by B. V. Larson
“Your equipment,” I said firmly. “We’ll see if we can broadcast a signal that will infect their holographic boxes. It will spread exponentially in their massed crowds. Claver’s software did it—so can yours.”
Natasha’s eyes were big when they met mine, and she gave me a tiny shake of her head.
I smiled and nodded as if she was affirming my every word.
“There’s just one thing, McGill,” Graves said.
“Sir?”
“You’ve convinced me, but I’m not in charge. You’ll still have to convince Imperator Turov.”
I chewed that one over. “I think I can, sir.”
Graves frowned. I figured he’d expected me to groan and complain while trying to get him to let me perform this mission on the sly. But I hadn’t gone that way, and he didn’t know why.
“McGill, just remember—she’s not a kid,” he told me seriously. “Not even if she looks like one.”
“I would never make that mistake, sir,” I lied.
Out in the hallway, Natasha let me have it.
“James!” she hissed. “I don’t have anything! You know that! I’ll need a week or two, at least, to figure out how to do this.”
I pulled the Galactic key out of my pocket and handed it to her.
“What’s this? A seashell?”
“A tech present,” I said. “The best one any girl ever got.”
I explained the device and what it could do. Natasha was floored.
“The possibilities…” she said in a dreamy tone.
“Yeah, maybe later,” I told her. “For now, we need a tech miracle using this tech tool. The holographic systems are trade goods, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they aren’t native to this system. The locals really love them, though. There must be a rich world out there somewhere that sells these things.”
“There are billions of credits involved. That’s what Claver was up to. He was trying to duplicate the product and make his own, cheaper.”
Natasha gasped. “That’s illegal! They’re patented products, traded in good faith.”
“Right, sure. But he figured the Empire was crumbling and a businessman like him might make a quick billion credits off a scheme like this. With no Battlefleet in the sector, who was going to stop him?”
She looked troubled by the idea. She examined the shell-like object carefully. “I need to take this to my workshop and test it. I don’t know if what you promised Graves can actually be done.”
“It’s got to work—either that or all those people aboard that station are going to die.”
We looked at each other, and she shook her head. “I’ll go to my lab and give it a try. Wish me luck.”
Natasha kissed me on the cheek and left. I turned toward the lift which went up to the top of the stack. Turov had left the tactical fire control room and moved back to the penthouse module. I rode the lift upward, wondering if she would have a posse of legion regulars waiting to execute me.
What had possessed me to sleep with the Imperator? I asked myself that, and I didn’t have a ready answer. If I ever sat down with a psychologist and told him all my stories—well, I don’t think the prognosis would be good.
Turov didn’t have guards waiting outside her office this time. I suppose there weren’t enough troops around to warrant it. There was, however, another visitor. It was none other than Centurion Leeza.
When I tapped at the open door, the two women officers looked at me. They both stiffened, and I got the feeling no one was happy to see me.
Standing at attention, I saluted. “Specialist McGill, requesting a moment of your time, Imperator.”
Centurion Leeza cleared her throat. “I should be getting back to my unit anyway,” she said.
“I’m expecting a report on our defensives by 1400, Centurion,” Turov snapped.
“Yes, Imperator.”
Centurion Leeza gave me an odd look then slipped by and disappeared. I stepped into the room.
Galina Turov seemed to be much more like an Imperator today. She was still incredibly young-looking, but there was something different in her eyes and her manner. I knew right off that the shock of her death had faded, and her old self was reasserting dominance.
I’d seen this pattern before. When you first died, or if it had been a long time or a particularly nasty and disturbing experience, people tended to be in a fog of introspection after they returned. They might do or say things they regretted later. Bio people had told me there were neurological reasons for this as well as psychological ones. The truth was, a regrown brain had been copied and burned in with fresh neural pathways—but it was still a new brain. Sometimes, it took a while for people to get back to normal.
Finally, Turov looked up at me. “James McGill,” she said. “What are we going to do with you?”
My mind came up with a few choice retorts, but I held them back. If anyone was going to mention what had happened between us last night, it wasn’t going to be me.
“I’ve come to ask your permission to engage in a critical operation, sir,” I said.
“Really? I thought it was something else. Something more personal.”
I glanced at her. I couldn’t help it. She looked amused, but there was also a bit of underlying tension. She was definitely thinking about our night together on the pool table. I wasn’t sure what that meant. I’d been hoping she would have shrugged it off by now. No such luck, I could tell.
“Perhaps we could discuss that another time, sir,” I said. “I’m here to try to save millions of lives.”
“Oh that,” she said. “Graves sent me a text on the topic. Some business about you sneaking onto the station with a magic box. It’s not going to happen.”
“Why not, sir?”
“Because we haven’t got the tech—and it hardly matters if we do.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Think about it. If you turned every mind back to peaceful thoughts on that station, it would still go down in flames days from now. Once that orbit decays enough, the lower edge will dip into the atmosphere. At that point, she’ll start to burn up. There aren’t enough ships in the system to apply sufficient thrust to pull her back up again.”
I frowned. “But sir, we don’t know that.”
“Yes, we do. I’ve looked into it. I’ve talked to their engineers on the ground as well. Would you believe that they insisted on charging me for a consultation? Here we are, trying to help them save their own station, and they won’t give me advice on the topic for free. They’re an unbelievably ungrateful species.”
“Yes…well…if they don’t have the engines, how did they get the station up here in the first place? Doesn’t it have engines or stabilizers of its own?”
“To a degree, yes. But they depended on the umbilical for support and to hold the megahab stationary. The main engines were one-shot systems designed to carry mass into orbit. They were long ago cannibalized for more mass to build the station itself. Most of the rest of it was transported here from asteroids and the like and built in space, piece by piece.”
“Still, I think it’s worth the effort. If we could use Minotaur and their own shuttles—we could save thousands, if not millions.”
“Very noble of you, McGill. I’m impressed. But—”
“Look,” I said, stepping closer. “I don’t need much. Just approval and one squad. We’ll fly out there in a pinnace and give it a shot. If the rebels don’t respond,” I shrugged. “I guess we did our best.”
Turov thought about it for a few moments then shook her head. “No.”
“Why not?” I demanded in what was possibly a more strident tone than she’d expected.
She frowned at me sternly but then softened and answered. “The Nairbs are here watching everything we do. They’re passing judgment. I can feel it. I don’t want to be blamed somehow for what’s happening to the station. We could lose our status as local Enforcers for the Empire.”
“Screw the Nairbs,” I said. “
If that’s even who’s operating that ship.”
Galina appeared to be startled. Then she frowned. “That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Just screw it.”
It took me a second to get her point. I rolled my eyes. This pissed her off.
“I understand it all now,” she snapped, standing up and beginning to pace.
I watched her the way a man watches a beautifully sleek and deadly snake.
“This is why you can’t have sex with your subordinates,” she continued as if talking to herself. “I’d only understood it as a rule before—but it’s more than that, its wisdom from long ago. You, McGill, are a textbook case. You no longer respect my authority because we’ve been intimate.”
“Sorry sir,” I said, “but you’re dead wrong in regard to my motivations. I just don’t understand why you won’t allow me to risk my life to save so many. You can always revive me if I fail.”
“Your gesture is a noble one, but the answer is still no. You’re dismissed, Specialist.”
I paused. I was getting mad, and that was a bad thing. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. Words began to come out of my mouth.
“She suspects, you know,” I said quickly.
Turov turned and stared at me. “Who suspects what?”
“Leeza. She gave me a little knowing smirk on the way out. Wait a minute—you told her, didn’t you?”
Turov’s face turned red. “I told her nothing! And neither will you.”
I threw up my hands. “I’m just saying I think she suspects. She caught me on the pool table after you left me there. You must not have been gone for long, and—”
“Shut up,” she snapped, stepping close and glaring up into my face. “How can you cause me such trouble? I don’t understand it. Many men have opposed me, McGill. They’re nowhere to be found today. They have no rank, no power. They aren’t even in the service anymore.”
We glared at one another for a few seconds.
“I’m not trying to start anything,” I told her, softening my tone. “All I want is a chance to fix what’s happened here. No matter who caused all this devastation, I’m sure it was someone from Earth who killed all those people.”
“I see. You feel morally superior, and thus you’re willing to threaten me. I see.”
She reached down suddenly and began to stab and swipe at her console. A face appeared in response. It was a bio—one of the people running the revival unit.
“Imperator?” the face asked. The bio was startled, but trying to hide her concern.
“I have an emergency revival order,” Turov said.
“All right, sir. We’ll queue that up immediately. Can you give me the name?”
“You do not understand,” Turov said. “I do not want you to queue it up. You will replace the current revival project with a new one—now.”
“I—I don’t understand, sir.”
“Dump whatever is in the machine, damn you. Abort it. Recycle the current grow you’re working on and start fresh. Do so now.”
“Ah—yes sir.”
I felt a little sick. She’d just ordered the bio to kill a half-grown human. I gritted my teeth but kept quiet. I wasn’t quite sure what she was up to. At first, I’d assumed she was ordering a firing squad to come up to her office and finish me forever. Now that that idea seemed wrong I had no idea what was on her mind.
“Imperator?” the bio asked a moment later. “It’s…it’s done.”
“All right,” Turov said, looking straight at me again. “Now, I want you to cue up Adjunct Claver from Germanica. Do it now.”
“Isn’t he—?”
“Do I have to replace you, Specialist?” Turov asked, raising her voice.
“No sir. The change-order has been input and confirmed. I’ll contact you when the processing finishes.”
“Don’t bother. I’m on my way down to your station.”
She disconnected, and she eyed me with a mixture of contempt and triumph.
I had to admit at that moment that the old Turov was behind those eyes. Galina, the young lost girl I’d enjoyed the night before, was gone.
Turov had a plan, and even though I didn’t have a clue what her plan was, I knew it wasn’t a nice one.
“Claver?” I asked, stunned. “Why the hell would you bring him back? Isn’t he best left permed?”
“Because you can’t do this without him,” she said. “Who would be better to reprogram these crazy Tau than the man who scrambled their minds in the first place?”
I thought about it, and I realized that she was correct. I also realized something else. Claver was going to point a finger right at me when he came back to life. Every sin we’d done together was going to be heaped upon my head. By the time he got done talking, I’d have destroyed the umbilical single-handedly, caused cancer, and personally bioengineered six new species of houseflies in the bargain.
Further, I now understood why she was doing it this way. I had a handle on her, to her way of thinking—a threat over her head. Now, she was going to have one over me.
“I understand, Imperator,” I said.
“Do you…? Yes, I see that you do. Keep that in mind the next time you dare to contemplate threatening me.”
I heaved a small, internal sigh. Imperator Turov was back. The new version was as cute as a button—but also as mean as a half-stomped rattlesnake.
-36-
When Claver showed up at Natasha’s workshop about an hour later, I eyed him with vast distrust. He returned my expression—except possibly with more malice.
It was weird to see Old Silver with only a touch of gray in his hair. He’d lost ten years at least. I was mildly surprised to note he hadn’t been as vain as Turov in this regard. He hadn’t kept himself in cold storage as a permanent twenty-year-old. If I had to guess, I figured he was about thirty-eight years old physically. It was a far cry from fifty-something, but respectable.
Behind him were his hands, clasped in manacles. Behind them stood two MPs who had ugly mugs and even uglier shock-sticks in their hands.
Turov stepped forward, slipping past the men with lithe grace. “McGill, this is your guide. Make use of him. He’s been informed of his status, and I hope he won’t give you more difficulty than his existence is worth.”
There was an obvious underlying threat in her words. I could tell that Turov, possibly more than any of us, hated Claver.
When she’d left, I gave him a smirk. “You’ve got to be careful what you say around that lady,” I advised him. “I don’t think she likes you.”
“McGill,” he said, “I don’t like you, either. But I’m frankly amazed to be alive at all, so I guess I should shake your hand and put all our differences behind us.”
Frowning, I approached him. Natasha watched this, shifting uneasily. She didn’t trust him at all, but I thought that was silly. The man was tricky, but he wasn’t a magician.
When I got close, he made an effort to pull his hands around from behind his back, grunting and straining. He smiled a little sheepishly.
“Sorry,” he said. “I forgot about these things. Have the guards remove them, will you? I can’t do much work with them on, and I certainly can’t shake your hand.”
I smiled, stepped forward and reached behind his back. I clasped a hand firmly and gave it an awkward shake.
“No problem at all. See? We can still shake hands. And don’t worry about helping out. We need your wisdom for this job, not your hands. Just tell Natasha all about how you built the hacked holo-boxes and we’ll get along fine.”
As fast as his expression had changed before, it changed again. He jerked his hand away from mine and snarled at me. “Why should I help you? You murdered me. You murdered everyone—millions of innocents down there on the planet alone!”
My smile tightened, but stayed fixedly on my face. “Now, now,” I said, “you don’t want to be like that. We should start over. You’ve got a fresh grow and I’ve got the upper hand for the time being. Work with it, Claver.
Don’t get all emotional on me now.”
Claver tilted his head and stared at me quizzically for a second.
“I’m beginning to catch on,” he said. “You’re a small-time schemer, aren’t you? You’re not an idiot—at least, not completely. You play the fool so very well McGill, I was sucked in. I have to admit it: I was played. Wow. I stand impressed and mortified at the same time. Do you know that—”
Before Claver could get on my nerves any further, I interrupted him. “Enough chatter. Let’s get to business. Natasha, show him what you’ve got.”
I wasn’t a tech, but I’ve had a little training. Natasha had built a box with a transceiver in it rather than a simple projection device. It was designed to transmit a signal to other boxes of its own kind. The trouble was we didn’t have the protocols. We could simulate input and transmit it to another box that was listening for mood input, but we couldn’t figure out exactly how to get the other boxes to accept it.
Rather than bending my brain over the tech jargon, I watched Claver instead. I didn’t stare right at him, but I made sure his every move was noted in my mind. Thinking back, I’d seen Harris do the same thing countless times. He would position himself to watch a trooper carefully. When the man made his move, thinking himself unobserved, Harris would pounce.
Claver could see that he didn’t have any leverage, so he sullenly cooperated. His eyes wandered while he answered Natasha’s questions, looking around the room curiously. At last, they landed upon the shell-shaped key, which was tucked most of the way under a computer scroll on the desk.
Natasha had used the key to open up a holobox and to get it to accept new programming. Now that he’d spotted it, Claver sidled closer to it, turning his back. His plan was so obvious that I decided to have a little fun.
Long before he managed to reach the key under the computer scroll, I’d gotten over there and removed it. Standing with the item behind my back, I pretended to be absorbed by Natasha’s monologue about holographic projectors.
“I’ve learned so much,” she said. “These devices are ingenious! Simultaneously sophisticated and simplistic, I’ve been fascinated by their internal design. Patching a transmitter in here to override the receptors in other units almost feels like a crime.”