“Potentially, they were at D-L-K-Six around the initial colonization of Kosha,” Morgan told Davor. “They’ve been poking at Precursor sites in the region for a while. They call themselves the Children of the Stars, and they seem to be worshipping something they call, variously, the Womb, the Mother, or just plain God.”
“Precursor worshippers talking about a Womb makes me nervous when I consider the Arjtal creature and your encounters,” Davor noted. “That’s surprisingly limited data, too, Captain.”
“We basically have their personal computers from their occupation of the dig site, sir,” Morgan said. “There’s no real details or deep information in them beyond a few extra notes on the site itself. Our prisoners have been uniformly unhelpful though quite willing to talk about the basic theology of the Children.” She shrugged. “I think some of them were hoping to make converts.”
“I presume and hope they failed,” Davor said.
“Entirely,” Morgan confirmed. “But between what the prisoners let slip and what we pulled from the files, we’ve managed to ID another Precursor system in the region that we believe the Children are actively operating out of.
“At the very least, sir, it needs to be investigated.”
Davor snapped her teeth in one of the few, rather disconcerting, pieces of facial body language the Ivida had.
“I’m running out of ships to follow up on this, Captain Casimir,” she said. “My entire command is scattered across almost as many star systems as we have vessels. A destroyer in D-N-E-Five, a destroyer in D-L-K-Six, Defiance in for repairs…”
“I understand, sir,” Morgan said. “I feel that this needs to be followed up on, but it should be able to wait until Defiance is online or one of the destroyers gets back. I’ve seen no evidence to date that suggests that the Children have access to hyperfold communicators beyond the one at the Beta dig site.”
“That alone is problem enough.” Davor snapped her teeth again. “Commander Isk is also on his way back. Serene Guidance will need to restock and resupply, but she’ll be ready to deploy before Defiance is.”
Shel Isk was a Yin officer, one of the blue-feathered humanoid avians who had been the most recent acquisition of the Imperium until humanity came along. His Serene Guidance was an older destroyer, small and under-armed compared to Defiance but capable enough for her size.
“I have to admit, sir, I’m not in command here and even I’m feeling the lack of hulls,” Morgan said.
“I’ve sent messages up the chain, and the Fleet Lords agree,” Davor replied. “We’re being sent another squadron apiece of destroyers and cruisers.”
The current force around Kosha Station was a mixed squadron of twelve destroyers and four cruisers, with Defiance the newest and largest vessel by a significant margin on both counts. Another sixteen of each type would triple Davor’s hulls and more than triple her firepower.
“I’m glad we’re being taken seriously, sir.”
“I want to know what we’re facing, Captain,” Davor told her. “Hopefully, Serene Guidance can get in and out without too much difficulty, but I’m not expecting Commander Isk to engage them himself.”
Morgan nodded. Her own first command, almost ten years earlier now, had been Hawkwing, a sister ship to Serene Guidance. She wouldn’t have wanted to take the destroyer against a flotilla of the Precursor bioships, and she doubted Isk felt any differently.
“I’ll sit with my staff and prepare a briefing for Isk,” she offered. “How much of this is he cleared for?”
“Include everything relevant,” Davor ordered. “My understanding is that Lost Dragon is going to be expanded to include all of this dark water, and we’ll be reading in every Captain on station in.”
“That’s risky,” Morgan noted.
“The secret of the expedition is already compromised, Captain Casimir. Preventing a similar attack and making certain we control the source of these bioships is more critical at this juncture. I don’t think anyone is expecting it to leak back to the Mesharom at this point.”
“Or that the Mesharom will do anything if it does,” Morgan muttered.
“Exactly, Captain. Get your ship into dock; get the civilians offloaded and the repairs started. Pleased as I am with what the Navy is promising me, those squadrons are coming from the frontier with the Wendira. We’re looking at thirty cycles at least before we’re reinforced.
“I want Defiance back in space long before then.”
“Understood, sir. We’ll make it happen.”
Chapter Eighteen
Pierre watched the prisoners shuffle across Defiance’s loading bay with a cautious eye. Uncooperative as the Children of the Stars had been, he wasn’t expecting a sudden escape attempt now—but he wouldn’t be surprised by one, either.
There were more Marines in the loading bay than prisoners, maintaining a solid barrier between the Children and the research team that would be offloading shortly. Only a handful of the Imperial troopers carried plasma rifles today. The weapons would make a mess of Defiance’s internal structure and shouldn’t be needed. Without the cloaks they’d been captured in, the Children weren’t immune to stunners now.
“Battalion Commander Vichy? Report to the main airlock, sir,” the voice of one of his squad leaders sounded in his headset. “We might have a paperwork problem.”
Pierre buried a sigh.
“Comtois, take over supervising,” he ordered. “I need to go investigate what merde we’ve dug up this time.”
He was walking away before Comtois could reply. The Company Commander was already watching his Marines work. Pierre’s presence in the loading bay was likely redundant, but the Marine CO had wanted to watch the Children get offloaded with his own eyes.
They’d been an emmerdeur, a pain in his ass, since they’d come aboard. If there was a problem getting them off his ship, he wanted it resolved.
The squat gray-skinned alien in the formal white-and-blue robes waiting for him was his worst nightmare. Even on Earth, lawyers had mostly adopted a version of those robes. They were expected for making arguments in Imperial Court, and the practice had inevitably filtered down.
“Battalion Commander, I’m hoping you can deal with this individual,” the Marine at the door told him. The prisoners were still aboard Defiance, a thin line of armed Marines in unpowered armor between them and the station.
There was, thankfully, a detachment of Marines from the Kosha Station detail waiting for them—but the tiny gray Pibo lawyer stood between them like an unbreakable object.
“What’s going on?” Vichy asked, as calmly as he could.
“I am Kosha Station’s Senior Public Advocate, Lako,” the lawyer told him. “I have an authorizing writ for suspension of imprisonment and guarantor of appearance for your prisoners. They were seized without warrant and will be released into my custody.”
Bail. The Children had apparently posted bail before Defiance had reached Kosha Station. That had all kinds of implications, but also was less meaningful than the Advocate thought.
“I need to see your writ, Advocate Lako,” Pierre told the Pibo.
“Everything is in order,” the lawyer told him huffily. It always amazed Pierre how much of the tone and emotion carried through the computer translation. The Pibo was speaking his own language, translated by the earbuds Pierre and every Imperial military officer wore, but Pierre understood not only his words but also his tone and intent.
“Je présume,” Pierre agreed genially. “But I need see the writ regardless.”
Lako huffed again, gaining a centimeter or so of height in his false indignation, but handed over the physical document. An electronic transmission accompanied it, but the paper was the official document.
Pierre made a show of reading through the entire writ, but he was really skimming it, looking for three key sentences. None of them were there and he handed the writ back to Lako with a smirk.
“Someone has wasted your time and the Judge’s,” he told the lawyer.
“These are not civilian prisoners arrested in a sting operation or on accusations of copyright violation, Advocate. These are pirates seized in the acts of piracy and slavery, in open combat with Imperial Marines. No warrant was present or called for in that kind of active intervention on our part, which renders the fundamental basis of your writ invalid.
“Secondly, these prisoners are explicitly under Imperial military jurisdiction, and Judge Amitan’s writ would need to be counter-authorized by the Navy chain of command. In this case, as Kosha Station does not possess a significant military judicial presence, by Echelon Lord Davor. This writ has no such authorization.”
Lako was trying to gain another centimeter or two as Pierre looked down at him and continued to smirk.
“Thirdly, as these prisoners were taken in open combat with Imperial personnel—my Marines in this case, though a similar rule takes effect in case of prisoners taken by police in these circumstances—the writ would require an active proof of either a risk-mitigation plan or a reason why the prisoners are not expected to be a risk now.”
Pierre folded the document up and handed it back to the lawyer.
“Your writ is invalid, Advocate Lako,” he told the Pibo. “You are more than welcome to provide these citizens with their right of advocacy, but they will not be released from Imperial custody. Your meetings will take place at the Naval detention center.”
Lako was trying to be indignant, but he was mostly managing stunned. At Pierre’s gesture, he stepped aside with the Marine, allowing the Marines to begin the prisoner transfer.
“Someone just tried to use you, Advocate,” Pierre said, his voice very soft to make sure no one else heard him. “Your dedication to your role is admirable, but these prisoners are actively dangerous.”
“They still have rights,” the lawyer snapped.
“Oui.” Pierre smiled. “And your job is to make sure we respect them. My job is to make sure they don’t harm anyone else while we sort out what to do with them.”
Lako turned, watching as the prisoners were escorted past him.
“They don’t look like much,” he told Pierre.
“Seven dead Imperial researchers and fifteen wounded Marines suggest an alternative interpretation,” Pierre said grimly. “Once the transfer is complete, they are Battalion Commander Ir!Lan’s problem.”
“And mine,” Lako replied.
Pierre was glad to see the last of the prisoners off his decks. The writ worried him, though. For it to have been put together and authorized before Defiance began offloading prisoners, someone had almost certainly been waiting for them.
Someone on the station was working for the Children of the Stars. That raised all kinds of problems.
“Comtois, Hunter, on me,” he ordered. He considered for a moment, then tapped a few more commands on his communicator. “Speaker Murtas, are you available? We have a security problem I desire your input on.”
“I can be free in half a twentieth-cycle,” Defiance’s intelligence and cyberwarfare officer replied. “I’d prefer not to leave this project in the middle of a compilation cycle.”
“That’s acceptable,” Pierre told him. “Meet us in my office then.”
A few taps on his communicator sent the same time slot to Comtois and Hunter. Alpha’s Company Commander was already halfway across the loading bay to him, so he gestured the other French officer to continue his approach.
“What’s going on, sir?” Comtois asked.
“C’est un énorme merdier,” Pierre admitted. “We entered the system less than four hours ago, Company Commander. The Advocate was waiting for us with a writ of suspension of imprisonment the moment we tried to move the prisoners.”
“Well, shit,” Comtois replied. “That usually takes a few days to get drafted and authorized. Someone was waiting for us?”
“We left Beta eleven days ago. If someone was using the expedition’s hyper communicator to talk to someone in Kosha, then they could have been ready.” Pierre shrugged. “Or, bien sûr, the Public Advocate office on Kosha Station could just be incredibly efficient.”
“They only handle, what, two hundred thousand people of mixed species and an attached naval base, right?” Comtois asked. “I’m sure they have spare capacity to draft writs of suspension for pirates in under two hours. Might even have a template for getting pirates out of custody!”
The Battalion Commander chuckled—then gestured Comtois to drop the topic as he spotted Rin Dunst approaching them. To Pierre’s surprise, the archeologist didn’t slip in the sarcasm that had to be puddling on the floor.
“Commander Vichy, Commander Comtois,” the archeologist greeted them with a small bow. “I am accompanying the rest of the expedition onto Kosha Station.” The soft-looking man smiled.
“I will be staying longer than most of them, I suspect,” he admitted. “Most of my expedition members are almost certainly going to need to go home and take a vacation before getting back to work.
“I will have to talk to the Institute and see about putting together a new expedition. There are a great many questions still unanswered out here, and I will probably need to keep my hands in what is going on with these Children,” the civilian said cheerfully. “I am at your and your Captain’s disposal, Battalion Commander Vichy. I do not believe you are likely to find a better expert on the Alava out here.”
“You’ll need a new figurehead for a new expedition,” Comtois muttered. “Can’t have anyone realizing you’re actually in charge.”
Dunst put his hand to his heart in not-entirely-mock shock.
“Administrator !Lat was not a figurehead,” he countered. “It simply wasn’t necessary—or, really, practical—for him to be fully briefed on everything we knew of the Alava. So long as I was present to inform him of anything that became relevant, the setup worked just fine.”
“And we shall rely on a similar structure, I believe,” Pierre decided. “When I have questions, you will hear from me.”
“And I shall endeavor to have answers, Battalion Commander. The Alava left us many mysteries, and it is my life’s work to solve as many of them as possible,” Dunst told them. “These Children are both a clue and an obstacle. I look forward to working with you to take advantage of the clue and neutralize the obstacle.”
“There was no leak from Defiance. It is not a hundred percent certain, but a hundred percent certainty is impossible,” Speaker Toma Murtas told the gathered Marine commanders. The tall and swarthy intelligence officer was leaning back in his chair in a way that made Pierre’s spine twitch.
All three of the Marines in the room were sitting in nearly identical positions, rigid spines perched on the edge of their seats. The intelligence officer was almost sprawled backward in the chair in front of Pierre’s desk.
Pierre took a certain degree of pride in what he thought was a solid compromise between small luxuries and an apparent spartan-ness to his office. The furniture and equipment were the same prefabricated plastic and metal as any other officer’s space on the ship, but he’d added smart cushions to the chairs, and there was a crystal decanter of brandy on the prefab shelves.
The only true decoration was a plaque-mounted sword behind him, a cavalry saber forged for a young noble in the regiments of King Louis XIV, the Sun King of France. That saber had seen action through two hundred years of service with the various French armies—until the day the last scion of Pierre’s family to use it as a weapon had died in one of the suicidal cavalry charges of the First World War.
It had been rescued from that battlefield, somehow, and had spent the ensuing three hundred years mounted on that wooden plaque as an heirloom of Pierre’s family. His father had insisted it go with him on his deployments, which led Pierre to suspect it was as much a luck talisman as an heirloom now.
“I did not expect Defiance to be the source,” Pierre told Murtas finally. He sighed, rising and filling glasses from the crystal decanter. They were all still technically on duty, but a finger of brandy wasn’t
going to hurt anyone.
“My guess, but I have no way to validate this, is that someone in the Advocate office was provided a fully prepared writ within minutes of us exiting our hyper portal,” he continued. “Combined with the information that we had a group of prisoners taken in a complicated situation, the natural desire of Advocate staff to help people would get us to where we ended up.”
“Nobody works for an Advocate office to get rich,” Murtas replied. The intelligence officer probably had less interaction with the law than any of the Marines. “It’s not that they’re incorruptible; it’s that there’s no point. Idealists and white knights, the lot of them.”
There was a pregnant pause in the room.
“Which is far from a bad thing,” Hunter finally noted. “Most of the people who take that kind of shit job are good people, at least at the start. I get grumpy seeing them used, sir.”
“So do I, Commander,” Pierre agreed. “Which is why I asked Murtas to be here. Officially, there is no way we can find out where that writ originated. The Advocate office is, quite sensibly, forbidden from providing that information.”
“What are you suggesting, Battalion Commander?” Murtas asked, straightening to something approaching military bearing for the first time.
“Echelon Lord Davor has her own intelligence apparatus on Kosha Station,” the Marine CO noted. “I would be surprised to discover that they did not have a means of sourcing that writ. I would hope that as a professional courtesy, they would be willing to do so for you.”
“It’s not that simple,” Murtas said slowly. “I’m a combat analyst and a computer geek, plus I’m Navy. The people you’re talking about? They don’t really regard me as a peer, sir. I can ask, but there’s no guarantee of a friendly response.”
“The Captain has a long list of strings to pull, Speaker Murtas,” Pierre pointed out. “If we can trace the local end of the Children, it’s useful, but it’s not necessary. Ask them. It can’t hurt, can it?”
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