by Natalie Grey
“Are you sure that’s necessary?”
“Yes,” Ilia said simply. She would not let a random set of contractors know the location of the base…even if she intended to kill any survivors after the engagement. She did not believe in sloppy plans, and she felt no reason to explain this to Wirav, either. She waited, staring him down.
He shrugged as if it did not matter. “I will look forward to seeing you when I return.”
“Indeed.” Ilia smiled again.
“You do not hate me half so much as you claim,” he said quietly, smiling. “Admit it, Ilia—you have liked having me for your husband.”
She pretended to waver.
“I knew it.” His smile grew. “I will see you soon, wife.”
He ended the call, and the smile dropped off her face. Let Wirav think he had some hold on her.
He didn’t, and when she got rid of her father, she would get rid of Wirav as well.
Chapter Twenty-One
The message came in near the end of Fretor’s shift, and he bobbed wearily in his tank as he opened it. When he saw who it was from, his surprise made the mechanical arms on his suit spasm. He spun in his tank, looking around for his captain.
“You! Recruit! Find the captain.”
“Yes, sir.” The new recruit hastened away, clanking down the corridors at high speed.
Fretor considered the message, and it wasn’t long until the recruit came back with both the captain and one of the admirals, both on board right now for the ship’s assessment near the Jotun capital planet.
“What’s going on here?” the admiral demanded. “We have a very tight schedule.”
The captain was not upset to be disturbed. He had worked with Fretor for many years and knew that he would not be summoned to the bridge during an important meeting unless there was ample cause. He nodded to Fretor and had a much more pleasant tone as he said, “What is it, Fretor?”
“Sir, we’ve received a message from Jeltor.”
“Jeltor!” The captain pulsed faintly blue in happiness and his body shook. “Is it an open call?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
“I am glad he is well.” The captain and Jeltor were old friends, having grown up together in the warm seas of the capital city. When Jeltor was captured while on a diplomatic mission, the captain had taken it hard.
“Yes. It seems he was rescued recently.” Fretor looked at the message and worried slightly. If it were only the captain here things might be different, but with the admiral…
It was hard to know how this might go.
“He was in touch with Intelligence,” the Admiral rumbled. As a high-ranking officer, he had a power suit that most Jotun would kill to own. It was a marvel of engineering, never squeaked, and it could plug into any ship and control it—even a carrier. There were rumors that he had personally directed the maneuvers and missiles of the JFS Wallatar during the battle of Hero’s Gulf.
Fretor reminded himself to be respectful. After all, those Jotun who rose in the ranks were the ones with the mental capacity to control much at one time. The admiral was a war hero.
Which meant that his opinions on Jeltor’s message would be important.
Fretor swallowed and directed his console to spin so that both the captain and the admiral could read it.
There was a long pause, then the admiral rumbled,
“He has got to be kidding.”
Barnabas poked his head into one of the conference rooms, where Jeltor paced back and forth, the arms of his suit flailing in a show of agitation. He assessed Jeltor’s thoughts, and after a moment Barnabas decided that this would be the equivalent of frowning and sighing for a human—not quite as dramatic as it would be if a human flailed their arms around.
He had to admit it was funny to watch, though.
“You’ve been shut in here for quite a while,” he said.
Jeltor stopped pacing and looked at him. Both the suit and the jellyfish body seemed to swivel when he did that.
“You mean, I sent a message, and you don’t know what was in it, and you’re curious.” He sounded amused by that, at least.
Barnabas leaned against the door frame, smiling. “Oh, we know what was in it.”
Jeltor laughed at that. “You humans never cease to amaze me. I hope you will forgive my habit of sending encrypted messages.”
“You’re part of Jotun high command,” Barnabas observed. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t do that.”
“Precisely. I am glad you see it that way.” Jeltor swiveled his suit’s body and nodded to one of the screens in the corner. “I am waiting for a response to my message to the fleet. I embedded a small packet in it so that I would know when they had received it. They have, but I have seen no response yet.”
“May I ask what you said?” Barnabas frowned slightly. He came into the room and took one of the chairs, leaning his elbows on his knees and watching as Jeltor started to pace again.
“You said you know,” Jeltor replied, amused.
“The gist of it, yes. You want them to help us with the base. But I’m sure we lost nuance between the translation and the codes.” He frowned. “And I’m confused as to why you think they wouldn’t offer it when they had already given us intel.”
“This would be more…material help,” Jeltor explained. “I said that the Jotun Navy wouldn’t stand in your way, and that’s true. If the Yennai Corporation calls them in for defense, they’ll somehow manage not to arrive in time. All plausibly deniable, of course.”
“Of course,” Barnabas murmured.
“It’s a good enough plan,” Jeltor said.
“Not at all.” Barnabas’ voice was stronger now. “It’s a cowardly plan.”
Jeltor gave him a look, and his annoyance radiated so strongly that Barnabas felt it even without looking into his mind. “Not all of us have the strength of the human fleet.”
“The Jotun come close,” Barnabas argued. “It’s well-known in this sector that you shouldn’t mess with the Jotun. You don’t go around attacking people, but what your enemies start, you finish—decisively. I like that.”
“Thank you.”
“What I don’t like—” Barnaba’s voice grew dangerous “—is the way you accept the corruption of your politicians.”
“We can’t do things the way they do. They make the laws.” Jeltor bobbed, clearly upset. “We do our utmost to enforce those laws only in the way that is right.”
“The military should never be enforcing the laws,” Barnabas countered. “The military is there to respond to threats. Outside threats. The courts and the police enforce the laws.”
“What a strange society you have.”
“It’s not strange, it’s sensible.” Barnabas sighed and rubbed his forehead. “All right, leaving aside any differences in how the military works—which would be fascinating to discuss at another time—you’re giving your politicians a free pass. No, let me finish,” he said, as Jeltor’s suit crackled to begin speaking. “They’ve clearly taken bribes from the Yennai Corporation.”
“Yes, but—”
“No ‘but.’ Do you really think that if you simply deal with the Yennai Corporation, those politicians will stop being corrupt? They’ll find someone new to take bribes from.”
“Oh, no,” Jeltor said.
“Yes, they will.”
“Not that.” Jeltor’s body pulsed and shook. “No, I’ve been sending them this conversation.”
To his surprise, Barnabas started laughing.
“What? This isn’t good!”
“It’s better than good,” Barnabas said. “I’m glad they’ve heard what I said. Now they can’t pretend ignorance of their real problem.”
“And who are you?” The voice boomed suddenly out of the speakers.
“I’m Barnabas,” Barnabas said.
“He’s Vigilante One,” Shinigami added sweetly. She appeared in the corner, her avatar leaning on the wall, and gave Barnabas a grin. “Formerly Ranger One
of the Etheric Empire. He was deputized to enforce the Queen’s Justice. In case it’s not clear, that’s Justice with a capital J.”
Barnabas smiled slightly. “With whom am I speaking?”
“This is Admiral Threton of the Jotun fleet.”
Jeltor gave a little sound of distress.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Admiral.” Barnabas wasn’t particularly worried. Jeltor might be correct to be worried, but he guessed that this was going to be an easier conversation than his Jotun passenger thought. “We are both people of action, are we not? I propose we speak frankly with one another.”
There was a pause, then the Admiral rumbled, “Continue.”
“You’ve heard my opinions on your politicians,” Barnabas said bluntly. “And I’d guess you agree with them. You know that they can’t be trusted and that they’d direct you to help the Yennai Corporation when that would be terrible not only for the Jotun, but for many others as well. Is that correct?”
There was a pause, and Barnabas sighed.
Finally, the admiral threw caution to the winds. “You are correct, but—”
“You all say that. No ‘buts.’”
Heh. Shinigami grinned at him. Butts.
We’re negotiating with Jotun high command and you’re focusing on the homophone?
Absolutely.
Barnabas resisted the urge to sink his head into his hands. “I agree that your political system can hardly be overturned in the next few days,” he said simply. “However, I do believe that standing up for your principles and speaking honestly is a necessary piece of restoring integrity to your political system. Right now, your strategy is to ignore the corruption and hope it goes away. That is one of the most idiotic plans there is.”
Most people would preface that with, “not to be rude, but.”
I don’t care if they think it’s rude.
There was a long pause. Jeltor had sunk from agitation into resignation.
“You suggest, in other words, that we help you and bear the consequences,” a new voice said finally. After a moment, it added. “This is Captain Qortor of the JFS Nebb.”
“Pleased to meet you, Captain. And yes, that is what I am suggesting.”
“To be frank,” the captain said, “it is difficult to see this logic as anything more than self-serving. You will not be forced to deal with the consequences, as we will. Nor do you understand the content of those consequences.”
“I believe I do understand,” Barnabas said simply. “I have lived many centuries, Captain, both on my home planet and in the wider universe, and I have noticed certain…similarities. There are always consequences for speaking the truth. A government often accrues secrets or has shameful failures, and there is overwhelming pressure for those who see it not to speak of it. Sometimes it is clear that their lives will be on the line if they speak the truth. This is not uncommon.
“But those who care for their society will speak up. They will go with their better nature instead of falling to convenience, and they will stand up for what is right.
“There are those who see extraordinary times and tell themselves that the usual rules do not apply and that no one could blame them for being cowardly. Then there are those who see extraordinary times and understand that extraordinary courage is required of them.
“Believe me when I say that I know the Yennai Corporation is dangerous. I have seen some of their allies and some of their work. They kill those who get in their way, and they make a formidable enemy. Many would say that it is simply enough not to help them, but this is not true. If no one stands in their way, they will continue to do evil things. Innocent people will continue to suffer.
“I have made it my personal mission to destroy them. I have already destroyed three of their allies. I ask nothing of you that I am not willing to do, myself.”
The admiral and the captain had nothing to say to that.
“Do you know what shame feels like?” Barnabas asked. “How it weighs on the soul?”
Jeltor turned to look at him. Even Shinigami was quiet.
“For years,” Barnabas said, “I made it my calling to be ‘neutral.’ I did not intervene in the disputes between my family, no matter how worthy the causes over which they fought. No matter what I do in this life, I will never outrun that shame. If you knew the taste of it, you would do anything to avoid it.”
There was a pause, and Shinigami suddenly looked alert. She brought up screens to show a sudden flood of data from the Jotun fleet.
“We can deal,” the admiral said finally. “We have intercepted many communications that run through Seres. This is the data we have about the trajectory and encryption patterns. If you can make heads or tails of it, we will be glad to have you deal with the Yennai Corporation.
“And we…we will go to our planet, to work for change. To demand change.”
Barnabas nodded. “I hope we meet again, Admiral.”
“I don’t.” The voice was wry. “I hope we never have any occasion to do so.”
Barnabas laughed. “That, I can understand. I will hope for the same.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“This formation makes no sense.” In the Yennai Corporation’s main base, Wirav stabbed his finger down on the table. He glared at the print-out that showed a plan for how the fleet’s ships would protect the base.
“I assure you, it makes perfect sense.” Ilia tried not to roll her eyes.
“No! We’re not allowed to shoot at the ship? This is insane.”
“Because we want the ship to be captured without being damaged,” Ilia clarified, tensely. Now that she had decided to kill Wirav, she fought for patience. “I need you to appear to fire on it and appear to protect the base while giving it safe passage to here.” She reached out to show a glowing point on the model of the asteroid. “They’ll think they’ve gotten in because they’re a superior ship. Once they’re there, the ship will be ambushed by Zinqued and his mercenaries.”
“I don’t like it,” Wirav ground out. He crossed his arms. “At least let us keep you on one of the ships.”
“There’s no need for that. We have fifty ships worth of mercenaries that will be on the base.”
“Why take the risk?” Wirav asked. He perched on the edge of the table and stared her down. “I can’t see any reason that we shouldn’t protect you. You’re the future of the Yennai Corporation.”
Ilia wavered. Wirav’s logic actually made sense. She hadn’t expected that. Maybe she was being too hasty with her plans to get rid of him.
“And anyway,” Wirav added, “shouldn’t we spend some time together? We are married, after all.” He smirked at her, happy to rub the fact of their marriage in her face while the rest of the ship’s captains watched.
Her good mood vanished, and she gave him a cold look. “You mean, while the fleet faces down one of our greatest enemies, you would rather be on a date than leading them into battle? Who should we make admiral of the fleet?” She looked around the room and nodded to Gyeir, Wirav’s greatest rival. “Gyeir, you’re promoted. Wirav, I will send you the paperwork to annul our marriage.”
“You would not dare.” Wirav slid off the table to glare at her. “Your father appointed me an admiral. Your father controls the Yennai Syndicate, Ilia. Not you.”
Not for long. Ilia let that thought warm her as she stared at him. “Then do your job, or you’ll answer to my father, won’t you?”
That gave him pause, at least. He swallowed slightly.
She didn’t want to, but she empathized. Her father was one of the most terrifying people she had ever met. When she was very young, he had doted on her a little bit. He still told her about her duty to the company and tested her, but she had been his darling girl and his only child.
Then Uleq had come along.
Their father had pitted them against each other since before Uleq was old enough to walk. Ilia was the first-born, and she was the heir, but her father reminded her at every chance that she could be replac
ed at any time.
And it was made very clear to her just what being “replaced” meant.
She had been five years old when he’d explained that her uncle was being replaced as the admiral of the fleet, as he had made mistakes during an important engagement. Her father brought Ilia with him to watch the “ceremony”—throwing her uncle off the edge of the Overlook and giving his badge to another.
Even her uncle’s wife hadn’t dared cry for her husband, not while everyone watched. In the Yennai Corporation, you didn’t show sympathy for people deemed unworthy.
Ilia understood, therefore, how worried Wirav was that she would tell her father he was not doing a good job. The consequences would be sudden and dire.
Not, of course, that she intended to be any more lenient with him.
They were still staring at one another when there was a flurry of sound outside, and the door opened to reveal her father.
Ilia gaped. Her heart pounded. Why was her father here?
“Ilia.” He kissed her on both cheeks. “Wirav.” He gave his son-in-law the same greeting. “And where is Uleq?”
Ilia cursed herself for not having had her brother executed already. As he had guessed, she hadn’t wanted to seem too eager to kill him. If she had, though, there wouldn’t be any chance of her father talking to him.
She must not show any fear. She bent her head and tried to look regretful. “Uleq has…destroyed many of our resources. He is at the Overlook while I review evidence.”
He stared at her long enough to make her stomach flip-flop anxiously, then looked around at the captains. “Get out,” he said. He did not bother ordering them. He did not sound angry. He was simply sure, absolutely sure, that they would obey him.
They did. They knew what he did to people who defied him.
When they were gone, he walked slowly around the table, glancing at Ilia every few steps.
“I’m surprised you haven’t executed Uleq yet,” he said finally.
Ilia’s mind raced. He had given her control over Uleq’s case, and if he expected her to have killed Uleq already, then there were a few conclusions to draw. First, that he did not mind if Uleq died. Second, that he might have been testing her to see if she would do what was necessary. Third, that he had no plans to kill her if she executed Uleq, because then he would have no heir left. To her father, his legacy was everything.