by Webb, Nick
“But it is.” He spoke the words with a small smile, artfully devoid of any smugness. “The vote was unanimous, and Morgan has already been installed as Admiral.”
“Morgan?” She wanted to laugh. Morgan had never had his own ideas. He had followed Essa out of the fleet, and had not commanded in years. “Morgan won’t sneeze without your approval, is that what you want in an admiral?” Of course it was. Essa had always demanded complete loyalty—even when a plain speaker, not a yes man, was what you wanted in a military leader.
“Mistakes are … human.” Essa linked his hands behind his back and chose his words carefully. “In this battle against enemies that far outstrip us in terms of resources, we must of course innovate. Humanity is indebted to you, Admiral Walker. I mean that sincerely. However….” He paused. “Your tactics lately are worrisome. Your disregard for the Mars settlements, in particular. If I am to tell humanity that I and the fleet act in their best interests, I cannot let colonies be lost. I cannot make myself a liar.”
“Colonies will be lost,” Walker said flatly. “Morgan can’t prevent that any more than I can. We don’t have enough ships to prevent that. Tel’rabim will try to distract us by hitting our colonies.” Her voice was rising, and she knew she would never get him to agree to this, not with the persona he had so carefully cultivated. But he had to understand. “The only way for us to win this is to ignore his distractions and hit him where he’s vulnerable.”
“Admiral.” Essa’s voice was smooth. “Please.”
“Please what? Please stand aside while you put a trained monkey in my place? I won’t do it.”
“It is already done.” Essa held out his hands. “Please, try to be calm.”
“It is not already done.” She gritted the words out. “The fleet—”
“Is on its way to Ceres to respond to a new threat from Tel’rabim,” Essa explained.
“What?” She went hot, then cold.
“The Cairo has remained behind for you to assume command. We would like you to investigate reports of a Telestine attack on Mercury.”
“It was a distraction,” Walker said impatiently. She shook her head. The truth of this was settling in, cold. Of course they had allowed Delaney to come with her. He would have backed her up. The rest of the captains would have listened to him and resisted Morgan’s appointment. She looked up at Essa, cold fury beating in her heart. “You cannot do this. The fleet is not yours to command.”
“This was necessary,” Essa told her gently. “Please understand. When any one of us is given too much power, we begin to become overly sure of our abilities.” He looked over at her, the concerned father. “This is entirely human, unavoidable.”
How kind. She did not spit the words at him, but it took effort. She could taste blood in her mouth where she’d bitten the side of the cheek.
“You have shown a talent for tactics in the past,” Essa told her, his voice still gentle, still making her want to scream, “but we cannot trust a high-risk strategy for the protection of our colonists. I hope you can understand this—understand that I have only the greatest respect for your abilities. Command must change to adapt to our new situation, however. This is better for everyone, Laura. I hope that you can put aside your pride and believe that.”
Believe him? Not for a single goddamned second. But she knew when she was beaten, for now. Nothing more could be won here. She turned on her heel and made for the door.
“Walker.” His voice stopped her, her hand already on the knob. “When a commander can no longer lead in the best interests of the fleet and humanity, they must step aside.”
Words she had spoken to him, years ago, in front of everyone.
She could find no words in the sea of rage that had kindled in her chest. She wrenched the door open and left, fighting the urge to slam her fist into the wall outside, the urge to scream, the urge to promise Essa that this was not over.
It wasn’t over. She promised herself that, at least.
But, for now, she had been outplayed.
She had lost.
Chapter Eighteen
Near Ceres
Aggy II
Bridge
They left Vesta. No reason to stay. Avramson, the miner, had mentioned Parees knowing another Vestan miner called Sam Thorne—the name rang a bell, but he couldn’t place it. Besides, they’d completed the mission Nhean had given them, they’d delivered Parees to his destination—not Carina Station as originally intended, but Parees insisted that Vesta would do. And so they finished offloading the food, refueled the Aggy II, and left, bound for one of the farm facilities on Ceres to restock for another shipping contract.
It was the middle of a midnight watch when the comm channel lit up. Pike, his head dropped back against the headrest, considered the light for a long moment before doing anything about it. This was likely to be the only interesting thing that happened all shift. He should make the most of it. He took his time dropping his feet to the floor and stretching, before opening the comm channel. A message. Text only.
Come back to Vesta. Something you need to see. -P
Pike blinked at it. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, beyond a mild annoyance. Thankfully, the sound of Rychenkov’s footsteps meant he didn’t have to make any decisions.
“What’s that?” Rychenkov asked. He handed Pike a bowl of something vaguely food-like, and shook his head when Pike tried to stand and move to the co-pilot’s seat. “Sit. Eat.”
Pike settled back in his chair with a faint smile. This was one of the things he liked most about Rychenkov. Out in the black, surrounded by stars and empty space that didn’t give a damn about anyone, a lot of captains went a bit crazy, insisting that no one sit in their chair, that everyone call them “sir” or “ma’am.” Rychenkov was the type of captain, on the other hand, who brought you food on a late shift, said something poetic and profoundly unsettling about the vastness of space, and went away again.
Now, however, the Russian was staring at the message. “Who’s that from?”
“Parees.” Pike had thought that much was obvious. “I thought.”
“You sure?”
“I suppose not. Says it’s from “P”. Why, what are you thinking?”
“That we have a real nice ship stocked with some real nice food,” Rychenkov said succinctly. “And that we’re supposed to be out getting food for them.”
“Nhean wouldn’t care about that.” Pike lifted his eyebrows. “You know I’m right.”
“That one gives me the creeps.” Rychenkov took a bite. “Doesn’t matter what he thinks, either—you help people first, not … go get information.” He waved one hand and blew on another spoonful of soup to cool it.
That, paradoxically, was what changed Pike’s mind. He’d been told a hundred times at least that he was hopelessly contrarian, and it was true. While stationed with the Rebellion, he’d been able to see only the harm they were doing. Now, his view expanded, dizzyingly, until he could see Nhean’s point. If he looked at all of humanity, at the future of the species, everything seemed simple. He saw that information was the lifeblood that might help them defeat the Telestines.
The Telestines and their human-looking drones. Pike swallowed.
“I think we should go back.”
Rychenkov only flicked his eyes sideways, as if Pike’s opinion was to be expected. There was a sigh. “You’re not going to shut up until you’ve tried to convince me, so go on.” He gave Pike a full-on glare. “I miss Lapushka. She had her head on straight.”
“How d’you know? She never talked.”
“Not out loud,” Rychenkov said, as if that explained everything. “But go on. Go on, William.”
Pike rolled his eyes at the name. “Parees works for Nhean, and Nhean is looking for more information to help us defeat Tel’rabim. He puts things together, makes connections. Things like the virus that crippled Tel’rabim’s flagship at Mercury. That was as good as food in its own way, right?”
Rych
enkov sank into grumpy silence.
Pike pressed the advantage. “Whatever Parees was supposed to get at Carina Station, he either found on Vesta—or he found something more important.” And then it slotted into place in his mind, and he swallowed hard. “The drones.”
“What about the drones?” Rychenkov asked, with a tone of deep misgiving.
“You remember when we first figured out what they were? Years ago?” Pike thought back. “The UN tried to hush it up, didn’t they?”
“Too late. Everyone knew.” Rychenkov shook his head. “You ask me, though, I don’t think it was right, how they got treated. I’ve met some of ‘em. They’re a bit off, I guess, but not too strange. They’re fine.”
Pike swallowed, and tried to ignore the sense of dread settling in his stomach. “Yeah, they’re….” How to say it? He’d never been good at delicate words. “If Laura’s scientists are right, they’re part Telestine.” Lapushka, too. But he did not say that.
Rychenkov put his spoon down slowly.
“They’re trying to find them all now. Nhean and Walker.” Pike said. “That’s all I know.” Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. “But a lot of them were mechanics, weren’t they? So if Parees was looking for them, that’s what he’d have pretended to do.”
The captain snorted at that. “If that one’s pretending to be a mechanic, we’ll be lucky if Vesta’s still floating when we get back. We should go for that reason alone—warn ‘em.” He sobered quickly, put the soup on the desk, dropped his face into his hands. “You know, this was exactly what I didn’t want to do when I got this ship. I wanted to make some cash. Not rejoin your girlfriend’s cause.”
“You don’t have to,” Pike said, a bit desperately, and ignoring the bait. He could feel the pull of his former life, the voice telling him that the Rebellion was futile, that the only thing there was, was a grab at freedom and a chance for basic survival. If anyone could rescue him from this strange world where he was a revolutionary in disguise, it would be Rychenkov.
Rychenkov, who proceeded to disappoint him. “I do have to,” he said flatly. He nodded at the desk curtly. “Set a course for Vesta. Finish your soup. I’ll take these bowls to the galley.”
Pike had drained the soup bowl, and had to swallow before he could answer. “Why?”
“Because dirty dishes stink up a ship.”
“Pyotr….”
Rychenkov hesitated in the doorway. He did not look back. “Maybe I got a taste for being a revolutionary, huh? Maybe you turned me into one with your little ship chase.”
And then he was gone, his voice fading, and Pike knew that was the best answer he was going to get.
*****
It took a while to get back to Vesta. James, sunk in miserable silence, refused to come out of his bunk, knowing that they were heading back for one of Pike’s damn-fool missions. Gabriela, in deference to James, barely spoke to Pike, and the newbies were too new to feel comfortable asking why they’d reversed course. By the time the Aggy II reached Vesta once more, Pike was more than happy to get off the ship.
A young woman was waiting for them in the hangar bay when they landed. Her hair was in the standard miner buzz cut, so short one could hardly see the reddish glint of it, but from the lack of dust under her nails and the clean coveralls, she was clearly no miner. She stuck out a hand to Pike, unerringly, and gave a surprising smile, like a ray of sunshine breaking in the dim bay.
Pike clasped her hand, brought up short by the look. He heard Rychenkov snigger and ignored it, clearing his throat. “Uh. Bill Pike. Did you … send a message?”
“No, but I was sent to bring you.” She kept smiling up at him; she was tall, but Pike was almost always taller than anyone he met. “You are just like you were described. I’m Felicia Atchley. UN relief ops.”
Pike fought the urge to ask how he’d been described. “It’s nice to meet you. This is Pyotr Rychenkov, captain of the Aggy II.”
Felicia favored him with a brief, assessing look. She gave a tiny shrug. “Come on, then.”
Pike and Rychenkov exchanged a brief glance, but followed the woman down the hallway and into the depths of the asteroid.
“So … what do you do here?” Pike was not good at making small talk, but he wanted to see that smile again.
He was not disappointed. “I’m an aid worker. UN. I make sure the shipments get distributed and send request lists back to Mars and Earth.”
“You’re in contact with the Telestine government?” Pike raised his eyebrows.
She shook her head at that. “That’s all through the Daughters of Ascension.”
“They’re here?” Pike frowned.
“Where have you been, the last few months?” She looked at him quizzically.
Pike thought back over his last few months, tried to come up with the words to describe them, and ended up settling for, “Busy.”
“Huh. Well, they’re the only aid group on Vesta now. They got all the others behind them. We got a new Telestine rep here—Ka’sagra. They’re sympathetic. I talk to Ka’sagra, and she sends back to Earth for anything we ask her for. And we get it—fast. I don’t like to rely on them, but.…” She sighed. “We need them.” The admission was grudging. “A few months ago, everyone got sick, and—”
But Pike was no longer listening. They had come around a corner and into a small room. Parees sat awkwardly in the middle of the room. But Pike scarcely saw him. All he could see was the girl in the corner, whose dark eyes held a desperate plea.
Chapter Nineteen
Mars, Low Orbit
Koh Rong
In a rare moment of all-consuming frustration, Nhean wanted to bash his data display with a fist and just end it all. End the constant stream of bad news, of incomplete news, of resupply line failures and logistical nightmares, of intel streams that looked to be compromised one moment and non-existent the next.
And the latest rumor, which he could still not confirm since he couldn’t even raise Walker on any comm-line, was her loss of command.
Impossible. Not even Essa could be so stupid.
The people loved him. Slightly more than half, at least. He was a ball-buster. A take-no-prisoners blustering loud-mouthed hero.
And a fool.
Nhean was in the business of knowing when a rumor was just that. There was no conceivable line of logic in which removing Walker made sense. But it was time to spend his efforts elsewhere rather than continuing to waste them here.
A red flashing indicator caught his attention on one of his many computer consoles. A message. Top priority level. He glanced over the meta-data and saw it was from his secretary on Venus.
Schroeder urgently wants to meet. Unrest in the Funder's Circle. Threatening to take fleet away for “lack of attention to funder’s interests.” Please advise.
Unrest in the Funder's Circle. Dammit. Two years ago, when he’d secretly proposed to the elites on Venus the construction of their own fleet—apart from the Exile Fleet and commanded separately from it—the funders had jumped at the idea. With strings, of course. Money always came with strings—even as Nhean managed to reduce those strings and increase the amount of forthcoming financial support due to the vast trove of information he had on various members of the Funder's Circle. Not exactly blackmail, but … incentivized cooperation.
He scratched his chin in frustration, and tapped out a quick reply.
Unable to come at the moment. Please arrange for Schroeder himself to attend meeting of the Funder's Circle. Have him placate them. Stall. Perhaps play off the tension between the Mormon and the Baptist faction. Or remind the Pope of the late payment by Rothschild Banking Coalition. Just get me enough time to get a handle on the situation here at Mars, and I’ll return shortly for cat-herding duties.
Cat-herding. That’s exactly what it was. Managing the competing interests of the rich Venetian bankers, manufacturing companies, religious leaders who seemed to have far more wealth than their charitable work would imply, and all
the people of wealth and influence he’d managed to corral together to build his fleet.
The fleet now supposedly in the command of an Admiral on the outs with the UN.
Dammit. Perhaps he’d miscalculated.
He rarely miscalculated—it simply wasn’t in his nature. Nhean, at his core, was not just careful, he was conservative, and had built contingency after firewall after backup. But these were people he was dealing with, not systems. Not equipment. People with competing interests, hopes, dreams, and plans of their own.
And, worst of all, people with everything to lose. The rich society on Venus would stop at nothing to prevent a loss of power. Or influence. Even if it meant shooting themselves in the foot by taking away his crown jewel—his fleet. Perhaps he’d better leave for Venus at once….
He glanced at the inner solar system map to his right to get a sense of how long the reply would take. He hadn’t set his executive secretary up with FTL comm yet, so they’d have to rely on sub-light messaging. Good—Venus was nearing conjunction with Mars. Seven or so minutes. Plus time to compose, and the return trip for the reply. He checked his timer—it had been nearly twenty minutes.
A beep, and the red indicator light. He read her reply with growing chagrin.
Schroeder will represent you at the meeting, but urges you to hurry. I’ll send a few messages to the various factions on the Funder's Circle as you suggested, but I’m not sure how much longer we can play them off each other, sir. Please come ASAP.
He sighed. Walker had gone radio silent. Pike was chasing the most important military asset in the solar system, who’d seemed to have gone rogue. His chief lieutenant was gone, investigating the drone situation, and those same drones, at the command of Tel’rabim, were blowing up human colonies—not just colonies, entire moons. And the UN General Assembly had just elected an ignorant chest thumper as its leader, who was now threatening to blow up everything they’d gained over the last year in the name of “taking the fight to the enemy.”