Star Vigilante (Vigilante Series)

by T. Jackson King

  “What is impressive?” Matt asked, wishing Eliana would stop peering around the taxi’s open hatch.

  The Mican glanced briefly at Eliana, then focused on him. “Your combat suit. It’s a bit crude, what with all those external fixtures, but effective. Still, we make more efficient systems.”

  “So I’ve heard. Why are we here?”

  The Mican’s tail swished faster. In his mind, Suit blared Threat—the tail could eject scores of poison-tipped needles—like the porcupine of Earth was reputed to do, but couldn’t. His right shoulder laser pulse-cannon Locked-On to the tail.

  “Don’t bother,” the Mican said, its purple eyes watching Suit’s external systems do their thing. “I am nearly unarmed—except for my own on-board nanoware systems. They are quite sufficient for Defense.”

  “Whatever you say.” With a thought, Matt told the taxi’s Go-Fetch console to close its hatch, which it did, locking Eliana inside. Switching focus, he active-scanned the spaces behind the Mican, suspicious that the alien might only be a decoy. New graphics filled his Eyes-Up display. Nothing.

  The Mican laughed. Like a horse drowning. “My, my, you are suspicious. Good.” Purple eyes double-blinked. “I expected nothing less from a Vigilante. To be succinct, your Purpose is known to us. I offer a Trade—untold riches for your immediate departure from this star system.”

  Matt cleared the center of his faceplate. “What riches?”

  “Your life.”

  He scowled. “That I already possess. What Directorate level are you in Halicene Conglomerate?”

  The Mican’s neck feathers ruffled. “Prime Dominant Three.”

  Misery filled him. In the Halicene Conglomerate hierarchy, there were only two supervisory levels higher than Prime Dominant Three—and each sapient at those levels controlled whole star clusters. This sapient must be the prime Controller of the entire Sigma Puppis operation, at the very least. But what was it doing here, away from the Halicene MotherShip? It must have arrived in one of the already docked starships. He moved to offense.

  “How did you know I was in-system? That my ship had arrived?”

  “Our gravity wave detectors are good. Very good.”

  Matt hoped they didn’t have Alcubierre Drive detectors. “Why are you in-system in the first place?”

  The Mican’s tail swished more slowly. “Just inspecting our . . . investment. No special reason.”

  “How did you know I would be aboard this particular taxi?”

  The Mican settled belly-down onto the dirty concrete, thin lips pulling away from sharp predator teeth. “I know anything about this star system that I wish to know. Including your imminent meeting with Despot Ioannis. I felt you should be aware of a competing Trade offer.”

  “Your bribe is puny.”

  The Mican growled angrily. “Your life means nothing to you?”

  “It does. Why shouldn’t I kill you here and now?”

  The Mican yawned. “First, because my biospores would penetrate even your monomolecular armor, infect you, and cause you a most excruciating death by torture—through the inducement of myasthenia gravis. Would you enjoy having your brain’s neural myelin sheaths slowly eaten away, until you are a mere shell of awareness, looking out at a world that you cannot affect? Alive, but in total limbo? Sentient, but unable to communicate? Living, but not experiencing?”

  Matt shivered. This Mican was a true child of the Anarchate. Quick death would never do for its opponents. “There are cyborg systems that would substitute for such organic destruction, or reverse it.”

  “Second,” the Mican continued, “I know something about your crossbreed woman that you need to know.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Third.” It blinked again, eyelids moving like a purple shroud. “My death would cause the Stripper downplanet to release ecotoxins that will destroy every Mother Tree of the Derindl.”

  Damn. Double damn. The death of nine hundred million was a good enough reason. Genocide at this scale was only too well known among the Anarchate’s conglomerates and higher diplomatic corps. Matt licked his lips. When one’s offense is blunted, try diplomacy.

  “Why threaten?” he asked the Mican. “Why not cooperate? If you would abandon your mining rights on Halcyon, I’m sure the Derindl would gladly substitute this system’s airless third planet. Its crust is metal-rich.”

  The Mican lumbered upright, flapping its dirty brown wings, but slowly enough to avoid activating Suit’s defenses. “I’m sure they would,” it said. “We will take the third planet—when we are finished with this one. Goodbye.”

  Set, match and game. Damn. Matt watched the arrogant, supremely powerful Mican stalk into the darkness of the loading dock’s interior. He couldn’t resist a parting shot. “What is your name?”

  “My name is Legion.”

  The shadow disappeared.

  Six minutes since the taxi arrived.

  He gulped. Behind him thudded the hammering of fists on the inside of the taxi’s hatch. Eliana! Imprisoned, or so she would think. But it had been for her own safety. She had no protection from airborne spores or penetrator viruses. Matt dropped Colossus Mode, downlinked to normal organic speed, and turned back. He touched open the taxi and entered. The hatch shut behind him. Onboard Suit systems now routed them directly, without another stop, to Ioannis’ private dock. He sat down in the rear benchseat and faced his Patron. With arms folded, she glowered at him—like a cat who just had a bucket of water dumped on her.

  “Well!” she hissed.

  “Well what?” Matt lay back against the interior padding of Suit, relaxing to the soft vibration of the taxi’s operation. Suffering from adrenaline washout, he wished he were alone in the universe.

  Eliana leaned forward, intensely upset. “What did the Mican want? What did it say? Why did you lock me in?”

  He looked back at her through the cleared faceplate. It was a sleepy look. One that would soon be offset by Suit’s accelerant chemicals and metabolic stabilizers. Suit cared for him. Suit loved him. Suit protected him. Always. He sighed. “Why? To protect you. And the Mican offered me a bribe.”

  Eliana stiffened. She licked her lips with a pale pink tongue. In her neck, long corded muscles jumped as she swallowed nervously. “What kind of bribe?”

  “My life. It wanted me to leave this system and not interfere with the Stripper. It offered not to kill me.”

  “Did you accept?”

  “No.”

  Moments of long silence followed. The taxi wound its way through the innards of Zeus Station, crossing the remaining kilometers of the giant station. He watched her. Surprisingly, she still watched him.

  Eliana inspected him intently, her gaze touching here and there on Suit’s protuberances, mountings, and control panels, a puzzled fascination apparent. She seemed mystified even as she fought her instinct to shy away from him. From the “machine-person” as she had called him earlier. Finally, she spoke. “Why not? Why didn’t you accept the bribe?”

  “Why not? Why not!” She flinched from the anger in his voice. Matt cleared his faceplate completely, dumping the datafeeds to internal storage. She could see him clearly now. See his face. See his coral eyes, see the tiny scars on his upper cheeks, and see, perhaps, something of his soul. “Because I hate genocidal maniacs. And didn’t your parents ever teach you it’s impolite to assume a stranger will take a bribe—before you get to know him?”

  She showed honest embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just that—”

  “You’re not used to Cyborgs, right?”

  Eliana nodded. Then she met his gaze, her look one you would expect from someone waiting to see if a bomb will go off. “I told you earlier, I’m not. But it is a fair question.”

  Still limited by her bias. No matter how smart or how teachable she was, it held her back from dealing with reality. Well . . . she was still young. As young as Matt, actually. “Be that as it may, I don’t take bribes. It’s not smart to insult your Vigilan
te. And . . . you might try giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I’ll try . . . Matt.” Eliana swallowed hard, offered him a half-smile, then crossed legs under herself and studied him. Studied Matt like a young bird studies a fellow fledgling. As if she were seeing him for the first time.

  And seeing more than just a machine’s tool.

  The Dais Throne of the Sigma Puppis Greeks seemed lonely, backed up against the rear wall of a square metal room. It was a room decorated with woven tapestries that shouted proudly the storied exploits of Greek gods, goddesses, and heroes. True, the Throne itself was pioneer-plain—just a white alabaster seat resting on a black granite dais. As for the Despot . . . on the Throne sat a well-muscled, brown-skinned man whose black ringlet beard would have suited Odysseus himself. His blue jumpsuit carried a chest patch, one showing the sculptured profile of Athena Parthenos. And the man’s piercing grey eyes watched Matt very carefully.

  Ioannis, Despot of Clan Themistocles and leader of all Pure Breed and crossbreed humans in Sigma Puppis star system, seemed only a little less lonely than his Throne. The man stared at his half-sister’s Vigilante with unabashed interest, a look tinged with revulsion and surmise. Sitting at the foot of his alabaster seat, beside his booted feet, Eliana leaned against the white stone of Ioannis’ Throne, a silvery vacsuit topped by long ebony hair, albino face, and green eyes now downcast. She seemed worried. Or perhaps she just needed the reassurance of home.

  In Suit, Matt stood at parade rest just five meters back from Ioannis. He and Eliana were alone with the man, having been left in the Despot’s presence by a spry Petros. His faceplate stood open, Suit rumbled at half-Alert, and normally Matt would have enjoyed the rich smells of Mediterranean cuisine that drifted up from a food platter sitting on a stone table between him and Ioannis. Except they were the cause of the current argument. He’d just refused Ioannis’ offer of food, wine and hospitality—an insult in Mediterranean culture.

  “Why?” Ioannis demanded, leaning forward in his seat. “Why! Why do you refuse the hospitality of Clan Themistocles?”

  Matt smiled grimly. “Because my onboard sensors tell me the stuffed grape leaves are filled with soporifics, the feta cheese is tainted with an addictive resin, the meat-paste is tinged with suggestive-hallucinogenics, and the bread is laced with a bacterial mycoplasm mold that could induce dependence and withdrawal symptoms—unless I eat more bread at regular intervals. Enough?”

  Ioannis grinned, then sat back in his Throne seat and glanced down at Eliana. “Sister, you did well. He is truly a Vigilante.”

  Matt killed a downlinked signal from Mata Hari, mentally negating her suggestion that Suit deposit a few nanoware gifts of their own among the woven threads of the room’s many tapestries. Instead, he watched Eliana and her brother interact.

  “I told you he was powerful,” Eliana said, looking to Matt somewhat apologetically.

  “So you did,” Ioannis said, lips tightening as he turned back to Matt. “What is your price for helping us?”

  “First, I need information.” He chose a businesslike tone, wondering if the games were over. “On the Stripper. On the current Derindl Autarch. And on Pericles.”

  Ioannis blanched. “Pericles? Where did you hear—”

  Matt’s glance at Eliana was enough. Ioannis stiffened. “I understand. Ask your questions.” The man’s fingers tapped impatiently on the Throne’s stone arms.

  “Where is the current Autarch of the Derindl?”

  “Autarch Dreedle is on Halcyon, south continent, Mother Tree Melisen, at her summer office Trunk.” Ioannis blinked owlishly. “Next question.”

  Matt nodded. Suit whirred smoothly. “Thank you. How many Clans make up Olympus Colony?”

  “There are eighty-seven genoi, or clans as you call them, in our colony.”

  “What is the current Trade balance of all the human Trade Clans—combined?”

  Ioannis’ brow clouded. “It is good. Details are—”

  “Are you in credit or debit status with the Anarchate Traders?”

  “Credit. Barely.”

  Hmmm. Very interesting. “Who and what is Pericles?”

  “A renegade terrorist organization!” Ioannis said, his distaste plain to see as he shifted on his Throne seat. “Briefly, they are led by one Theodoros Deliyiannes Spyridon—my distant cousin, I regret to admit. It is a group of old men who still remember the Pure Breed times aboard the colony ship—they were children then—and who feel humans are destined to rule the galaxy.” Ioannis paused, regret flashing over his face as memories troubled him. “We had not paid much attention to them, figuring they would die out soon. Unfortunately, over the last four years they have raided five Derindl armories, produced quite lethal bioweapons with which to attack isolated Mother Trees, and in general done everything they could to discourage the birth of crossbreed children.”

  “Like Eliana?”

  “Yes.”

  So. . . Pericles was now a prime candidate for the aerogel bioweapon attack on him. “Who is Creon?”

  Eliana blushed a pretty pink. Ioannis looked irritated. Finally the Despot sighed, glanced briefly at his half-sister, then back to her Vigilante. “Creon Theodopulous is a Pure Breed human of genos Karamanlis who became infatuated with Eliana, insisted on making a marriage alliance with us, and was refused by me as her eldest brother. His current whereabouts are unknown. Is this really necessary?”

  “Yes.” Matt glanced at Eliana. Her albino white face reddened to an even deeper blush. So embarrassed! She must really resent having her image of tight, precise control of her personal life punctured by his questioning. Now he better understood her comment to grandfather Petros. What else did Petros know about his granddaughter?

  Matt pursued the rest of his agenda. “How many full spectrum neonatal placental units did your predecessor purchase from Halicene Conglomerate?”

  Ioannis winced. “Nine hundred.”

  Incredible. That represented a huge investment for a small Third Wave colony, let alone a more recent Fourth or Fifth Wave colony. What were the Greeks of Sigma Puppis planning? How much of an increase in the crossbreed birthrate were they attempting? And why? “Is your Genetic Primary currently on-planet, in space, or aboard this station?”

  Eliana sputtered. Ioannis leaned forward, showing great anger. “None of your business! And I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew!”

  “Good. I had hoped some of you weren’t totally brain-dead.” The disclosure by a human colony of its Genetic Primary—the person who carried all the colony’s gene codes locked up internally, in a pea-sized quantum-effect memory device, since a physical repository could always be attacked by genome harvesters or sold out by species renegades—would be the last dying secret of anyone trusted to know who among them carried the future and the hope of the colony. “New question. Are you personally fertile?”

  Ioannis laughed, sounding relieved. “Yes. I also have two zygotes in cold storage at Mother Tree Xylene.”

  Eliana’s expression turned wooden. Why? Matt continued. “Do you have both Derindl and Pure Breed human wives?”

  “Yes.” Ioannis canted his head, curiosity overcoming his impatience. “Are you selling an anthropology primer on humans to the aliens?”

  “No.” Matt had very specific reasons for each question and for watching the two Greeks interact, none of which he wished to share publicly. “When was the last attack on the Stripper?”

  Ioannis groaned, the memory pain obviously something he’d rather not confront. “One year ago. Three hundred Derindl Aggressor caste troops died, quite horribly. No one has tried since then.” Eliana hugged her brother’s leg, comforting him.

  “I regret their loss.” Matt powered up Suit to full-Alert, preparing to head back to starship Mata Hari. “Last question is for Eliana. You plan to visit your Derindl Nest-mate clan, do you not?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking surprised. “What of it?”

  God, she was so politically innocent. But
at least she owned honest emotions, unlike her brother. “Do so aboard Mata Hari. With me. I have need of a local cultural expert when I meet with the Autarch.”

  She looked rebellious. “I can take a shuttle from Zeus Station downplanet. You do not need to offer me a ride.”

  “I wasn’t.” Matt turned to Ioannis. “Despot, I need her. For strictly tactical reasons. Your orders?”

  Ioannis grimaced. Then he looked down at his half-sister. “Sister, go with him. It’s not as if you go abroad without a male Sponsor. He doesn’t—”

  “—really count, do I?” Matt interrupted. Eliana and Ioannis faced him, she regretful, he masculinely angry. “Despot, I care little that you still practice close-control of your breeding stock females. Or that your males hold most important social posts. Or that most women are expected to remain in their family compounds—until married. She has a function to perform with me. That’s all.”

  Ioannis nodded. “Understood. Go, sister.”

  Eliana stood up, her manner troubled, her posture reluctant, then she walked over to stand beside and just behind Matt, with eyes downcast. Interesting how she now hid her feelings from him, as if what he thought mattered to her.

  Matt turned to leave, but Ioannis called to him. “Vigilante, is she part of your Price?”

  Eliana gasped. “Brother!”

  Matt didn’t answer, except with the back of Suit as they walked out of the Throne room. All through the outer office, past the workstation of grandfather Petros, past two bearded Clan uncles who looked protectively at Eliana, past walls hung with pictures of pioneer Greek families dominated by the family patriarch, and into the tube taxi at the Despot’s private dock, Matt thought over Ioannis’ question.

  The problem was—he honestly didn’t know. She appealed to him. She was smart, vibrant, and fun to be with when she wasn’t putting down AIs. And she, like him, was someone different in a world where social differences were frowned upon, let alone biological differences. This whole colony arrangement of the Greeks producing crossbreed children able to live in Union with the Derindl was adaptive in the classical Greek sense, but it went against the Greek grain of patriarchy and family first, trade second, and all other allegiances last. Clearly, the danger of living among Trees that would kill you unless you carried the proper Recognition Antigen had forced this choice on them.