by M. D. Cooper
Brit stepped forward to shake hands, and Ngoba took her hand in both of his, looking directly into her eyes.
“Brit Sykes,” he said. “It’s so wonderful to meet you. You have an extraordinary family.”
His intensity made her uncomfortable, but Brit didn’t pull her hand away. His grip was firm and friendly without indicating any kind of threat. She wasn’t sure how to take him. She still hadn’t decided if he was the source of all Andy’s trouble, or his savior. She hadn’t decided if she should thank or hate this man.
“It’s good to meet you,” she said. “You have quite the club here.”
Ngoba smiled broadly, showing his white teeth. “I like to enjoy myself while doing business. I can assure you, we’ve upgraded security since your husband was here.”
“I didn’t know there was a problem.”
“We had a slight issue when your husband visited. Those events created an opportunity to perform some renovations which I’m very pleased with now.” He motioned toward two empty seats in front of him. “Why don’t you sit and have some drinks? We’ll get some food out here. Petral tells me you haven’t experienced comfort for some time. Although you made good time from the Cho, I must say. Very impressive.”
Brit shook her head. “Have you got someplace quieter we can talk? I’m not a fan of large groups of people, really.” Being in the club felt like an extravagance, especially when Starl mentioned Andy, who was still on his way to Proteus. She didn’t have to sit in a club and drink. She needed to set up the meeting with Yarnes and get information out of Kraft.
“Of course.” Ngoba nodded to the two nearest people in suits and the man and woman stood to make way for him to leave the table. “The passage to my local command center is quiet,” he said, and pointed toward a wall covered in thick, two-story tall curtains. “We can catch up as we walk.”
Behind the curtain was a door that led into a long, brightly lit corridor. Brit blinked in the light after the flashing dimness of the club.
Petral chuckled as they closed the door, shutting out the music. “The last time I was here, people were shooting at us.”
“Thankfully there hasn’t been much shooting since then,” Ngoba said, taking the lead as they walked down the corridor, “although there have been plenty of strange things happening since then to talk about. Has it only been two months? It feels like at least a year has gone by.”
“It’s been just less than two months,” Petral said.
“Damn,” Ngoba said, laughing a little. “But first, I want to know how my friend Captain Sykes is doing? How are those wonderful children of yours? How is our Lyssa?” He glanced back at Brit, indicating he wanted to hear the news from her.
“I think they’re doing as well as can be expected,” Brit said. “It’s been tough. It’s been—confusing. We nearly lost Tim.”
Ngoba stopped immediately and turned. Brit nearly ran into him and was surprised when he took both her hands, looking directly at her again. He was only a little taller than her.
“Your son,” he said. “Is he all right? I was so sorry to hear about what happened.”
Brit glanced at Petral, wondering what he meant by that. Had someone been sending him reports?
“We think he’s all right. We’re not sure. We also have an image of him now, a Weapon Born seed, and we don’t know what that means exactly. And there are four other copies that Heartbridge got off Clinic 46.”
Ngoba nodded. He gave her hands a squeeze and let them drop, not pushing the offer of comfort any further.
“I want you to know that you have an ally in the Lowspin here on Cruithne,” he said, voice gaining a solemnity she hadn’t expected. “I promised this to Andy and I extend it to you. Your children will always be safe here.”
Brit blinked. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
“I think we have entered the beginning of some very dark times and we’ll need to remember our safe ports when the storm arrives, yeah?” He smiled. He seemed to recognize he was making her uncomfortable. “Anyway, it’s not far to our little command center. You’ll have access to our communications network there. We have a holding cell for Mr. Kraft if he wakes. Or Petral can keep him in her locked cabinet, whichever makes you feel more comfortable.”
For the rest of the walk, Ngoba talked about the increased size of his fleet since the Heartbridge attack on the shipping lanes. He didn’t mention that he’d helped orchestrate the chaos, but seemed very pleased by the opportunities it had created to secure business connections between Mars 1 and High Terra.
“I might put together a board of directors!” he said, laughing. “Can you imagine that, Petral?” His deep voice echoed in the corridor.
The command center was a collection of rooms adjacent to the cargo docks. A set of narrow horizontal windows allowed a view into vacuum, where ships hung locked in docking frames and drones ran lines of shipping containers back to the Cruithne ring.
Ngoba showed Brit the communications console and she sat at the terminal with Petral standing just behind her. Not allowing herself to hesitate, she entered the security token Yarnes had provided and sent the communication request. Cruithne was on a return orbit toward Earth, so any communication between the asteroid and High Terra should have minimal lag. If Yarnes was going to respond, there wouldn’t be any other obstacles between them.
Brit was surprised when the response came back with a video request. She glanced at Petral. “You want to see what this guy looks like? He’s requesting video.”
Petral chewed her lip. “Video is easier to source. Hold on. Why don’t you let me sit down for a second?”
Brit gave Petral the seat and she quickly pulled up several maintenance menus on the communications console. Brit only followed part of what Petral was doing as she appeared to re-route the communication request through several nearby objects between Cruithne and High Terra, including a ship’s registry.
Catching Brit’s questioning look, Petral said, “Hopscotch. They should expect it, really.”
She stood and let Brit have the console again. The terminal thought for a second as it navigated the secure connection, then a window appeared in the display with a man’s face staring directly at her.
Jonathan Yarnes looked younger than she’d expected, with intelligent brown eyes and a scarred chin.
How many asses had he kissed to climb rank so fast?
“Major Sykes,” he said. He gave her a half-smile. “Apparently you’ve put yourself back on active duty.”
“Hello, Colonel,” Brit said. “Resuming my rank was a necessary evil.”
“Are you interested in coming back? Service might suit the circumstances.”
Brit nodded. “I’m going to give that serious consideration. We’ll see how you feel after our conversation. Are you in a place where you can talk, now?”
“I am. What I’d like to know is where are you? And who’s that standing next to you?”
“My name is Petral Dulan, Colonel,” Petral answered. “I’m an associate of Major Sykes’.”
“An associate. All right. That’s quite a dress you’re wearing. What can I do for you, Major?”
“Since you know about me using rank, I assume you have a report from the Cho.”
He shrugged. “Basic information. I know you have a prisoner you’d like to turn over the Space Force. What makes you think I’m the person to talk to about that?”
“You’re the liaison with Heartbridge for the Weapon Born program, yes?”
“I am.”
“I have information about that program and my prisoner has more information. I think the TSF will want to know
what this man knows.”
“Who is this person we’re talking about?”
Brit stared at the screen, trying to get a better sense of Yarnes. The problem was that she didn’t have time. If Yarnes wasn’t going to help them, she could use the resources Starl would make available. It could be argued that Starl might be the better option, anyway.
Starl couldn’t influence the TSF not to start a war, however.
But could Yarnes?
“His name is Cal Kraft, Colonel,” Brit said. “Until recently, he led operations on a facility Heartbridge called Clinic 46 in the vicinity of Ceres, where they had a significant attack fleet in storage. That fleet was recently seen in the vicinity of Europa, where it was scattered and one of their dreadnoughts, the Resolute Charity, stolen. Kraft was also present on the Benevolent Hand when Heartbridge attacked shipping operations at Cruithne two months ago.”
Yarnes blinked slowly but otherwise didn’t seem surprised by the information. “What would you like me to do with Mr. Kraft?” he asked.
Brit wanted to kick the terminal, but she maintained her calm.
“It’s my belief that Heartbridge has been engaging in experimentation in direct violation of Terran Assembly human rights protections. They are selling weapons systems that benefit directly from those experiments. Cal Kraft can prove this connection.”
“Those are strong allegations, Major Sykes,” he said, emphasizing her rank. Was he going to try and pull authority on her? Transon had said she could trust Yarnes. She hoped that meant something.
“I’m hoping you’ll help me do the right thing here, Colonel.”
Yarnes’ hard exterior faltered slightly. His gaze shifted to the right and left of his monitor and then he glanced down. He centered his gaze on the monitor and nodded.
“We need to meet,” he said. “How far from High Terra are you?”
“I think it’s best if you meet me here, Colonel,” Brit said. “I’m on Cruithne.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
STELLAR DATE: 10.26.2981 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Heartbridge Corporate HQ, Raleigh
REGION: High Terra, Earth, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol
Someone had tried to murder Cal Kraft.
They had failed.
It wasn’t me. I didn’t give the order. I waited.
In the ceramic-looking spire of the Heartbridge Headquarters, Jirl hurried down a central corridor lined with offices suites and meeting lounges. She was still ten minutes from the board room.
Arla was with the board now. They had been arguing about what to do with the fleet off Europa all morning.
As she walked, Jirl ticked off what she knew and what might become possible based on her current information:
The board members were arguing operational decisions, which meant everything had gone to hell.
If someone had tried to murder Cal Kraft, someone knew who he was.
If someone knew who he was, they knew he worked for Arla.
Would someone try to assassinate Arla?
Might Jirl be killed alongside Arla?
The web of possibility spread in Jirl’s mind, trying connections with various boardmembers, other companies, military contacts, anyone who might benefit from Arla’s death.
She also couldn’t stop thinking that Arla hadn’t said anything about a threat on her life.
Is she distancing herself from me?
The ramifications of a hostile takeover of the Advanced Research Division ricocheted through Jirl’s mind. Her heels clicked on the marble-like floor as she walked steadily, head forward.
Her thoughts kept returning to the foundation of her place at Heartbridge: that Arla was Arla.
Outsiders did not out-politic Arla. Insiders couldn’t.
The board feared her. The TSF and MP feared her. Even Chandra Kade, Iron Wall of the MP, respected Arla. Who was it then? Who would attack Arla directly?
Beneath remembering that Arla was Arla, she reminded herself that whoever had attempted to kill Kraft had failed.
Brit Sykes had stopped them and now Kraft was in TSF Custody. Did Yarnes know yet?
When she told Arla the news, it would be important to gauge her reaction. If she was surprised, really surprised, then they were still working together.
If Arla already knew, then Jirl needed an exit. She needed to get Bry off High Terra, seal off her accounts and get out.
Her heart hammered in her ears as she walked. Someone waved at her and she nodded stiffly, feeling like an automaton marching toward a cliff.
If Yarnes didn’t know, should she tell him? What could that gain her with Arla? If Yarnes did know, was that another indicator she was being cut out or cast away?
Jirl pulled the hem of her jacket straight to steady her trembling hands. Arla hadn’t given her any indication that anything was amiss. They had met for coffee and the day’s agenda as they did every morning. Arla had gone into the board meeting and Jirl had gone back to the office to handle messages. That’s when the update from her freelancer had arrived, gravelly whisper the same as ever as she recounted the attack on the club where Kraft had gone after the medkiosk. Then Brit Sykes had appeared.
“Took me a while to figure out who she was, but when I matched her picture with the TSF database, she popped up. She looked military. Fights that way. And when she took him to the local JSF-TSF spy shop, I knew she was TSF.”
Jirl spent another hour looking up whatever she could find on Britney Sykes, verifying that she was related to the Andy Sykes who had stolen their Weapon Born. Of course, she was. But the fact she had run to a TSF-associated facility greatly complicated things. So much for the Sykes family being pirates.
Ducking off the main corridor, Jirl found herself in an office suite for a subsidiary she didn’t remember. She found an open office and sat at a visitor’s chair in front of the desk, as if she were waiting for the desk’s owner to return. Folding her hands in her lap, she took a deep breath and calmed her thoughts. When her heartrate settled back to normal and she could visualize Bry as a baby—an image she often used to calm herself—she activated her Link and sent Colonel Yarnes a secure connection request.
The colonel answered almost immediately.
She paused, uncertain what to make of the warmth in his voice.
He laughed.
she said, trying out the most general location possible.
Something about his tone of voice made her feel like she could trust him. He sounded like he wanted to flirt with her at first and then he pulled back when he realized she didn’t respond. He wasn’t pushy. He sounded genuine.
He paused.
Yarnes blew out a breath. He hadn’t been flirting. He’d been trying to figure out precisely what she knew before he said more.
Jirl waited.
he said after a second.
A feeling of weightlessness settled over Jirl. She heard Arla telling her, We’re not evil, Jirl, like she was a child watching Arla dress an animal she’d killed. The inference in her voice had been: Some things are necessary.
Was this why she couldn’t stop trembling? Why she couldn’t focus? She had always been so good at centering her thoughts, finding what mattered and focusing. Arla had hired her for this reason. She could sit in a chaotic room and compose herself with her hands in her lap, listening for the vital details.
Since the meeting with the Weapon Born researchers, she couldn’t shake the understanding she had supported a machine that had built sentient AI from children. In turn, those seed AI had been made into Weapon Born attack drones, combat mechs, high-g ships, assault craft…the list continued to grow.