Catalyst

by Fletcher DeLancey

  Her stomach sinking, she pulled her pad from its sleeve pocket and brought up the file.

  “Why am I not surprised you would have that contract so close at hand?” he asked in an amused tone.

  She ignored him as she scanned down for the relevant paragraph. Unfortunately, he was not bluffing. Taking her time, she replaced the pad and crossed her hands on the desk.

  “Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” she said. “You’re correct about our agreement. But I am not now, nor will I ever be, yours. Not in your most vivid imaginings.”

  “You’re very concerned with semantics.”

  “I’m concerned with the way you confuse service performed in duty with ownership.”

  His unsettling blue eyes crinkled at the corners. It almost looked friendly. “I never thought I would say this, but I do miss your presence in this office. I enjoyed our verbal sparring.”

  She remembered the pleasure he took in saying You’re dismissed, Captain every single time she left his office, and doubted very much that their sparring was what he missed.

  “Is there a point to this call besides nostalgia?” she asked.

  He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, there is. Your new orders should be arriving any moment.”

  “Very well.” She tapped the control to check for data piggy-backed on the vid transmission.

  “Captain, you misunderstand me. I do not send alpha-band classified orders on quantum com calls. Anyone can break into those.”

  Raising her eyebrows, she said, “If by anyone, you mean genius-level data jackers with inside information on Fleet encryption.”

  “In my business, one can never be too safe.”

  “Then how exactly are my orders supposed to arrive?”

  “Perhaps you should ask your Commander Lokomorra that.”

  This time she didn’t bother to hold back the eye roll. She was about to tap the deskpad to call for Lokomorra when it chimed at her.

  “Ah. That will be your commander,” Sholokhov said jovially.

  She shot him a glare, then rose from her seat and stepped into the door’s sensor range. It slid open, revealing Lokomorra’s solid frame. He made to enter but stopped when she held a finger against her lips. Gently pushing him away from the door, she followed him onto the bridge and let the door close behind her.

  The transition was jarring. Both the upper and lower bridge displays were active, transforming the entire room into virtual space. In place of the walls and the high, domed ceiling of the bridge, she saw the downward-curving ribs of the space dock and the gigantic structure of the shipyard to which her ship was still tethered. Instead of a floor beneath her feet, she saw the darkness of space and the silver curve of the moon, which housed a hundred factories, all dedicated to manufacturing materials for ship construction. Her tactile senses told her she was standing on a deck; her eyes told her she was floating in space. Though she had long adapted to the sensory dissonance, many of the bridge crew had come from smaller ships without the advanced display capabilities of the Phoenix. It was best to get them used to it now, in the static safety of the shipyard.

  Commander Lokomorra waited patiently, a dock ferry appearing to pass behind his head on its way to the shuttle bay.

  “Did Director Sholokhov contact you?” she asked.

  “No.” The beads holding the ends of his forked beard clacked faintly as he shook his head. “I’ve never spoken with him. But Dr. Wells just brought this. She said someone left it on her desk.” He held up a very familiar packet made of folded paper and sealed with putty.

  A chill ran down Ekatya’s spine. For a moment she was loathe to take it from him. How many times had she seen Sholokhov sign and seal these little packets? He had never told her what they were for, and she had never asked. Now she knew. Worse, she knew he had a spy on her ship. Was it her chief surgeon?

  Plucking the packet from his fingers, she said, “Get the security logs from Dr. Wells’s office and find out who left this.”

  “Yes, Captain. Anything else?”

  “Not yet. But stay close; I have a feeling things are about to get interesting.”

  Back at her desk, she was preparing to break the seal when Sholokhov said, “Wait. Describe the seal to me, and be specific.”

  She looked more closely. “It’s a crescent moon, with the occluded side on the left. One star above the moon and three stars below.”

  “Then it’s correct. Open it.”

  So that was what he was doing with his signet rings—creating a very simple encryption key. Anyone wanting to forge a message from him would not only have to copy the exact paper, putty, signature, and seal, but they would have to guess the correct seal to use.

  But only two rings? That gave a forger a fifty percent chance of guessing right.

  “How many rings do you have?” she asked.

  He smiled. “Well done, Captain. And I won’t answer that question. Suffice to say, more than two, and each of them has two faces.”

  She nodded, impressed despite herself at his ingeniously low-tech system. Then she broke the seal and read the orders.

  “Do not say it on this transmission.” His voice cut through her rising rage. “I know what you’re thinking, but the situation has changed. Keep reading.”

  Her temper had died a quick death by the time she finished the last paragraph. The words on this paper had galactic ramifications.

  “Are your spies certain about this?” she asked.

  “As certain as they can be without setting foot on the ground. As you can imagine, intelligence gathering is a bit difficult in this situation. Given your experience in this area, you’re the best person for the job. You’ll be acting with full authority as a representative of the Protectorate.”

  An actual compliment from Sholokhov; she might lose consciousness from the shock. And this was a mission she would gladly have accepted regardless of who assigned it. “But Bellows has no experience. I have a dozen excellent data systems analysts on board right now. Any of them would be a better choice.”

  “Fortunately, you’re not making that choice. I am.”

  “Director, this kind of contact requires special training. He’s had none of it. This is not a safe assignment, and he is—”

  “A commissioned Fleet officer,” Sholokhov interrupted. “Sworn to perform his duty, and this is his duty. Give him his assignment and get your course laid. I expect your preliminary report within twenty-four hours of arrival, and a full report as soon as you have any evidence.”

  “Yes, Director,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Until then.” His image vanished, replaced by the priority blue emblem.

  “So much for our shakedown cruise,” she muttered. They were being sent in the opposite direction of the original route, which had been a tour of five widely scattered space stations where nearly a third of her crew awaited transfer. All of those people would now have to travel to Quinton Shipyards, where housing would be found for them until the Phoenix could return. Their wait had just been extended by more than a month; Fleet would never pay for that much time on space stations. Housing at the shipyard was far cheaper.

  She tapped her deskpad, opening up the ship’s all-call. “Section chiefs, report to the briefing room immediately.”

  CHAPTER 22:

  Briefing

  Though the Phoenix was a twin of the Caphenon, Ekatya kept finding little things here and there that reminded her of how much had changed. One was the new briefing room table with its built-in holodisplay—technology borrowed from the Alseans. The Protectorate’s holotech had never mastered the means of displaying graphs, data points, numbers, text—all of which made regular appearances in Fleet briefings—in such a way as to be equally legible from all sides. While strategizing with the war council on Alsea, Ekatya had noticed the superiority of their holotech and mentioned it to Ad
miral Tsao. It had clearly made an impression, appearing as a line item in the treaty agreement and now in physical form on her ship.

  While the table was fully populated, four of the officers were only there in a temporary capacity. Her chiefs of science, navigation, security, and weapons were among the crew waiting for pickup in the wrong direction, and the most senior officers in their sections were now nervously sitting in chairs they had not expected to fill.

  Correction, Ekatya thought, three of them were nervous. In a stroke of good fortune, she had managed to get Warrant Officer Roris and her full weapons team back and had ordered her to take the role of acting section chief. As far as Ekatya was concerned, the only reason Roris wasn’t a section chief in reality was because she lacked the rank. Someday, she was going to talk that woman into the officer field commission program.

  She had recruited her chiefs of personnel, procurement, engineering, operations, data systems, crew services, and botanics long before there was a completed ship to house them in. It had been exhausting, working for Sholokhov by day and as captain of the Phoenix by night, and being trapped in Gov Dome only made it worse. At least most of the chiefs had been living in Quinton Shipyards, overseeing final construction and assembling the personnel for their sections.

  Chief Surgeon Wells, head of the medical section, was the last recruit and had arrived only four days before Ekatya herself. It was not ideal, but Ekatya had been willing to wait in order to entice one of Fleet’s best doctors to leave her Core-class vessel when it returned from an exploration mission. Captain Chmielek was less than pleased with his loss, but Ekatya couldn’t deny that she was enjoying a bit of revenge on him and several other captains who had pounced on her Caphenon crew. To now be forced into a position of suspecting Wells after working so hard to get her was unacceptable. Sholokhov had mired her in suspicion while she worked for him, and she did not appreciate finding herself in the same place on her own damned ship.

  Wells, along with everyone else, was staring at the holoimage of the Lexihari system floating above the center of the table. “The medbay will be fine,” she said in answer to Ekatya’s query. “We’re only at half strength, but unless you plan on landing us in a battle, that’s more than enough to handle the current crew complement. But why are we going to a system that was ruled out of Protectorate membership?”

  Ekatya shot her a sharp look at that odd choice of words. They could be interpreted several ways, the least of which was disrespectful.

  “I have no plans to land us in a battle,” she said, the slight emphasis on land letting Wells know that she had heard the unspoken message. “But if one finds us, I’ll do my best to win it.”

  Wells was slouched in her chair, her posture of graceful indolence adding to the feline look of her slanted green eyes, high cheekbones, and long, narrow nose. She was older than most of the section chiefs, a point that would normally be in her favor—Ekatya could never trust young doctors—but right now she was exuding the judgment of an older and wiser officer on an impetuous young captain.

  Ekatya might have had a temper, but she was not impetuous, and she hadn’t been young since her first space battle. She held Wells’s stare for a moment before looking around at the others. “What I am about to say is classified at the alpha-band level. If it leaves this room and I find out who spilled it, that indiscretion will result in brig time and loss of rank. Does everyone understand?”

  Murmurs of “Yes, Captain,” filled the room, and she was gratified to see Wells finally sit up straight.

  “This is as much a surprise to me as to all of you,” she said, easing up on her attitude. “I was looking forward to a nice, quiet shakedown cruise, and to picking up the rest of our crew, but our orders have changed and for good reason. The Voloth have approached the governments of both of these planets.”

  There was a collective intake of air as everyone’s attention sharpened.

  “Just to be clear, I am not using ‘approached’ as a euphemism for ‘invaded.’ They’re experimenting with a new method of expanding their empire.” She paused, then added, “They’re emulating us.”

  “They’re inviting planets to join?” Commander Lokomorra did not hide his disbelief. “Since when do the Voloth recruit?”

  “Since they got their heads ripped off and handed to them at Alsea,” said Roris.

  Ekatya hid a smile at the blunt words, so out of place among these high-level officers. Roris stood out physically as well, not so much for her stocky, well-muscled build but for her aura of calm and deadly competence. Most of her section chiefs were career desk pilots. Roris was a soldier.

  “Warrant Officer Roris is correct,” she said. “Their defeat at Alsea was so damaging that their central government collapsed as a result. The new government wants to avoid any similar embarrassments. And somehow, their spies found out that we had considered and rejected these worlds for membership.”

  “So they’re targeting them specifically for that reason.” Commander Jevon Kenji, chief of data systems, picked up the thread. He had golden eyes and bronze skin, and his long black hair was held in a dizzying number of tiny braids. “Which could be extremely effective, not to mention a good way of turning new cultures against us.”

  “Precisely,” said Ekatya. “If our intelligence is correct about this, then we may also have to reconsider our entrance requirements. It could push this war onto a whole new level as both sides scramble to bring in new worlds.”

  “I see so many problems with that scenario that I can’t even begin to list them,” Wells said.

  Ekatya nodded. “Which is why we’ve been sent to the system. Our orders are first, to verify the intelligence, and second, to make a counteroffer if that intelligence is correct.”

  “And the Rules of First Contact?” Lokomorra asked.

  “Still apply until we’ve established the accuracy of the intelligence. Except for the biggest one, of course. We have to make contact to carry out our first priority, and that will probably mean a landing team.”

  “Not a safe mission,” Roris noted. “You’re going to need people with experience in this sort of situation. I volunteer myself and my team.”

  “You’re weapons, not security,” Ekatya said. “I appreciate the offer, but I want you here in case the Voloth object to our meddling in their affairs.”

  “With respect, Captain, the Voloth won’t be in any hurry to engage in an orbital battle with this ship. If their spies are any good at all, they know you’re in command. They’re not going to mess with you if they can avoid it. They’ll be a lot less shy about messing with the landing team.”

  Ekatya considered it. She had spanked the Voloth hard in their last encounter, destroying all three ships of an invasion group, and then helped the Alseans destroy the entire inventory of a second group. Roris was right; they would not be eager to challenge her again. And they wouldn’t know she was on the landing team.

  Besides, with a crew this new, she would feel much more secure having people she trusted guarding her back. Roris and her three teammates had earned that trust.

  “You have a point,” she said. “I’ve been assigned to lead this mission due to my experience on Alsea. Given that we have no idea what might be waiting for us, we should keep it to a small group. Roris, I accept your offer, but I want two dedicated security personnel as well, with infiltration training. We may be doing some illicit…exploring.” She glanced at the acting security chief, who nodded. Turning to the acting science chief, she added, “I also want someone who either knows these two cultures backward and forward right now, or can thoroughly learn it before we get there.”

  “Yes, Captain.” The small, slender man bobbed his head, and she reminded herself to have Lokomorra follow up on that. Shippers, she was going on a mission without the chiefs of most of the sections involved. The timing could not have been worse.

  “As for the rest,” she finish
ed, “it will be me for negotiations and Ensign Bellows for data systems.”

  “What?” Commander Kenji’s voice was a little too loud. “Bellows is so new he’s still wet behind the ears. He’s the last person I would recommend for this. I’m a much better choice.”

  “You’re not going, Commander. I need my section chief on board.” He was one of the few section chiefs involved who wasn’t a temporary fill-in.

  “Fine, then if you don’t want to risk me, I can give you ten other names who have the training and would be more capable than Bellows. You can’t throw—”

  “Commander!” She glared at him. “The decision has been made. End of discussion.”

  He wisely shut up. “Yes, Captain.”

  Half an hour later, they had hammered out the details and Ekatya dismissed the group. “Commander Kenji, please stay,” she said as the others rose from their chairs. “Commander Lokomorra?”

  “Yes?”

  “Remember what we discussed right after you made that delivery? I want it done now.”

  “It was already in progress when you called the meeting. I’ll make sure it’s finished.” He nodded, then followed the others out of the room.

  Commander Kenji looked at her with an odd mixture of trepidation and anger. “I still believe taking Bellows is a mistake.”

  “And you are welcome to share your beliefs with me in private. Not by contradicting my orders in front of the entire executive staff of this ship. And even in private, don’t ever tell me what I can’t do. Explain your reservations, make alternative suggestions, tell me why something might not work. But don’t give me orders. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Captain,” he said in a subdued voice.

  Her point made, she spoke more kindly. “As it happens, I agree with you.”

  His shoulders stiffened. “Then why—”

  “Because even captains have to obey orders from above.”

  “You were ordered to take Bellows? But that doesn’t make any sense.”