became the floor when Amazonas’ engines fired. The walls were painted with bright colors in a scheme Noo found a bit jarring; coral, bright yellow, and sky blue that shaded to green towards the deck predominated. She smelled coffee and realized the beverage dispensers were running. She snagged an insulated bulb and cradled its warmth in her left hand as she made her way clumsily to a seat.
Gupta was shorter than Noo, broad of hip and shoulder, dark skinned with a wide face, a hawk nose, and short dark hair shaved on the sides and a military buzz cut on top. “I understand you have information about the assassins you’ve been pursuing,” ze said in a crisp voice that resonated throughout the room.
Meiko accessed the room’s projector and threw up the imagery of the trekker camp. She told Gupta how they’d accessed the Ileri satellites and how they’d traced the probable trail of their quarry. Noo let the Commonwealth agent carry the message and studied the captain with care.
Gupta’s face was hard to read, but Noo didn’t like the body language she saw. The captain sat still, even hunched over slightly despite the lack of gravity. Ze listened attentively, zer eyes ranging across the images Meiko projected, but gave no sign of eagerness.
Gupta seemed much more reserved than zer Ileri counterparts Noo had met. Maybe it was the detachment required of someone in independent command. She’d hoped for some sign of enthusiasm.
Meiko wrapped up her briefing and Noo caught Gupta’s glance at zer XO. “As evidenc
e goes, this seems rather thin,” ze said. Ze reached forward to zoom in the video imagery of the camp, focusing on the new aircar which had appeared since the previous sunset. “None of your information confirms that this aircar is the one you pursued.”
“The absence of any other vehicles makes it highly probable,” Zheng said.
Gupta shook zer head. “I concede the point, but that’s not even circumstantial evidence. It’s plausible, I grant you, but not proof.”
Noo felt her heart sinking even as Meiko projected the tracking data from last night’s flight that she’d captured on her djinn, and explained their deductions and reasoning, but Gupta refused to budge. “You’re asking me to act on the basis of absence of evidence,” ze said.
“Not positive identification and tracking.” Ze locked eyes with Zheng. “I’m familiar with Ileri law. Would this be sufficient evidence from which to launch an operation?”
We’re losing this.
Heat flared in Noo’s face as imminent despair gave way to anger. “Don’t you give a damn about truth?” she snapped.
Everyone turned to look at her with looks ranging from surprise to horror, except for Gupta, whose cool regard didn’t shift one iota. “I care a great deal about truth, M. Okereke,” ze said in the same calm yet penetrating voice. “I have no problem passing this information onto the Ileri authorities, and to my diplomatic counterparts. They can investigate and obtain confirmation, or perhaps refutation, of your findings.”
“You know they can’t do that right now,” Noo shot back. She’d accessed the media feeds while Meiko arranged this meeting. “The Army and Constabulary are trying to keep the rebels contained and get civilians out of the way. They can’t spare the people to check this out.”
“What do you propose that I do?” Gupta said.
Noo found herself on her feet, hands clenching the edge of the table before her, the bulb of coffee forgotten. She felt a sense of pressure in her body, something like the surge when an express transit car shot up one of the station’s spokes. Momentum. Have to keep the momentum. “You sent a shuttle to pick us up,” she said. “Let us take one down.”
The XO spoke from the doorway. “As you just pointed out, M. Okereke, Ileri is in a state of conflict. Your air and orbital space are being actively contested.”
“You swatted those rebel cutters that tried to intercept us,” Noo said.
Gupta sighed. “Rescuing you was a humanitarian mission, easily justified to all sides, even the damned Saljuans,” ze said. “But they’ve escalated things by insisting on pressing forward with the inspection.”
Her mind raced and she scrambled to find an argument that might persuade the captain. “Assume for the moment that we’re correct,” Noo said. “That parties linked to the assassination of our minister and your consul,
that blew up a manufactory and killed who knows how many civilians, who’ve probably killed whomever was in that camp when they arrived—that they’re here, holed up in this remote location, away from any of the zones of conflict. Away from any civilians or other collateral damage. There’s not likely to be a better chance to scoop them up.”
She held up a hand to forestall whatever response Gupta intended, took a deep breath, and continued. “Say we’re right, and this is them. Now, the referendum on Ileri joining the Commonwealth may not happen on schedule. But if the rebels don’t win, it’s going to happen at some point.” Her eyes drilled into Gupta’s and she strained to keep her voice from rising. “What’s going to make people more inclined to vote to join: that when the chance came to snap up the murderers who killed so many came along, that a joint Commonwealth and Ileri team swooped in to take ’em? Or that in the hour of need, the Commonwealth let the killers remain at bay?”
One couldn’t drop a pin in zero gravity, but if one could, it would have been heard. Noo’s anger was still there, burning in her chest, but she’d made a good case, a damned good case, and she knew it, and she felt a spark of hope.
Captain Gupta exchanged glances with zer XO. “You make a persuasive argument, M. Okereke.”
Then ze shook zer head and Noo’s hope crashed and shattered. “But I can’t risk my people on such thin evidence, even with such a potential payoff.”
“Then don’t,” Meiko said. “Let us go by ourselves.”
Gupta cocked zer head at Meiko. “What do you mean?”
“As M. Okereke pointed out, we constitute a duly authorized joint investigative team, with both Ileri and the Commonwealth represented.” She gestured at the team in their scattered seats. “Let us use the shuttle. The drop and return can be pre-programmed. The five of us can land, apprehend the suspects, and then return with them to orbit.”
“Five?” Gupta asked, puzzled. “There’s only four of you.”
Noo spoke up. “Fari will insist on coming with us.”
“I don’t think M. Tahir is fit for that kind of operation,” the XO said.
“Loan us a combat exoskeleton,” Zheng said. “I’ve seen troopers wounded far more severely use them.”
“Hm.” Gupta’s eyes swept Meiko up and down. “And if the assassins are there? I’ve read your report. They’re heavily armed.”
Zheng cleared her throat. “I have an idea about that,” she said, and explained her idea.
At last, Gupta nodded to the XO. “All right. In for a kilo, in for a ton. Might as well do this properly if it’s to be done at all.” Ze rose, and everyone still seated rose as well. “Number One, set them up with what they need. I’ll be in the CIC plotting the drop window. This may be a fool’s errand, but even fools can be right sometimes.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Imoke
Airplant 2, Ileri Station,
Forward Ring
It was the quiet that made Daniel Imoke’s skin crawl.
No matter what shift, no matter what part of the station one was in, you could always hear other people bustling about on Ileri Station. Music was always in the background, solarfunk or fēiwǔ or Second Weave jazz on speakers; sometimes just a busker with a guitar or drums. Conversations between people, friendly or heated or simply the neutral acts of buying and selling. The whir of electric vans zipping down the alleys. The shuffle of feet on the grass or tiles, sandaled or shoed or booted, the rustle of neosilk or the swish of fabber-made linen. People moving, people doing business, people living their lives.
It wasn’t silent, really, where he crouched a block away from the airplant’s entrance, but it was still too quiet for his nerves. Imoke heard the people around him, a mixed squad of constables and troopers, as they checked their equipment and cracked the sort of bad jokes one told at these moments. But the civilians had been carefully, quietly evacuated to shelters blocks away, leaving the area around the airplant quiet as a grave.
Something else was missing: bots. Not entirely, of course; some bots performed basic maintenance and cleaning tasks, picked up refuse, inspected seals on the great quartz-crystal windows that let reflected sunlight in, or sampled the air to check for anomalous chemical traces. Okafor told him that life support and many infrastructure systems ran on a separate hardened network that seemed to be operational even while the primary infonet was down. When he asked why they couldn’t piggyback Constabulary traffic on that net she responded with a load of jargon about special-use protocols and air gaps and a dozen other terms he didn’t follow. ‘Incompatible systems’ seemed the heart of it, though.
At least the rebels couldn’t use it against them. He hoped.
“All teams ready, Inspector,” said the sergeant assigned as his deputy. It took him a moment to realize that ‘Inspector’ meant himself. Toiwa had elevated him a few hours earlier, just before handing him command of one-third of the force now set to retake the airplant. Another Constabulary officer led a second assault team, while an Army lieutenant led the third, and commanded the entire ad hoc unit.
“Very good, Sergeant.” He toggled his squad’s status to green and hoped the por
table network repeaters worked as advertised.
“All set, boss?” the sergeant asked. His eyes ran over Imoke’s equipment, one last visual check. ‘Check your gear, check your partner’s gear’, was a mantra drilled into every constable from the first weeks of training.
Imoke flashed the hand sign for ready. He was as prepared as it was possible to be. He’d even broken down and sent Noo a message, though who knew when she’d receive it. Word of her planetary escapades and dramatic rescue had filtered through amidst the other reports, so he’d chased his temporary roommate out of the tiny cubby they shared in headquarters, taken a deep breath, and composed a message to the person who meant most to him in the world. Because that’s the sort of thing you did when you got ready to launch a frontal assault on a fortified position.
The last squad’s indicator flipped green. Imoke brought his shotgun up to port carry position. Ahead of him, his four Army troopers, hulking forms in their heavy body armor, snapped down their visors and hefted their carbines. Behind him, the rest of his team did the same.
The Go indicator lit and he heard the distinctive chuff of a pneumatic grenade launcher from their tiny fire support element atop a three-story apartment building across the street. The laser-guided projectile burst squarely in front of the airplant’s entrance and dense gray smoke billowed forth. Without prompting, the soldiers at the head of his column took off at a dead sprint, and he followed.
Keeping pace with the soldiers turned out to be harder than he’d expected. He was fit, still put in his time on the football pitch when he could, and ran in the park regularly. But running in a pair of shorts and a jersey, in proper shoes, was one thing; running with fifteen kilos of body armor, weapons, and gear, with a tactical visor over one’s face, was quite another. Still, only two of his people managed to pass him before they reached the far side of the street and stacked up beside the entry.