Taza slowed his breathing and pushed his back tight against the tunnel wall, being careful not to block the narrow access tunnel in case it decided to take that route. He quickly peered over the edge. The shaft stretched down into complete darkness. Even if the bot didn’t detect him, it could inadvertently knock him to his death. He wore no armor, and outside of a basic toolkit and a knife, he didn’t have anything that could be used as a weapon. A blaster wouldn’t have done him any good in such a confined space anyway, which was why he hadn’t brought one, but he was starting to second-guess that decision.
Taza waited for what felt like forever, but no maintenance bot arrived. He was about to reach out to Zora and make sure it wasn’t a false alarm when a light flashed from above.
He had forgotten entirely about his head-light and scrambled to switch it off.
The flickering white light raced toward Taza, and within seconds, the maintenance bot hovered above, its jets blasting him with hot air, making it almost impossible to breathe.
Multicolored beams scanned the area as the bot slowly moved back and forth above Taza’s head. He remained as still as he could, the knife in his left hand held behind his back. If it did detect him, he’d only have one shot at taking it down. And even if that worked, he’d have minutes before another arrived to investigate.
The maintenance bot hovered for another minute as it processed its data then it carried on down below.
Taza waited several more seconds to be sure and took a deep breath and deactivated the power-hungry jammer before it drained his SIG’s battery cells. He got back to work and decided to keep radio silence going until he was done, to be on the safe side. He reached the maintenance access panel, undid the fasteners, and carefully set the panel cover on the ledge.
The STD was designed to pick up on a frequency they suspected Chimera used to transmit information right under SenSec’s noses through the Sentinel’s very own lines. Clio had detected the frequency during a full sweep and even managed to download part of a message. Despite their best efforts, however, they couldn't decrypt the data. The Chimera signal was designed to jump and hide, like it was self-aware on some level, and as hard as Clio and Taza searched, they couldn’t find it again.
Clio had written a program to recognize the signal if it used a similar frequency again. There was no way to deliver such a program into the lines remotely, which was how Chimera’s traffic had gone undetected for the most part. That was where the STD came in. It masked itself from maintenance bots and SenSec while connecting Clio’s program to the network and giving her a backdoor to access the lines remotely.
It was a brilliant, if dangerous, idea, but he would never admit as much to Clio. No point making her head bigger.
Taza fitted the STD to a network line with his plasma tool and activated the device. A blinking green light indicated that it was online. He reached for the panel on the ledge, and the plasma tool slid from his sweaty fingers. His other hand snapped out to catch it but only knocked it spinning into the darkness below. Echoes crashed around him as the tool rattled into obscurity.
“Shit.”
Taza held his breath as the bangs faded, and the tunnel eventually became deathly silent again. A refreshing breeze blew through the shaft momentarily upsetting the perfect stillness. He remembered the jammer when the sounds of jets thundered from below. The maintenance bot appeared as his fingers touched his SIG’s controls. The machine’s lights flared in alarm.
Taza flicked the jammer on to scramble, hoping it would give him some advantage, but he suspected it was too late. He moved further along the ledge out of the bot’s line of sight. It slowly followed his movements, suggesting that it struggled to track him.
A ping rang out as the bot charged its zapper. Taza ducked as an energy bolt blasted into the maintenance shaft wall where his head had been. He quickly drew his knife and plunged it into a fan opening on the bot’s side.
A shock exploded up Taza’s arms and sent him stumbling back across the ledge. He almost lost his footing but grabbed onto the open access port with his other hand and steadied himself. The bot whizzed in circles before him several times then plunged over the edge, sending up sparks as it scraped along the metal panels. Smoke stung Taza’s nose and eyes and the noise almost deafened him.
He reached for the panel and set about replacing it as fast as he could without dropping it. If he left the access port open, another bot would locate and destroy the STD. He took a second to reconnect his earpiece.
“Are you there?” Taza asked.
“What’s going on?” Zora said, a hint of worry in her voice. “We saw that bot return before it flashed off the grid.”
“I had to take it out.”
“Shit!”
“Are more coming?” He frantically refastened the panel’s first corner and swore as he almost dropped the next bolt. The bots were likely to pick up on anything that appeared out of place, even a missing bolt.
“I can’t see anything,” Zora said. “One second.”
A moment’s silence passed as he fumbled with the second and third bolts.
“Are you ready, Clio?” he asked earnestly.
“Ready and waiting.”
“A swarm of five is heading your way,” Zora said, clearly struggling to remain calm. “They’ll be there in a minute or two. You have to get out of there.”
He drove the final bolt. “Shit! Almost there.”
“Now, Taza! Get out!”
“I said almost there,” he answered, opening a channel to Clio’s file system on his SIG. “Now, Clio!”
The data package transferred slower than he would have liked, and he cursed the need for the manual upload. Fucking Sentinel security measures.
Engines roared above, and light glistened just as the package finished loading.
Taza quickly slid into the maintenance access tunnel on his back and wriggled his body inside. As his head went through, light filled the primary shaft. He pushed on, hoping the jammer was enough to stop them from coming after him.
“Taza, are you there?” Zora made no effort to conceal her panic this time.
He cleared his throat. “I’m here,” he whispered. “All good. Are they pursuing me?”
“Looks like they’ve gone after the bot you downed,” Zora said with a sigh of relief.
“That was close!” Clio said.
“Damn, you had us scared there for a minute,” Zora added.
“You were scared?” he asked with incredulity. “You should try shimmying through a maintenance access tube with shit running down your leg.”
“Hurry back,” Zora pleaded.
“Going as fast as I can, trust me,” he said, progressing mere inches at a time.
He tilted his head back to see lights fading from the tunnel opening several yards behind.
Only one more mile to go.
7
Playing the Game
Grimshaw reclined in a soft armchair so comfortable it made him ill at ease. Having spent most of his life in the Confederation, he wasn’t accustomed to such lavish surroundings. Former Admiral Rickard Foster’s home was, however, nothing short of a small palace.
Before Grimshaw, Mr. Foster’s shaking hand hovered above the chess board that rested on an elegant mahogany coffee table as he carefully considered his next move.
According to public record, the former admiral was only a hundred and seventeen earth years old, but the tropical disease he’d contracted on Simoray during the Kragak War made the man look twice that age, and most humans died before they reached two hundred. Like Grimshaw, Foster had seen his share of action on the front lines in the early days. A full head of snow-white hair—and a manicured beard adorning his mandible—softened a face creased by decades of hard service to the Confederation. His frame had grown fragile, yet an almost-palpable power emanated from the old man’s eyes.
The former admiral finally committed to a decision and moved his black bishop diagonally across several squares, maki
ng the mistake Grimshaw had hoped for.
“Check,” the old man announced with an air of victory.
“What do you mean check?” Grimshaw sat forward suddenly and scanned the board, trying to work out what was going on.
“Distracting your opponent until you have him cornered is an effective strategy, don’t you think, Captain?”
Mr. Foster was right. Grimshaw was clearly no master of the game, but even he could see that every possible move would eventually end in failure.
“You’ve bested me once again, sir.”
“My body might be failing me, Captain, but a man’s true strength resides here,” he said, tapping his temple. “All you have to do is watch most politicians coming and going at Sentinel Square. Half of them are barely fit enough to walk, yet they obtain power because they keep their most important muscle sharp.”
“I should probably practice more,” Grimshaw said, sighing.
“You certainly should, Captain,” the former admiral flashed his blinding white teeth. “It teaches one how to solve problems, and if everything living in the universe has one thing in common, it’s the need to solve problems. When you break it down, that’s all life is…One long string of problems.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Grimshaw said, taking in the luxurious room.
“It’s not one way of looking at it, Captain. It’s the only way.” The old man gestured to a nearby window. “Out there, the less fortunate toil. They seek solutions to the problem of survival. They aren’t too shy about protesting about it either. They imagine that the rich have no problems of their own, but I can assure you, we have them in spades. They may be different problems, but they are problems nonetheless.”
“I don’t doubt that at all, sir,” Grimshaw assured him.
Mr. Foster’s eyes shone. “An example if you’ll entertain me for a moment?”
“Of course, sir.”
“My family is frustrated with my refusal to join the Tal’ri Replicant Program. As a younger man, I was always fascinated by the idea of living forever. And given my family’s wealth, such a thing isn’t entirely out of reach. But the older I get, the more I understand that the purpose of living is to die.”
Grimshaw nodded, not knowing how to respond to such a claim.
“The Tal’ri replicants believe they have mastered eternal life, but all they offer is the illusion of eternity. Unfortunately, the rest of my family don’t see it that way. Did I tell you that I had to invest heavily in a special legal seal to ensure they can’t access my body when I’ve passed on? I have to pay someone to make sure I stay dead when I die. How absurd a problem is that?”
“It’s unusual for sure, sir.”
“People fight to stay alive until the very day they die, just as nature has intended,” the old man cackled. “And here I sit, fighting for the right to die on my own terms.”
“You clearly don’t fear death, sir,”
The former admiral laughed. “A man my age—in my condition—longs for death’s sweet embrace.” He erupted into laughter again, and Grimshaw feared the old man might rupture something. Eventually, he regained control of himself. “Since we’re onto serious matters, may I speak plainly, Captain?”
“Of course, sir.” Grimshaw tried not to show that he was taken aback. The former admiral had never been so forthright on any of his previous visits.
He drew a deep breath and exhaled as he rested his chin in his right hand. “I’ve grown fond of you over the months, but don’t think for a second that you have me fooled.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Let’s be gentlemen about it, Captain. Once upon a time, I sat in your very position, after all. You’re an uncanny reflection of my younger self. That is why we are enemies.”
“Enemies, sir?” Grimshaw said, taken aback. It was true that he’d intended on getting Mr. Foster to help his cause, but he wouldn’t have considered him an enemy.
“Of course we’re enemies,” the old man chuckled. “Did you think us friends?”
“I suppose not, but enemies…” Grimshaw didn’t know what else to say.
“Please, don’t be offended, Captain.” He offered a reassuring smile. “I respect my enemies more than my so-called friends. With enemies, a man knows where he stands. With friends, he waits to see which one will stab him in the back. It is easy to truly honor one’s enemy. Not so for one’s friend.”
“I see,” Grimshaw said, still not entirely sure where Mr. Foster was going with the conversation.
“Enemies don’t hide their true intentions from each other, so let us lay our cards upon the table.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’ll beat me at cards too?”
“Because you’ve got good intuition.” The former admiral smiled as though he knew something Grimshaw didn’t. “So, listen to it.”
Grimshaw relented. “Originally, my sole intention was to curry favor with you to gain leverage over your son.”
“That’s more like it,” the old man said with the gleam of victory in his eyes again. “I suspected that Straiya, and even certain humans who do not agree with my son’s views, had such plans.”
“Though my intentions haven’t changed,” Grimshaw said, making sure the old man understood that he wouldn’t be so easily swayed, “I must admit, I’ve enjoyed our sessions from the outset.”
Foster senior cupped his chin in his hand again. “In exchange for your honesty, I’ll tell you something, Captain. My son is a young man, and such youth carries with it a measure of ambition.” He stared into nothingness. “And Petter has always been among the most ambitious.”
“He’s at least as old as I,” Grimshaw said. “Hardly what anyone would call young.”
“He is young for a Galactic Council Minister, especially since we humans don’t live half as long as some of the other races. Just the other month, Petter celebrated his seventy-third birthday. His predecessor, Minister Jackson, was twice as old when he joined the Council. Ambassador Andallis wasn’t far behind, may the universe watch over his soul.” His eyes burrowed into Grimshaw’s. “What exactly is your problem, Captain?”
“As I’m sure you’re well aware, the Shanti are concerned about recent developments with our people. They think your son means to alienate them and eventually remove them from power. It also doesn’t help the great unrest on Shantalla.”
“Ah, the Shanti saratribes have fought and bickered for as long as we’ve known them. But I have heard whispers of another civil war. That would be most…unfortunate.” The former admiral paused in thought for a moment. “And you would have me convince my son to do something about it?”
“Since we’re being honest, my main concern is getting access to the North Star,” Grimshaw admitted. “The Chits—or Aphnai— almost wiped out Colony 115. Even with the Galactic Council’s assistance, it’ll take the colonists decades to recover after what they’ve been through. I hear the Confederation plans on sending more colonists to the Fringe, but I imagine they’ll be hard-pressed to find volunteers with the news of what happened spreading. All that aside, something tells me it’s not the last we’ll be seeing of the Aphnai. They’re up to something.”
“And why do you think the SS North Star will help?”
“The Chits have technology far superior to our own, perhaps even as advanced as the Tal’ri. Possessing the North Star would be a huge leap for humans and Shanti in terms of technological development. The Confederation could use her as a blueprint for improving the Fleet. Without access to the vessel, the Confederation could start from scratch again if the Council’s new laws didn’t forbid it, but I get the feeling it’ll be too late even if they were to go ahead with it regardless. We need access to the ship.”
“You would have me persuade Minister Foster to give up the North Star…to convince him that we humans need it to combat these Aphnai creatures?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask...”
Former Admiral Foster sighed. “I fear that
as much as I would like to help make that happen, I cannot.”
“You don’t think it could help our mission?”
“On the contrary, I agree that it would help a great deal,” the old man looked down at the chess board. “Things have gotten complicated lately. I rarely see Petter these days. His duties keep him distracted, and I’m afraid the last time we spoke, we had something of a disagreement, and not a minor one either.”
“Is it something I can help with?” Grimshaw offered.
“I’m afraid not, Captain.” The old man looked up from the chess board again. “I can’t be sure, but I suspect the sudden sense of power has gone to Petter’s head and corrupted his heart. It was all he could talk about the last time he was here. He seemed like an entirely different person. I fear his thirst for power has changed him, and like all who have followed such a path, he’ll seek more even if it means selling his soul.”
Grimshaw sat upright. “He’s already one of the most powerful men in the galaxy. Why would he want more?”
“Ha!” the old man chuckled. “People always want more. I gave up on trying to figure out why a long time ago.”
Grimshaw thought carefully before asking his next question. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”
“I think Petter is more than dangerous.” The former admiral-tugged on the end of his beard. “That is the real reason I cannot speak to him on your behalf. You’d be wise to drop this North Star business and hop on the next vessel back to human space.”
“You know I can’t do that. I’ve got a mission here, promises to uphold. People are counting on me.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say. You do know you’ll become just another obstacle for him to overcome?”
Grimshaw kept his eyes fixed on the old man’s and nodded.
“When it comes to chess, I’m a lousy apprentice compared to my son. I’ll never forget the look of determination in his eyes the first time he beat me.” Mr. Foster gazed into nothingness again as he relived some memory. “He was nine years old at the time.”
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