“If you don’t, I will.”
Fianna’s smile was bright in the darkness. “Good night, Lanaril.” Their arms stretched between them as she stepped back. Then their fingertips slipped apart, and a moment later Lanaril was alone.
She walked into the central cabin to find the conversation circle under full power. Jaros was in bed, a fact for which she was grateful when Andira took one look at her and said, “Did you fall into a thicket? Your neck seems rather scratched.”
“Must have been that treecat on the transport,” Micah said in his amused rumble. “I never did hear about anyone catching it. It’s still on the loose.”
“I suppose I deserve that.” Lanaril had to smile at them, united in their easy teasing. “The treecat gallantly walked me home, and I may be visiting it again later. So far, I’m enjoying your bonding break very much.”
She slipped past them before they could say anything else and shocked Ekatya by taking the empty seat next to her. “I hope I haven’t missed any of your story.”
“You haven’t. I was just getting started.” Ekatya had apparently found some peace of her own. The suspicion and dislike were absent, though a low level of unease and shame still lurked in the background.
By the time she finished her story, Lanaril understood those emotions a great deal better.
CHAPTER 13:
Data jack
Gov Dome, Tashar, 16 stellar months earlier (11.5 Alsean moons)
After six months in Gov Dome, Ekatya was certain that when she left this place, she would never come back. The people here did not live in the real galaxy. They lived in a construct of their collective consciousness, an alternative existence in which their personal importance was enormously inflated while the consequences of their decisions were magically deflated. People became numbers and numbers became abstract, and the artificiality was further enhanced by the shield over their heads. It was a daily reminder of how special they were, how vital to the Protectorate and thus deserving of the most technologically advanced defense system in existence.
It was easy to make decisions impacting the health and safety of others when your own were never in danger.
Command Dome had the same shield system, but despite the bad taste her two-week incarceration had left in her mouth, Ekatya would return in a heartbeat given the choice. For many of the people working there, protection was only temporary until they shipped out. And she had a better understanding of her so-called debriefing now that she understood the man who had ordered it.
Sholokhov was the single most suspicious, paranoid, and judgmental person she had ever met. He was also brilliant and utterly ruthless, just as Admiral Tsao had warned. What Tsao had not said, but had become clear in Ekatya’s conversations with him, was that Sholokhov divided people into three categories: threats, resources, and idiots. The first he neutralized as soon as possible, through any means necessary. The second he either used immediately or banked for future use. The third he ignored—unless they were a potential resource or became a threat through their own stupidity and poor decision-making.
He had no concept of friends or allies, viewing them instead as current or potential resources. Nor did he believe that resources could be counted on to remain trustworthy or useful. In Sholokhov’s world, everyone acted in their own self-interest. It was only when their interests aligned with his that he trusted in the outcome.
Once Ekatya had figured out Sholokhov’s categorization system, the story she had read about him shooting his friend made sense. Since he had no friends, the victim had been either a resource or a potential resource. But his entry onto the range when Sholokhov wanted to finish shooting at his target instantly shifted him into the idiot category. Idiots were owed nothing.
His treatment of her also made sense. He could not fathom Andira’s real reason in negotiating a new ship for her, since he would never believe such a grand gesture could be made without an ulterior motive. Therefore, Ekatya must owe Andira something. That made her a threat, and Sholokhov neutralized threats. He had brought her to Gov Dome to control her.
But Sholokhov’s system allowed for some individuals to occupy multiple categories, thus she could be a resource as long as her threat potential was properly contained. He had tied her up in a neat package. As much as she detested the man and his worldview, she had to admire his skill.
In truth, she was more qualified for her new job than she had initially thought. While a covert agent could have learned more than she did, what Sholokhov really wanted was her skill in reading people. So she went to the task force meetings, watched and listened, and took back her impressions for Sholokhov’s review. It felt slimy and underhanded, but she never let Sholokhov see her discomfort. He would have enjoyed it too much.
Minister Staruin, she quickly realized, was not a threat. His agenda was refreshingly aboveboard: he truly believed that bringing less-developed worlds into the Protectorate would benefit both sides. His sincerity was not surprising given his leadership of the Reform Party, which had never held more than ten percent of the seats in the Assembly. If he were after power, he would be in one of the three parties that fought for majority governance, not in the party that had no chance of being anything more than a coalition member. What Sholokhov really wanted to know was whether Staruin was a resource or an idiot who might become a threat. She hated to categorize him as a resource, because that put him on the list with everyone else Sholokhov thought he could use. But he was certainly not an idiot.
Two of the ministers on the task force were, however. Ekatya had no idea how they had convinced a gullible public to elect them; their combined brain power would not threaten a microbe. Two others did have their own agendas but were similarly lacking in intelligence. Someone else must be pulling their strings.
Four were true believers like Staruin, and the last three were definite threats. They had their own agendas and were smart enough to do something about it. She just didn’t know what those agendas were.
The saving grace of her time in Gov Dome was Lhyn. She had found their housing, introduced Ekatya to the best coffee houses and restaurants, dragged her to museums and parks, and most importantly, been there when Ekatya returned home after yet another day of dealing with inflated egos and idiots. Lhyn had a way of puncturing through it all, turning Ekatya’s frustration into reluctant laughter.
For Lhyn, their location was fortuitous. Every major news agency in the Protectorate had their headquarters here, enabling her to dispatch her interviews with relative ease. Of course, she complained about every one of them, particularly the way the hosts insisted on simplistic questions when the reality of a culture built around a sixth sense could not be distilled into quick answers and catchy conclusions. She felt she was never given enough time to get her points across.
Ekatya thought she was the best advocate the Alseans could have asked for. When sympathetic interviewers waxed poetic about the empathic aliens, Lhyn brought them back to the ground with facts and scientific observations, reminding viewers that the Alseans were real, complex people and not mythical manifestations of the Seeders. When antagonistic interviewers tried to paint them as a menace to the Protectorate, Lhyn countered with personal stories that illustrated the compassion and kindness with which she and the Caphenon crew had been treated, despite the danger they had brought with them. Her description of Sharing with Blacksun’s Lead Templar had been replayed so many times that it had acquired a legendary flavor. Then again, that might just be Ekatya’s own perception, skewed by the Gov Dome inflationary ego field.
One thing was indisputable: Lhyn was now famous, the one true expert on a culture that everyone wanted to know more about. The only other person close to an expert was Ekatya herself, and she had been muzzled by Fleet, which classified her activities on Alsea. Lhyn was not subject to the same limitations.
Since their arrival on Tashar, Lhyn had worked tirelessly to speak for Alsea. No
w she declared herself done with the ship travel and appearances. She was ready to hole up in their apartment for the next year, pulling together all of her research and writing the book on Alsea she had been itching to start.
Ekatya wished she could throw herself into work the same way. She missed her ship and especially her crew, all of whom had dispersed to other assignments or were snapped up by captains poaching her best officers, which was how she thought of it during her lower moments. She had worked hard to build such a capable and well-oiled team. Losing them to the four corners of the galaxy sometimes felt like a punishment rivaling the one she was serving with Sholokhov.
Because no matter how Lhyn or Admiral Tsao tried to spin this as a choice she had made or a path she needed to walk to find her new Pulsar-class ship at the other end, it felt like a punishment. She hated the Presidential Palace, hated reporting to Sholokhov, and hated the fact that even her assistant was a Sholokhov plant.
Ensign Bellows was fresh out of the academy, a slightly round, owlish young man with large golden eyes and a slow blink that irritated Ekatya to no end. She had run a check on him and found that his mother’s wealth was responsible for his placement in the Presidential Palace, far from any potential harm. He had been raised in Gov Dome and had gone to school with the children of ministers and Protectorate power players, making him a perfect lackey for Sholokhov.
Being spied on by a coddled scion of wealth was bad enough. Worse was Bellows’s choice of a cover: that of a hero worshipper. He met Ekatya on her first day with over-the-top awed shyness and never deviated from his act no matter how coolly she treated him. She frequently wondered if Sholokhov had specified the cover as a direct contrast to his own treatment of her, simply to keep her off balance.
Still, she was a professional. She knew how to utilize her resources, and for all of his poor acting and hidden agendas, Ensign Bellows was an excellent resource. His knowledge of the Gov Dome elite seemed endless, and he had an innate talent for data collection and management. He kept her schedule in perfect order, made sure she was prepared for her meetings and evening social functions, and proved adept at finding links and connections that would have escaped her.
It was just such a connection that had her in Sholokhov’s office now. After six months of mostly useless discussion, the task force had finally agreed on a list of worlds to examine for possible first contact and eventual Protectorate membership. This was what she had been waiting for, an actual goal to research and work toward.
She had already recommended against the inclusion of the two planets in the Lexihari system, which had ended their interplanetary war just thirty stellar years ago. In her opinion, that was too recent to imagine that these cultures could handle advanced technology without turning it toward violence. But her concerns had been overruled.
“And we’ve found a likely reason why,” she told Sholokhov. “Ensign Bellows has been running deep background checks on the three task force members who were the most vocal supporters of these planets. They all have something in common: recent campaign donations from Elin Frank.”
Sholokhov had been sitting with his back to her, looking out of his window while she gave her report, but at this he swung back around. “Really. Our illustrious former ambassador to Alsea?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe he is attempting to maneuver into a similar position on one of these planets.”
“I have no basis on which to form a belief.” She had learned that it was best to be very specific with Sholokhov, lest he make even more assumptions than he already did. “But given that he tried to take the emerging markets on Alsea and failed, it makes sense that he may be trying a different tactic here. Buy the politicians instead of being one.”
“How do you know he tried to take the markets on Alsea? Something your patron told you?”
“Lancer Tal mentioned it when we discussed the new ambassador.” She would not take the bait.
“As I said, your patron.” He leaned back in his chair. “Someday you’re going to tell me what you’re doing for her.” When she didn’t respond—and she never did—he let his chair spring forward again. “Very well. It’s an interesting assumption, but I need more than a guess. I need facts. Get me proof of Frank’s connection with these planets, and I don’t mean campaign contributions.”
“That would be difficult to do given my position. At this point, you need a covert agent.”
“Captain Serrado, you disappoint me. Must I remind you of our agreement? Find a way to copy the data from his personal gear. If he’s working on something, there will be a digital path to follow, most likely in his home system. I doubt he’d keep those kinds of records and correspondences in his workplace.”
For a moment she was at a loss. He couldn’t really expect her to do that, could he? This wasn’t reading people. This was breaking in and jacking data.
He picked up a file and swiveled around again, facing the windows. “You’re dismissed, Captain.”
Upon reaching her office, she was so furious about Sholokhov’s insistence on power games and his delight in using military authority that she could no longer keep up any pretense with Ensign Bellows.
“In my office, now,” she snapped as she strode past his desk. By the time she had entered her office and circled around her own desk, he was there, blinking owlishly at her.
“What can I do for—”
“Your superior,” she interrupted, “has just ordered me to break into Elin Frank’s home system and find evidence of his real agenda with the Lexihari planets. Since I have zero skills in that area, while you are quite comfortable with data systems, I can only assume it’s really an order for you.”
He blinked again. “My superior… I don’t understand. I work for you.”
“Can you drop the act for once? I’m well aware that you report to Sholokhov.”
“But I don’t—”
“Shut it!” she growled. “I don’t need the lies, and I really don’t need the hero worship. Even if that were real, it would have worn off after six months of…this.” She gestured at her office and its constant reminder of what she currently was not doing. “Let’s just agree that we both need to bring Sholokhov what he wants, and what he wants is something I can’t give him. But you can.”
“But—” Her glare stopped him. He did a remarkably good impression of a hurt child, then straightened his spine. “Director Sholokhov actually ordered you to break into Elin Frank’s home system?”
“He ordered me to copy any relevant data from Frank’s personal gear and strongly suggested we would find that data in his home system.”
Bellows absently rubbed his shoulder, his gaze on the floor. “So he essentially told you to break the law.”
“Surely this does not surprise you.”
“Um…a little, yes.” When he looked up again, his golden eyes seemed lighter than usual. “What happens if you refuse?”
That was the last question she had expected from him. But since she had demanded that he drop his act, perhaps she should drop hers as well. “To me, nothing. Someone else will pay the price instead.”
He gaped at her. “Sholokhov is blackmailing you?”
“Again, I don’t know why this would surprise you. Isn’t that the standard cost of business around here?”
“Everything is surprising me today,” he mumbled, and dropped into her visitor chair without waiting for permission. “Captain Serrado…I might be able to do what he wants.”
“I presumed as much. Do you need me for this operation, or will you be using other personnel?” For all she knew, Sholokhov had a whole team of people who did nothing but this type of illegal data dump.
He hesitated. “I went to school with Sumiko Frank. She’s one of the nicer ones in that group. I think I could get an invitation to her father’s fundraiser next weekend.”
“For Tzatis?” T
he election for the next mayor of Gov Dome was coming up, and Tzatis was one of the front-runners.
“Yes. We can’t get into the banquet; that’s for the really big players. But there’s a mixer afterwards where everything is much less organized. There will probably be two hundred people there. I can get an invitation from Sumiko, because even if I’m not a player, you are. I mean, you’re not really a player, but everyone knows you. You could get in, and I could get in with you, and then I could jack the data.”
That was the least confident she had ever heard him sound, and yet he seemed oddly hopeful as well. She frowned at him. “I take it your performance is linked to mine?”
He started to say something, stopped, and then said, “I work for you.”
“Of course you do.” She gave up. “Fine. Get the invitation.”
CHAPTER 14:
Covert agents
The odd thing was that it worked so easily. On the night of the fundraiser, Ekatya had a driver pick up Bellows first, then her, and twenty minutes later they were standing in front of the guarded gate of the Frank residence. Amid the crowd of expensively dressed people gathered at the entry, they stood out in their dress uniforms—especially Ekatya, with her captain’s bars and her chest full of medals. The burly man checking invitations took hers, looked her over carefully, and then gestured at a white-jacketed man behind the gate. White Jacket swung open the gate and smiled at them. They were in.
“Well done, Ensign,” Ekatya said as they walked up the path to the three-story mansion with its colonnaded exterior. “Shippers, what a place. I can’t imagine what it must cost to own this kind of property in Gov Dome.”
Even with her very generous stipend, she and Lhyn were living in an apartment near the edge of the shield. Real estate prices near the center of the dome were outrageous, and a home this size, right here? It was a physical advertisement of Frank’s wealth and influence.
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