by V Guy
He paused. “It’s hearing, smelling, and sensing as well. I’m essentially there, with the minor technicality of not actually being present. Drelas could see where she teleported. I think I could one day do the same.”
Her eyes widened and she smiled. “Teleport?”
The song ended and he moved, standing, stretching, and grunting. His voice transitioned to his body. “Not yet. I can’t hold a connection that solidly, never mind not knowing how to jump. What actually brought you here this late?”
Liola glanced around the quarters. He may have left his trance, but he continued to control the bots.
“What else were you doing?”
“Sifting through the data from Bedele Creative to generate plans for this next weekend, waging a war within Xist, updating counseling and implant removal profiles for the women, constructing a false sensory collection for download to Kroes next week, remotely working maintenance on the ship’s mass adjusters, and formulating system modifications for expanding the ship’s sensory capabilities.”
Her urgent impetus for entering his quarters shriveled. “That’s all?”
Malik made a low growl of warning. “I also wondered why you visited.”
“It hardly seems important now,” said Liola. “My concern was with Kroes. She’s the primary problem.”
He glanced away. “She’s also the opportunity. Without Kroes’s efforts, we would lack an excuse to be grounded and would’ve lost our protection under a law enforcement claim. No one will officially board us as long as she’s involved. This time is useful for the rehabilitation of the initiates and the liberation of Selena.”
“Kroes is blackmailing us. She needs to be monitored.”
Malik smiled, a little surprised that Liola was unawares. “She is. She also rescinded her threat, albeit reluctantly.”
One of Liola’s eyebrows rose. “Reluctantly?”
He watched her, a slight glint showing in his eyes. “People in Central Security leadership don’t typically yield; they obligate others to yield. My intention to kill her in advance hardened her resolve, and her first response was to let me follow through. Kroes knew everyone would die and was willing to perish to spite me. Obviously, she lived. I instead summoned a bot with an interface, mentally made connection, implanted a threat to her long-term goals, and caused her to forget the initial resistance. This alteration unfortunately didn’t work the first time; I was rebuffed and tried again. I implanted more substantial suggestions at the peril of alerting her, reset her memory and that of the commandos, and tried a third time. She finally yielded.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You saw her mind?”
Malik nodded. “It was disciplined, flexible, and strong. Much like Norris, yet with greater resilience. I was working under a strict time frame and was restricted. Her perception of the final seconds, as yours might have been under extreme duress, appeared to stretch to cover the delay. Kroes will never know how close she came to death.”
Liola’s eyes lit with interest. “That doesn’t mean she’ll never use the information. What did you tell her?”
“She had goals that would fail upon death. Although not initially critical, I raised their priority until they took precedence. They’ll hold for a while.”
She made a small, satisfied smile. “That leaves Marina Kay.”
He shook his head. “Kay also plays a role. When she appears, she takes and sells me. If she dies, I get immediately impounded and am either euthanized or sold. It’d be best if she isn’t negatively motivated in advance.”
“You seem very certain of many things,” said Liola, looking at him in suspicion. “Is this a game you’ve already won?”
Malik deliberated over the nearest Fate’s scan. “My position has improved, but the outcome remains uncertain. Did you have anything else?”
She frowned. “James and I need something more interesting to do. You mentioned an inadequacy of the LDLU sensors, and he started working on system modifications. You secured much of the relevant theory, calculations, and hardware specifications, and he’s stuck without them. Considering this is a goal of yours, you should appreciate his help.”
“There’s plenty for everyone already,” he said, pondering the matter. “I’ll chat with him tomorrow.”
Liola rose and paced. “I’m not a medic, these information-gathering missions are tedious, and college holds zero appeal. I know what I like doing. Those aren’t it.”
He moved to evaluate the second Fate. “Law enforcement is collecting all sorts of incriminating evidence concerning me. The nature of the universe dictates that some of this information will pass through the hands of a compromised person, be mishandled, or get stolen to reach the hands of the media or another interested party. Some of these parties will seek to hurt me, but they won’t dare a direct approach. If they target my family and fail, they’ll choose yours. Everyone else is off planet; they’re unlikely to be in immediate danger.”
She stiffened in alarm; her attention was fully riveted. “Serena?”
“She’s vulnerable.”
“Why would I want to protect that woman?” asked Liola, her face reddening. “She made your life miserable for a year, repeatedly endangered everyone, and was responsible for the loss of priceless, valuable artifacts. If there was ever a person I’d willingly kill, she’s it. This job would unequivocally demand the opposite; I have absolutely no interest in preserving her existence. Don’t make me do this.”
Malik made a crooked smile. “I’m not. This could potentially involve surveilling opponents, killing nefarious actors, and clandestinely disposing of bodies. Seems like it’s right up your alley.”
Liola scowled as if she were betrayed, crossing her arms and widening her stance. “You’re not fair.”
He shrugged, moving to examine the third Fate. “You did say you wanted something more befitting, and this sounds fairly appropriate.”
Her resistance persisted until the enterprise’s possibilities matured into ideas. She reluctantly acknowledged that she possessed the resources to do this efficiently, understood the necessary steps to be effective, and gradually embraced the idea. Liola gazed at him, shook her head in disbelief, and made a crooked smile. “I’ll need a ride. Navin took mine.”
***
Captain Kroes read reports while resting in her quarters, managing the many mundane tasks associated with being a Confederation investigator. Dakota, Evaline, and Bedele investigations dominated her docket and left her reeling. Catricel’s military misdeeds, Salient’s transfers, and the massive deceptions that stole colossal amounts of Confederation funds had implicated a number of ruling council members. Repercussions from the loss of Salient and Focus exposed several more. Council members held significant power, and the effort to establish their guilt was being significantly resisted.
The weight of those concerns should have trivialized Malik’s threat. The politics of corruption within the government and the CSA were understandably daunting, yet it was the stubbornness of a lone, life-certificate holder that made her feel particularly inadequate.
Kroes could hardly blame him—he was intensely loyal. He was also extremely capable, and she was in sore need of such skills and discretion. A sense of justice pervaded Malik. He was unashamedly effective in dispatching his foes, and he was uniquely able to discern the truth.
She pondered the idea of blackmailing Pathfinder’s captain a final time before triggering the deletion of her server-side data archive. The small device in her hands contained the only remaining copy of the incriminating data. After sliding it into a secure carrier, her eyes returned to the mountain of work before her. Reports from her staff had been collated to reveal the progress of the various investigations, and much needed to be considered, but one persistent question remained: How could Malik have known?
Kroes glanced suspiciously at the commando stationed at the door. I’ll have them reset when I return to Asile.
The reports remained for assessment, and with a little discipline she outl
ined additional lines of investigation. Kroes’s persistence had created opposition; her successes would be minimized against the inevitable exaggerated failures. Bedele Creative could potentially be one of those failures. Although certain of the responsible party, the individual was securely alibied. The quagmire made her head swim.
Most of the other, intractable legal hurdles could have been solved with a well-placed agent, but the agency was dragging its feet, withholding support, and blowing leads. I should have waited before implicating Roswell. His powerful friends are more problematic than his influence ever was.
A strategy was initiated that depended upon one creature—Malik. He would be her enforcer, reaper, and paladin all in one.
A voice sounded over the comm. “Admiral, we’ve reached Gaslight station. Docking in ten minutes.”
“Acknowledged,” replied Kroes. She carefully filed and secured the assortment of information then removed her partial interface. The various folders and files disappeared to leave only her personal device.
The three survivors of Catricel had been delivered to the station by Malik and secured by trusted assets, their questioning revealing an odd plot to curry favor. Much risk had been taken to retrieve a mystery item. This implied that someone was well connected within Central Security, and while support from such an affluent individual would be appreciated, the chance to dislodge this support from an opponent or antagonistic coworker was absolutely critical.
When the time arrived for docking, she nodded to the escorting commando and walked to the hatch. Another commando joined her before she entered the station, following while the first led. A suite of rooms had been reserved for the operatives; she boldly entered the rooms’ foyer. The commandos covered her flanks as she approached Sandra Banks, Lewis Frenn, and Yasil West.
“Your handler, Schmidt, left you to die,” said Kroes without preamble. “His superiors also knew you were abandoned. How would you like to regain your lives and exact a little revenge?”
***
The subsequent conversations left Kroes pleased. Since the survivors were technically dead, they were perfect tools; no accountability was necessary. They were like Malik—dependable, invisible, and disposable.
Her ship, called Raven, undocked from the station and set a course for nearby Tania, landing during the early morning hours. Her Monitor hovercraft took her to the city of Ironwood. Located in the folds of mountain crests two hours away, Ironwood’s temperature was pleasantly cooler than the spaceport, and Kroes deliberated as she approached her deli rendezvous. One commando posted himself at a table outside, while the other joined her within. She paused to let her eyes adjust. She then moved inward, dropped a credit chit on an empty table, and sat at an adjoining one to examine her menu. Another woman entered the establishment and palmed the chit. She sat as well, lifting her menu to shield the interface of the chit with a personal device.
“You’re late,” said the woman, scowling. “You said every two weeks. This has been three.”
“There’s an advance included to cover the entirety of next month,” said Kroes, setting her jaw. “I do have other things on my plate.”
“How long must I continue this?” asked the woman, disengaging the depleted chit and curling her fingers about it. There’s a fortune awaiting me.”
Kroes’s face reddened. “I’m the only reason you knew. You’d still be living in your squalor without me.”
“This is taking too long. I want it now.”
Kroes shot her a granite glare. “If that’s the case, you’ll never get it. Behave, be patient, and get rewarded.”
Marina Kay, the wife of the prisoner Malik mauled on Pathfinder, scowled, rose, and stalked out.
19: Stellar Clipper
Day 706: Stellar Clipper
Baron Hess stepped from a private courier’s hatch to examine his new home. Selena followed, her wide eyes taking in the new ship. She stayed by his side while two of his personal staff exited, carrying their luggage farther into the passage and up some steps.
Cream-colored bulkheads, gold-gilded walls and supports, and sculpted crown moldings surrounded them. Lit sconces provided illumination to replace the standard overhead ship lighting, and planters of blooming flowers concealed vents and access panels. For the items too obvious to naturally conceal, top-of-the-line projection systems, similar to those installed on Pathfinder, masked them.
Hess’s aide emerged from a nearby storage hold.
“Sir,” he said. “We’ve transferred your personal items, but we must wait for the remainder of the crew, who will arrive on a staggered transport schedule. The command officers are familiarizing themselves with both the bridge and the ship’s systems, and your personal security has checked in. Groceries and supplies will arrive either tomorrow or the next day.”
“Thank you, Grant. How well have our tracks been covered?”
The man shrugged. “We’ve done everything possible. Someone would need to look very hard.”
“Someone likely will.” Hess glanced around himself. “See that nothing is missed. This is a beautiful ship.”
“Thank you, sir. Shame about John Milton.”
“Shame, indeed. Show me to my quarters.”
Stellar Clipper was a luxury yacht that more than rivaled the other ship, and the size of its accommodations left Hess in shock when the hatch to his suite opened. He squinted at his aide. “How much did you spend on this?”
“You said cost wasn’t an object.” A sheepish expression formed on Grant’s face. “And we were in a hurry.”
Hess turned and chuckled. “I did say that. Have galley send some food; it doesn’t need to be fancy, seeing as how we’re waiting on supplies.”
When Grant had gone, Hess walked to Selena, who was admiring the various statuettes. “How do you feel?”
She was pleased. Hess felt that pleasure and immediately warmed. Watch yourself, he thought.
“It’s lovely,” she replied, making an excited smile and spinning to admire the chamber. “And it smells nice.”
He felt unwitting satisfaction. Although aware that she would always choose him regardless of any anything he did, he also knew fresh flowers would be a permanent part of her lodging.
“I meant about the other, very pressing issue.”
“Still good, Master. The cloud is gone.” Selena danced around the end of the plush sofa and dropped onto it. “How long can we stay?”
As long as you wish, he thought impulsively. He then forced her smile from his mind. “When did the warning fade?”
She looked at him in thought, her smile fading to concern. “I don’t know, Master. Sometime during the night.”
Hess joined her in the lounging area and rested lightly on a nearby seat. “What do you think of a correlation between the incident at Bedele and your cloud?”
“Think?” Her brows furrowed. “There were protests over a new Rhinehold referendum, an airborne collision killed a magistrate on Leilen, and a fueler was lost when the channel to Castaway collapsed. Should we assume they correlate?”
He was surprised yet concealed his response. “Did the cloud diminish after we discarded John Milton?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Then this is about you. You connected Bedele Creative with the ship.”
Selena thought for a moment. “If my dark cloud establishes a connection, then it means that information escaped the facility’s destruction. Did your representatives call from your ship to make arrangements? Did they instead go to Bedele Creative to interview in person with them? They could be connections as well, Master.”
Hess scowled, considering the additional complications. Any number of very loyal men and women were suddenly embraced by the probabilities, men and women he valued. Although these people were still with him, the cloud was gone. This fact offered a measure of reassurance.
What if their connection was to John Milton, and their established connection to Stellar Clipper marked him again?
He frowned.
“Master?” she asked in concern.
“Get settled,” he said, turning away. “We’ll eat when the food arrives.”
Hess was organizing work-related tasks when the requested meals arrived. He summoned Selena. They ate in silence, his mind fixated upon her. Their proximity in the courier made a major dent in his resistance, and her current presence triggered a response that strongly resembled a teenage crush. When she moved, he imagined his hands on her. When she laughed, he wanted to share the joy. When she spoke seriously, he wanted nothing more than to be thoughtful. Baron Hess understood why Bedele Creative’s business program was as lucrative as it was—his oracle was an addictive, satisfying drug only their women could provide.
Now here he was, sitting across from her and watching her delicately eat fruit. Deep within his chest an ache formed, and memories of his youth arose to torment him.
He coughed. “Unit two looks good after inspections and has been moved to full operations. Three’s inspections are ongoing, but as far as they can project, the unit should soon be back in service.”
She glanced at him. “That should help preserve the product line and ensure customer patience. There is one thing I never asked, Master. Were there any injuries during unit one’s collapse?”
Baron Hess ran multiple businesses, managed thousands of employees, and moved billions of universals, yet a twinge of embarrassment entered his frame when he was asked the question. His sudden, unrelated comment was honored, and answered by an appropriate response and a probing question that made him feel strangely inadequate.
“The local manager deals with those details,” he replied, somewhat more brusquely than intended.
She heard his tone and lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry. It just seems that after experiencing the labor troubles at Mountain Pass on Imperium, expressing interest and sympathy for a group of employees working under considerable pressure to maintain a product line might help ease potential discontent. I’ve seen the hours some of them must work.”