Sister Time lota-9

by John Ringo

  “Okay. Are we supposed to just waltz in and take whatever this is?” Cally asked, her brow furrowing. “I presume you have a full description, location information, some background. Any recon data you have would be nice. Come on, I’m going to need the most complete information you can possibly give me for us to plan and execute this mission. First of all, what the hell is this device? What does it do, and what does it look like?” Cally glanced quickly up to where the candlelight was silhouetting the girls, glad that Morgan appeared to be putting their dinner things back in the packs.

  “It is a discontinuous, partially automated, multichanneled, medium-range harmonic resonance inductor. I have a datacube for you with full external specifications, a very abbreviated overview of its known and theorized capabilities, and the location of the facility where it is being used.” Michelle said, “Of course, you must absolutely avoid any direct confrontation with—”

  “Whoa. Back up a second. It’s a discon-what? What does it do, in plain English, please.”

  “I was speaking plain English. The best way I can describe the action is that it affects the brain, in this case of human subjects, stimulating and analyzing the internal signals for report and, if desired, overriding the internal voluntary muscle commands and other processes with replacement sequences of the operator’s choosing.”

  “What, like reading minds? You’re shitting me.”

  “Excuse me? What does excrem — nevermind. In a very nontechnical and imprecise sense, that is probably a workable functional estimate. Although it would be a mistake to overlook the capacity for control.”

  “It’s a mind-raper.”

  “The process is reported to be quite unpleasant for the subject, yes.”

  “You’re telling me this monstrosity really exists? Yuck!” Cally shuddered. “That’s vile. That’s really, really vile.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, hugging herself. She almost thought she could feel the goosebumps.

  “That is an adequate nontechnical description of the device’s function. One reason I chose to hire your team for this mission is convenience of location. The research facility where the device is located is outside the Great Lakes Fleet Base. Obviously, they will have some sort of human security arrangements in addition to the automated systems. Your people are going to have to determine what those are and be prepared to deal with them. You must avoid any direct confrontation with the other mentat, Erick Winchon. You will need to use a time when Erick Winchon is absent. He has periodic absences from the facility, you’ll need to determine his schedule and use one of them.” Michelle paused, taking a deep breath. “The deadline for this job is January 15 of 2055, Earth time. By that date, I must have in my possession either the device itself or conclusive proof that it has been destroyed. The proof must be sufficient to pass a rigorous inspection by a Galactic Contract Court.”

  “What can you tell me about how the device is protected and guarded? I’ll need the blueprints of the facility.”

  “Much of that you will have to determine yourselves. It is what your team does, is it not? I will, of course, get you any information I can without exposing my actions.”

  Cally rubbed her chin, thinking. “One of the classic ways of working this kind of mission involves a switch of a replica for the target item to postpone discovery of the theft. I need not only the external specifications of the device but everything you can tell me about the device itself and how it’s used and when and by whom so that I can get a convincing replica made, if that’s even possible. We’ll do our research thoroughly, but the more you can tell us about the device, the better chance we have at constructing a convincing replica. The other solutions I can think of are all more complicated. That would mean more expensive, with more chances for something to go wrong.”

  “I do not think your organization could build a cosmetic replica that would fool the security systems or the lower level employees. I will build a facsimile of the device that should deceive anyone but another mentat. I will deliver the facsimile to you before the first opportunity to acquire the device arises.” Michelle pressed a datacube into her sister’s hand. “Hug your girls for me.” She folded her arms closer in, a gesture that had immediately preceded her disappearance from Pardal’s suite before.

  “Wait!” Cally said.

  “Yes?” The tightness in the mentat’s arms loosened fractionally.

  “You said you’d get us information if you could. If you have anyone inside, that could be vitally important. That’s the biggest risk of the entire mission — it can take months to get a man inside a secure facility, or more. As I understand it, we don’t have that kind of time, but we need that kind of subtlety to pull this off. We can work without it, but it sure would be a big help.”

  “I have a worker there who owes me a significant favor. He cannot help directly. It would place his actions too close to both violence and breaching his word. The favor owed is large, but not that large. I do not see how he could help you. He works off the main site, in their personnel department.” There was a long silence as she thought, the wind off the sea at last ruffling a few stray tendrils of hair from her severe bun.

  “Could he get you a list of any job openings? They’ve got to have vacancies, coming open feet first. Operations like these always do. If he could influence hiring decisions by losing some resumes or bumping ours to the top of the list, that would really help.”

  “Possibly. Do you have any idea how difficult it would be to ‘lose’ an electronic resume? Not to mention several. I will do what I can.”

  Cally placed a hand on Michelle’s arm, only to take it back for no reason she could name, just that the mentat seemed somehow more withdrawn than before.

  “There was something else?” her sister asked.

  “Granpa was pretty hurt that you wouldn’t see him, you know. Telling him was hard. I’d at least like to know why.” She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets and stared out to sea.

  “The split in the Bane Sidhe has created political difficulties between myself and the Indowy.” Michelle didn’t even twitch. Cally found it irritating.

  “Oh, don’t tell me you’re shutting out Granpa because of your job. Do not tell me that.” She fixed her sister with an icy, gimlet stare.

  “You do not understand. I remind myself that you do not understand,” Michelle said.

  “Damn right I don’t!”

  “You need resources. I am, for now, able to help you. I can only keep the access to help you by avoiding the O’Neal. No, allow me to finish. Of course I want to see Grandfather. At present, I am what you might call ‘in limbo,’ but I am balanced upon the edge of a knife. It is for me as if the split had not yet taken place. I have not yet been officially informed of the change in clan policy and alliance by my head of clan, or an immediate ancestor, or his designate. I can pretend official ignorance. Among Indowy, this would be impossible. They would never go so long without a meeting. But humanity’s asocial nature has the Himmit, Darhel, and Tchpth precedent. It is viewed as different but not insane. Clan O’Neal may desperately need my resources at some point. Once I meet with Grandfather, I must then confine my future dealings to Clan Aelool or Clan Beilil, and my resources will be greatly reduced. For myself, I would be well enough. But at the cost of greatly increased risk to the survivability of Clan O’Neal. The Indowy know that I must know, yet they know that the resources serve my clan. And so they cannot decide whether I am being supremely honorable, or supremely dishonorable. The thought is distressing to them, so they ignore it, waiting for the dilemma to resolve itself. Which may happen either by reconciliation of the O’Neal with one or more major clans, which is highly unlikely, or by my meeting with my clan head. I must maintain this delicate balance until our clan is secure. I admit that my understanding of the value of what it is that you do is limited, but I believe we both understand that loyalty requires personal sacrifices. As our estrangement through the years has been. Please believe me that this is a most regretta
ble sacrifice and convey my apologies to Grandfather for the necessity.”

  “Wait!” Cally said again, sensing that Michelle might be about to pull her vanishing act. “Michelle, I’ve gotta ask. Yes, this mind-raper thing is obviously a problem, but you’ve made contact after an awfully long time and you haven’t done a lot of blatant things in the past to save the world. There’s something different about this, and I have to know what it is.”

  “That does not concern you.” Michelle’s face could have been carved of stone.

  “I can’t do my job without the whole story. I won’t take my team into this without all the background. We can keep it between us, but I’m responsible for my people. Now give.” She made a come-on gesture with one hand, fixing her eyes on the mentat’s face. Everything about her posture, ratty jeans and blowing hair or not, suddenly screamed “professional.” It was a nonnegotiable demand.

  “Very well. It was my project, for the Darhel group that holds my debts, when Erick stole the technology. They are holding me personally responsible.” She shrugged beneath the enveloping robes, agitation betrayed by a slight fluttering of her hem as some of the wind finally got through.

  “Wait a minute. How can you still be in debt and afford us, the code keys, all of that? I’m lost. This makes no sense.” Cally said.

  “I have disposable income. That is not the same thing as being out of debt. We never get out of debt. Even appearing to try will get your debts called in then and there. Every tool and tank I have is deeply mortgaged, as are the tools of everyone else. When I die, the equipment will revert to the Epetar Group to pay the debts. Unless the debt is called in beforehand, as it will be if I do not at least remove the device from the hands of the rival group.”

  “So what if they do call your debts? You can teleport. Just move on. Disappear. Let them take the damned tools and go to hell. It’s not like it hasn’t been done before. Just because you were raised by the Indowy doesn’t mean you have to sit there and starve to death. We’re human, not Indowy. You have to know there’s no way we’d just leave you to your fate like they would one of theirs.”

  “Yes, I can teleport. The possibility of which is a secret held by few, and worth more than my life. My daughters cannot, and the Epetar Group also holds their debts. If you fail, I will let my debts be called and you certainly will leave me to my fate, for their sake and for the reasons you would not understand. But no, I would not wait to starve. There are quicker ways.” The Michon Mentat squared her shoulders. “This discussion is pointless. You, and the very few who must know, can, at least, keep a secret. I have risked worlds and more on that decision — far more than I should. You must justify my trust,” she pronounced.

  “For the moment, we will presume my offering price for the code keys is acceptable. Here.” She pulled a brown cloth bag out of her robes from somewhere, though for the life of her Cally couldn’t see where, and thrust it into the blonde woman’s hands. “Grandfather can carry out the next step in the dealings. I do not understand the purpose of the… work that you do, but you are quite effective at it and you will not fail. You will succeed at retrieving the device, or, if necessary, you will destroy it. It is an obligation to serve Clan O’Neal which you will understand. So the question of failure does not arise, does it?”

  This time, she did vanish, leaving Cally staring at a pair of indistinct footprints, already being erased by the blowing sand. She shivered in the cold wind, sand stinging her face, as she turned and walked back up the beach. Summer was definitely over.

  Michael O’Neal, Senior, sat on the comfortable but patched living-room sofa trying to talk some sense into his most lethal granddaughter. He was pretty proud of how she’d turned out. A real survivor. Deadly, but ethical. Sometimes too damned moral for her own good. Like now.

  “I don’t want a frickin’ bonus, I want a raise!” Cally hissed over her shoulder at him as she poured a fresh cup of coffee. Two bright dots of color on her cheeks showed more real emotion in this family squabble than she would have ever revealed in the field. Shari had fastened the dark blue, denim nightblinds over the windows to keep the electric light from leaking out into the darkness. Clan O’Neal, and its Sunday branch, were meticulous about not displaying more wealth and development than they ought to have. Most bounty farmers had electric enough for their scanners, but little generator power to spare for other applications, even if their homes had been wired for it. None had buried antimatter plants with community power transmission. For bounty farmers who were not O’Neals, “burning the midnight oil” was not just a figure of speech. Cally leaned back against the counter, cupping the warmth of the mug in both hands. She gave Shari a tiny headshake, obviously warning her not to intervene. Michael O’Neal, Sr., was making extra effort to be reasonable. He didn’t feel reasonable. She calls in after all these years and I don’t get to speak to my own granddaughter. What, does Michelle think I’ve got leprosy or something?

  “This is professional,” he said. “You take your pay when and how you can get it. That’s the business we’re in.” Papa opened the gray and blue salt-glazed jar on the counter next to the fridge, hand hesitating between the familiar red and white foil pack and the leather pouch with Billy’s Cuban-Salem blend.

  “It’s bad enough becoming a thief for a cause. I’m not going to turn into a common thief just because Mommy needs a new pair of shoes. Granpa, if we don’t have some principles, we’re no better than the damned Darhel,” she said.

  “What, you’ll kill people for a living but you’re too good to profit off a raid? A raid of that Darhel enemy you’re so busy despising, little girl.” He could tell the ironic, mocking edge to his tone lit a slow fire under Cally’s temper. Good. She needed to be shaken up a little.

  “Well, that’s below the belt!” Her hands were fisted at her sides as she tried to control herself, but her voice was rising.

  “Could you two keep it down! The children!” Shari backed out of the room, closing the door to the den as an extra buffer between the kitchen and the kids’ rooms.

  “You aren’t making a dime off the theft; you’re making a commission on a sale,” Papa said.

  “Okay, so now I’m a fence?” Cally said.

  “A frickin’ barbed wire one,” he muttered under his breath, as he turned and spat into a chipped blue mug with no handle.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Look, we live in an imperfect world. We are working to make it better. If you agree to the commission, I’ll use it as leverage to work on a raise. We all agree that a raise is necessary and fair. If you want it to happen, I need bargaining chips.” Her grandfather spread his hands, the picture of reason. Stir her up, then calm her down.

  “So you’re trying to tell me you’re not actually going to do this ten percent thing?” she asked skeptically.

  “I can’t bargain with a bluff. Hey, I’m not just using this as an excuse to get around you. Holidays are coming up, you know. I’ll ask for the raise first. If they won’t see reason, we take the commission to get through their thick skulls so the next time I bring it up, they’re not so pigheaded,” he said.

  She still didn’t look happy.

  “What, you’ve got a better way to get through to them?” As he asked, looking her in the eye, he could practically see her playing Christmas in her head. If he let even a flicker of triumph show in his eyes, she was going to dig in her heels. He kept a poker face, leaving her nothing to think about but a bare tree and empty stockings. She drank her coffee, probably playing for time. Besides, good coffee was too expensive to waste. He waited, watching, until finally she sighed and set the cup down.

  “Against my better judgment. But if they offer a raise instead, and it’s at all reasonable, we take it. Whether the numbers match up or not,” she said.

  “You’re going to get all stubborn and noble over that, aren’t you? Fine. I’ll be leaving money on the table, I just know it, but fine. I swear, I never should have let you spend all those years with nuns.
Went and turned you into a dewy-eyed idealist,” he groused.

  “And any part I take of it goes for the girls,” she said.

  “Fine.” As she left the kitchen on her way to bed, he let a tiny quirk at one corner of his mouth get through. She was stubborn. Just like Mike had been. Always saw sense eventually, but you sometimes had to get her attention with a two by four first.

  Cally got into her red, Tweety-bird nightshirt, frowning at the narrowness of the twin bed in the small room. Quite a change from her apartment in Charleston. At least she’d been able to keep some of the art from her walls. Even added a print. Okay, so the picture of the surfer catching a wave at Malibu was a cheap reprint of a digital file. Still, it was nice having it. It was a small, tangible reminder of her time with Stewart on Titan Base seven years ago. She got a fresh washcloth from the pile under the nightstand and picked up the buckley to set her wake-up call.

  “Psssst. You’ve got a message,” it said in an exaggeratedly soft voice.

  “Why didn’t you beep me?” she asked.

  “It’s a secret message,” it said.

  “Well, yeah, buckley. I’m an assassin. I do get a few of those. What message?”

  “Yeah, but this one’s really secret,” it said. By now she wanted to throttle him.

  “Buckley, what’s the message? Is it from… him?”

  “Say, ‘pretty please,’ ” it prompted.

  “Buckley, give me the damned message,” she said.

  “If you’re not going to be polite about it maybe I won’t.”

  “Buckley!” she hissed. “Do you want me to load a Martha emulation on top of you? This place looks pretty drab. I could use some affordable decorating tips. Buckley, what’s ‘raffia’? Does it come in purple?”

  “All right, all right. It’s from him. He’s making a trip to Charleston. Can’t stand another minute without you, apparently.”