The file finished to leave him staring blankly into space.
“So that is history of Brotherhood?” He knotted fingers in his thick twist of beard and grunted. “Is time to rethink policy.”
He reached a cup into the dispenser, filling it with steaming black tea. One by one, he called up the files on the suspects who might have been assassins. Who? Which one might have fired the fatal projectile into Paul Ben Geller’s body?
The problem gnawed at him, eating like an acid. “Me, longest lived of all Gulagi politicians can’t find assassin?” He accessed comm, finding a security seal on the data he requested. Instead of information, Carrasco’s face formed.
“Yes, Nikita?” Carrasco asked. “Why would you want to see the image of Paul’s murder?”
Nikita laughed. “Captain, I would like to see again.” He frowned, lip pinched between his teeth. “Perhaps . . . perhaps I could see something? Is like burr under flesh. Me, greatest of sneaky Gulagis, should be able to see something. Who better to ferret out slimy assassin than man who sucked up knowledge of slimy assassination with mother’s sour breast milk?”
Carrasco considered for a moment. “Not a tinge of guilt, is it?”
Nikita grunted and lifted his slablike shoulders. “Have plenty of guilt, Captain. Comes as cultural legacy of Gulag. At same time, assassin is threat to security. What if assassin slips off with sacred secret? Is to betterment of suffering masses? I think not.”
“You’ve been reading all the files on the Craft available to your clearance.”
Nikita nodded, taking a deep breath. “And I have learned great deal. Thank you for releasing them.” He hesitated. “Is difficult thing for good Gulagi to admit, but perhaps we have been working to cross-purposes. Unless is just foul propaganda, perhaps we have been working to same end through different means?” He raised his bushy eyebrows.
Carrasco nodded. “Perhaps.” He paused. “Tell me, Nikita, why should I trust you?”
Nikita chuckled, raising his hands. “You have not missed much, Captain. Monitors in lounge? Readout when Nikita is questioned regarding murder? If ship didn’t have technology beyond simple Gulagi’s understanding, I would have already located spy devices in this room. Hope you enjoy fact that Nikita had bad case of gas last night, eh? Am only surprised you have not sent pills to help constipation ... or is bowel still sacred from Brotherhood probing?”
Carrasco smiled despite himself. “We weren’t aware of the problem. I’ll have Wheeler dispense something.”
“Sol get access?”
Carrasco considered, tension in his face.
“Go ahead. Nikita has lived all his life under observation, does not mind to be watched more. And who knows, perhaps I can see something, eh?”
“Clearance granted.”
Nikita added, “Have one other request. I would like Tayash to work with me. No, if I am assassin, I would have killed him long ago. Threatens to tell wives of ... ah, indiscretions too often for comfort.”
Carrasco struggled to hide another smile. “Very well, you can have him.” Sol hesitated. “It may be a mistake on my part, but for some incalculable reason, I think I trust you, Nikita. You’re falling down on the job as a subversive.”
Nikita flinched. “Eh? Do not tell crafty constituents. Nikita has reputation to maintain.”
“Your secret is safe.” Carrasco’s face flickered away.
Tayash arrived several minutes later, peering curiously at the scene depicted on Nikita’s monitor.
“So you broke the pirate scare to get me here?”
Nikita grunted and gestured at the murder scene. “Is assassination security. This is moment when Paul was killed. Come, we only have a half day before we planet to deal with sacred secret. Is not much time to determine viper within our nest.”
Yet no matter how they thought, figured, or conspired, the assassin’s identity remained elusive.
Nikita continued to grouse, some key slipping just out of his grasp as he stared at the photo. Origue, Constance, Mary, himself, even Elvina with her insipid knitting looked so innocent.
He packed slowly, taking only the necessities as the shuttle prepared for disembarkation to the planet below.
The solution nagged at him. “What?” he asked himself over and over again. “What does Nikita miss?”
He walked down the gleaming white corridors, an antigrav following with his possessions.
In the spacious shuttle, he found a seat in the back, waving Tayash to join him.
“Have thought of anything?”
Niter sighed wearily, stroking his goatee. “No,” he whispered in a low voice. “So it’s a projectile. Maybe the shot was fired earlier? Later?”
The shuttle shifted, the monitors showing the gleaming sides of Boat dropping away.
“Perhaps, but would have trusted Captain to cover that.”
“So, let’s rethink. A projectile needs a device to accelerate the projectile. Like a pistol, it’s a handle, trigger, and tube.”
Nikita started, everything coming clear. “Oh, my God!”
CHAPTER XXVI
The shuttle dropped rapidly toward the cloudy ball below. “That’s the last of the ambassadors,” Sol said gratefully. “Thank God! They’re on their own now.”
Connie wove her fingers between his, a serious look on her face. “It’s hard to believe we’re in the final steps.”
“You’re sure you did the right thing by not taking the shuttle down with your father?”
Connie shivered slightly and seemed to flush. She looked at him, eyes slightly unfocused. “Yes. He didn’t need me. I wanted a chance to talk to you. About the other night, about ... us, and what it all means. I can handle any . . . uh, business from here.”
“Are you all right?”
She gave him a wicked smile. “If you’ll remember, it was a rather long night last night. Then I got up early and dropped in on ...” She frowned. “Mary Ben Geller. I saw Elvina, too ... Teaching me how to knit.” She blinked, “Huh, sleepy. Maybe I’d better go and take a nap.” She shook her head, and looked up. “You do that to all your women? Work them so hard they’re sodden the next day?”
Something in the way she kept losing her concentration, in the frown as she fought to keep her eyes focused, triggered Sol’s memory. Paul had been the same way just before . . .
“Boaz! Get me a med unit quick!” Sol rapped as he clutched her to him. She was trying to protest as he swept her up, running toward the hospital. The med unit met him halfway and he followed it at a run, falling rapidly behind as the unit blared a warning and zigzagged through the corridors.
He slid to a stop, careening into the hospital. Boaz worked spindly metal arms, Connie under sedation. Sol stopped, chest heaving. Ensign Wheeler stared impatiently at the readout. Sol flinched at the sight of probes moving over and under Connie’s skin.
“Diagnosis, Boaz?” he asked, a cold fear creeping through his chest. He smashed a fist into the bulkhead, heart hammering as he watched this woman he had come to love hover between life and death. Images of Mbazi’s dead smile spun from the depths of his mind, the cold breath of dark gutted corridors wheeling up out of his nightmares.
“Sitah root, Captain. The fungus is spreading. I am supplying oxygen to the brain with synthetic plasma. The fungal effect is thus arrested. I am formulating antidotes to counter the spread of the disease through her bone marrow.”
“Will . . . will she live?” Sol demanded, fighting to keep his voice even, seeking to combat the fear in his gut, trying to think as he blinked back the sudden terror that crept, ghosting from his subconscious in tugging tendrils of cold.
Cerratanos’ bloody fingers clawed futilely at the hull. Flashbacks flickered in his thoughts. He heard a scream, a frantic wailing as corridors decompressed and warm human bodies charred in searing plasma.
Other visions struggled for his attention: Other loved ones dead. Other times of pain. Fear! Loss! Why had he come back? Why had he allowed himself to love
again? Where would this end? A silent scream pierced his mind and he clutched the bulkhead, battling to keep his control—wishing desperately to collapse into a fetal ball and float forever in a soft internal existence he could confine and control—where there was no pain or fear, or hurt, or death.
Boaz’s voice wound through his staggering mind. “Insufficient data, Captain. I have found the glass projectile and am removing it.” He sucked air into his lungs and struggled with the concept that formed in the bottom of his mind, clawing its way past the fear. His vision filled with an image of Peg Andaki, the dark beauty of her face streaked with tears as she clutched Maybry’s decompressed body.
“Captain?” He looked through bleary eyes and saw Wheeler, concern etching his face. Sol clenched his jaws and gritted, “Flashbacks. Gage . . . I. . .”He shivered, feeling the deck tremble under his feet.
“Captain?” Wheeler’s voice lost itself in the rush of decompression, as blue and red lights flashed through rents in the hull.
“Gage!” he thundered, feeling the rage burn and give him purpose as the fear whimpered back to the rear of his brain.
“Captain, I have Nikita Malakova on—” the ship began.
“Knitting!” he moaned, shivering as his muscles bunched and bulged. His fists gripped into balls of bone, sinew and tendon. Blood pounded hotly in his veins while adrenaline rushed to support and bless his anger.
“Nikita?” Sol wavered, staring at the monitor. “It’s Elvina, isn’t it?”
Malakova’s grim face formed. “Captain. Have determined culprit. Ngoro’s ‘creature’ is Elvina. Weapon is probably knitting needle.”
Sol blinked, Malakova’s features blurring with Cerratanos‘. “Elvina. Tell Archon. Get ... to Archon. Tell him . . . Careful, Fil. Don’t let ... let ...”
“Captain . . . you are sick? Captain . . .” Fil Cerratanos slipped into oblivion, his body twisting away into the winding stars. Reality lurched, shifting, sinking into a deep gray fog lit by flickering shades of red and blue.
* * *
Sol blinked, mouth like dry cotton. He stared up, seeing the reassuring white of his quarters.
“Captain? I have Speaker Archon on the line.”
“Elvina,” he whispered. “The knitting needles. Silly, foolish Elvina with her questions about shielding. I saw that cunning look in her eyes that night at dinner.” He stared up.
“How’s Connie?”
“We’re waiting for details.”
“Archon has to know immediately. Elvina must be—”
“He has been informed. During your flashback, Nikita came to the same conclusion.”
Sol blinked and swung to his feet. “Open the channel to the Speaker.”
Archon’s face formed, glazed with anxiety. “Captain? I hear my daughter is hanging on?”
Sol accessed the medical records. “She’s alive. It’s too early to . . .” Oh, my God, not Connie! “Well, we’ve got to wait.” As always. Nothing changed. Gage, Mbazi, Andaki, Cerratanos, all so fragile, all so dead.
“I had Elvina put under arrest,” Archon was saying. “She killed four of the guards and disappeared. A few minutes later, a comm officer was killed. From the log, she used the transductor. I suspect she’s somewhere in the bush around the spaceport. My people are instituting a search.”
Sol rubbed his forehead and nodded. “I’ll be right down, Speaker.” He cut the connection, staring woodenly at the bulkhead.
“Captain, I’ve been reviewing your reactions. bu suffered from a—”
“Flashback, damn it.” He glared up at the speaker. “Yes, damn it, I know.”
“I would like to employ a psych adjustment to—”
“I don’t have time for that, Boaz. ” He jumped to his feet, preparing a small kit.
“Captain, you might have to make time. Your behavior-”
He whirled, staring at the monitor. “Look! We’ve got bogeys coming in from all directions. Another five from the looks of things. You know damn good and well what psych does. Leaves the brain muzzy, slows reactions. Right now, I can’t afford that.”
“Can you rely on your reactions now?”
“Boaz, I-”
“I have the authority to relieve you of command.”
Sol stopped. He nodded slowly. “Yes, you do. At the same time, I’ve got an authority and duty of my own. Now what are we going to do? Turn this whole mess over to Bryana? Arturian? In the meantime, you and I have the responsibility for this ship and crew—and most likely the people on that planet down there. You’re not a digital machine spouting rote, Boaz. I heard you brag to Archon you had the power to finish this mission on your own. Considering your relative youth, I have my own reservations about—”
“You cannot judge me by human standards!”
“Nor can you judge my experience! So let’s settle it at compromise. We’re a team, Boaz, you and I ... and the Blessed Architect alone knows what’s at stake.”
The ship hesitated for several seconds. “Do you seriously believe that? That responsibility is shared between us?”
Sol took a breath and sighed. “It’s true, isn’t it? You have that ability—to determine policy for yourself based on analog thought.”
“I do.” A pause. “You realize that humans will resist that. I have already been chafing under the onus of being a mechanical slave.”
“Then, on top of everything else, you and I have to lay the groundwork for trust, for cooperation. Like it or not, we’re at the forefront.”
“Speaker Archon is waiting for you on the planet. I have a shuttle prepared at Lock Six.”
Sol winked, swinging out the hatch. “Take care of things while I’m gone.”
“Captain?” She hesitated again. “Thank you.”
He grinned. “And, Boaz, thank you. Trust is a curious thing, it works both ways.”
“Bryana!” he snapped as he trotted into the lock. His First Officer’s face formed on comm. “You’re in charge. Listen to the ship, trust her analysis of the situation. If anything happens and you can’t get in touch with me, rely on Art’s intuition and your skill and bounce it off Boaz. Use your brains, all of you. Something’s about to break loose. Elvina is in contact with someone. We’ve got ships coming in from every direction—Desmond shouldn’t be discounted either. Keep the ship on full alert and don’t feel shy about asking Happy, Fujiki, or anyone else for advice.” Sol bit his lip, fearing what he had to do. Was she ready for it? “Any questions?”
Bryana shook her head, black hair shimmering in the light. “No, sir.” She smiled weakly. “Good luck, Captain. We’ll take care of things, and if anything is picked up on detectors, we’ll holler.”
Star’s Rest grew in the monitors, a small planet with a dense nickel-iron core which generated strong magnetic poles that kept two disparately sized moons orbiting—contrary to laws of planetology—in opposite directions over the planet. The axis being perpendicular to the ecliptic, the planet had no seasons. As Sol dropped, he immediately recognized the anomaly. Straightening in the command chair, he stared out at the planet, brow furrowed.
The shuttle touched lightly on a wide, well-lit concrete apron. According to planet time, it was just after midnight. Sol looked up to see the two moons, almost eclipsed. His expression hardened. It just couldn’t be! “Captain?” Archon called from a ground car as Sol stepped to the ground. Sol picked up his kit and trotted over.“
“Any news on my daughter?”
Sol spread his hands. “Fifty-fifty that she’ll make it. She’s in the best hands in the galaxy, Speaker. God will judge.”
Archon seemed to slump. “You know, she’s all I’ve got.”
Sol placed a warm hand on the old man’s shoulder. “It’s out of our hands.”
Archon took a breath and jerked an assenting nod. “Doesn’t make it any easier.” They accelerated across the tarmac.
“No, it doesn’t,” Sol agreed in a whisper.
He continued to gaze at the odd moons as the car his
sed across the flats, leveling off perhaps ten feet above the tops of scrubby trees. Those moons peered down between the tufty clouds and, for the first time, Sol noted the black hole in the near moon. Like a small dark pupil, it stared at him. He felt his hackles rise.
“This system isn’t normal, Speaker. I read the reports on Star’s Rest. You didn’t mention the fact that the moons orbited in opposite directions. You also didn’t mention that this planet experiences two lunar alignments a day.”
“That’s right, Solomon. I also didn’t mention that the alignment occurs over the same spot on the planet’s surface twice a day.”
Sol glanced up, an eerie feeling shivering down his spine. “You know that’s impossible. Tidal forces would have changed that effect years ago. It can’t happen—can’t be stable.”
They started up a long, steep slope of perhaps forty-five degrees. “That’s also correct, Captain. Star’s Rest is an anomaly which shouldn’t exist—but does. Now you know what drew me here in the first place.”
The breeze carried a musky odor which bore the special signature of Star’s Rest. Sol looked up at that malignant eye and swallowed his nervousness. Only the brightest of stars shone through the strong moonlight, but it gave him the chance to form some opinions of the topography.
“This is the only real mountain on Star’s Rest?”
“That’s right.”
“Volcanic?”
Archon looked over from the controls. “No, Captain. What we’re climbing is a pyramid. What you see is a shaped asteroid which was set—that’s right, I said set— on the planet’s surface. That flat down there was once an inland sea. Through the centuries, it silted in, becoming the fertile plain you now observe. At the same time, tectonic action has accounted for some reformation, but on the whole, this is a very stable world.”
Sol shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding! Set here? Not even Boat could settle a chunk of rock this size into a gravity well as deep as Star’s Rest! Who could have done it?”
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