Pathfinder

by Laura E. Reeve

  “I’ve got an antigrav harness, but I don’t recommend using it.” Daren’s voice was close behind Matt, making him start. “Antigrav can make even a sober person puke. Luckily, she’s small enough to carry.”

  “She can walk.” Matt glanced at the time on his sleeve, hoping to get back to the ship before Diana woke. “I’ll need some water.”

  Daren shook his head as he placed the water pack on the bar. “At the best, she’ll be in a blackout.”

  “I’ve never seen her have a blackout,” Matt said grimly. He wished he could get some answers, himself, to Ari’s strange physiology.

  “Considering what she drank—”

  Matt jerked his head, telling Daren to mind his own business. He shook Ari’s shoulder and she groaned.

  “Matt? Wha’s happening?”

  He shoved the water into her hand as answer, helping her get her head up and dribble water into her mouth. Ari could drink enough alcohol to kill the Great Bull, and still be able to stagger to the ship. But, by experience, he knew her recovery wouldn’t be pretty.

  “Thanks.” After a few swallows, she became intelligible.

  “Come on, let’s get you home.” He meant Aether’s Touch, of course. He got her standing.

  “Amazing,” Daren muttered.

  Matt thought he had everything working smoothly as he propelled Ari toward the door—until she saw Warrior Commander. She suddenly resisted, planting her feet firmly and swinging them both around to face the Minoan. By Gaia, she was strong.

  “Warrior Commander!” Ari’s voice was belligerent.

  Warrior Commander stood. Uh-oh. Matt tugged Ari, but she was as immovable as rock.

  “Ready to tell me why you’re following me?” She shook off Matt and stepped forward, folding her arms. Warrior Commander started winding through the empty tables, gliding silently.

  As the Minoan came closer, Matt’s heart began to race. “Ari, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Too many secrets.” Her voice was ragged. “What are you hiding, Warrior Commander?”

  While this wasn’t the time to vent, he understood Ari’s sentiments. Everyone was scrambling to hide their vulnerabilities: The Terrans had lost control of a temporal-distortion weapon, both Terrans and Autonomists had revealed classified agreements with generational ship lines, and those ship lines couldn’t protect their crews or the solar systems where they had temporary sovereignty.

  Everyone concerned had requested the ComNet coverage of the ICT be heavily censored. Everyone included the Minoans; even they weren’t exempt from this frantic cover-your-ass chaos. His gaze went to the approaching Minoan, remembering how the Minoan ship took damage after N-space swallowed the temporal-distortion weapon. David Ray and Matt suspected this Warrior Commander was a replacement, and the first Minoan warrior was—what? Recalled? Mundane human weapons had never been able to do bodily harm to a Minoan, as far as they knew.

  “Leave them their secrets, Ari.” Matt was uneasy. I’m one of only two humans who witnessed a damaging blow to a Minoan ship. He never thought the Minoans would consider him a threat to their security, but this could explain the restrictive nondisclosure agreements in the contract they’d offered Aether Exploration.

  Warrior Commander stopped several paces away. Ari faced the black horned figure, nearly twice her height, and didn’t even twitch. Matt thought of a shore scene he’d watched, where unstoppable seawater beat tirelessly, forever, on an immovable boulder.

  “You’re cleaning up, just like the rest of us. Aren’t you?” Ari sounded more deranged than drunk.

  The Minoan nodded, slowly and fractionally.

  Matt grabbed Ari’s arm and pulled, this time getting a response. “You need rest.”

  “Yeah. I don’t feel so good.” Her face was paling.

  “That’s no surprise. Will the warrior follow you home?”

  “Doubt it.” Ari looked like she needed to puke.

  Warrior Commander didn’t follow. Matt hurried Ari through the Pilgrimage’s corridors, his arm around her waist, half carrying her. She had three hours to sober up and get back to uniformed duty. Please, St. Darius, let me get her on the ship before Diana wakes up. For some reason, he didn’t want Diana to see her like this.

  CHAPTER 3

  In contrast to others I won’t name, we have not publicized casualty counts nor maintained a “death toll ticker.” The factual reports of Ura-Guinn’s coronal mass emissions, as we capture them sixteen years later, are horrendous enough for viewers to make their own conclusions.

  —Marcus Alexander, Sophist at Konstantinople Prime University, 2106.052.08.10 UT, indexed by Heraclitus 13 under Flux Imperative

  Ariane’s body convulsed and she spewed bile into the head. She felt the cool metal surface against her cheek. She was crammed inside the tiny hygiene closet on Aether’s Touch, where Matt had propped her into position. Her stomach made another attempt to vomit something, anything, trying desperately to rid itself of poison.

  No regrets this time. Too many reminders of Ura-Guinn. She had to do something to silence the ghosts rustling in the back of her brain. Slowly, sounds started separating from the confusing roar in her ears.

  “Atrocious behavior . . . She’s a Major, a field-grade officer. . . . I can’t believe you. . . .” Oleander’s voice rose, then faded.

  Matt’s voice protested. “Diana, he asked me to . . .”

  Only Matt called Lieutenant Oleander by her first name. From the sound, the two of them were walking down the central hallway and their conversation was resonating through the ducting. They paused at the end, unwittingly under an air duct that pressed against the deck above their heads.

  “Why would he ignore her behavior?” Ariane could picture Oleander’s puzzled face from her tone.

  “They’ve got an unusual relationship.” Matt’s voice held distaste. “This doesn’t happen often, believe me.”

  “You’re both enabling her—you and the colonel.”

  “Don’t compare me with that manipulator, please. Consider what she’s been through . . .” Matt’s voice faded as they moved to a different part of the corridor, but Ariane’s stomach twisted at the pity in his tone.

  “Don’t . . . just because you’re feeling guilty.” Oleander’s parting words came more clearly. “Anyway, I’ve got to leave for VIP detail.”

  After a murmured good-bye, Ariane closed her eyes. They sounded so—what? Normal. Untroubled by nightmares and hidden pasts. She envied them.

  Her body was recovering. She felt her metabolism rising to process the alcohol and she was ravenous. She sighed as she looked at her wrinkled uniform and the lint highlighted on the black. It was too grubby for the light steamer installed in her quarters; she’d have to take it to the cleaners on the Pilgrimage.

  She stood up slowly. Wiggling out of her uniform shirt and trousers wasn’t difficult for her, being familiar with tiny hygiene closets. The common closet in Aether’s Touch was luxurious when compared to some military ships.

  She rinsed her mouth and cleaned her teeth. After massaging in the pre-steam shampoo and soap, she stepped into the personal steamer. It could never compare to standing in a deluge of water, but she still felt refreshed after using the steam scrubber and comb.

  As she dried, she reviewed her messages on the small bulkhead surface available inside the closet. She flushed with embarrassment as she acknowledged Edones’s message. Her current assignment was already low profile, and she could avoid the Feed correspondents by rearranging her interviews. She tiptoed to ship stores and then to her quarters, where she wolfed down the concentrate bars she’d grabbed and drank more water. As usual, she recovered quickly once her body went through the unpleasant purge.

  After buffing every bit of regalia she could, she dressed meticulously and searched for lint, finally evaluating her uniformed figure in the view port. Her only criticism was the childlike tendency to her features, enhanced by her petite frame. Other than that, she looked every part of t
he controlled, disciplined AFCAW officer. Too bad it’s all a facade.

  Joyce was first on her “to do today” list, provided he was healthy enough to have visitors. She called him, expecting to speak with the infirmary nursing station. Instead, Joyce answered.

  “If you’re called to active duty, Major, the colonel must need me badly,” Joyce said from his wardroom bed, when she tapped up video on the bulkhead.

  His smile was weak and lopsided. She thought she was prepared, but her first sight of Abram’s work, up close and personal, shocked her. Besides healing from broken bones, lacerations, and bruises, Joyce had undergone several surgeries for transplanted vat-grown tissue and organs.

  “Very funny, Sergeant. I’ve been on active duty orders ever since the colonel verified the stolen weapon was in G- 145.” No point in mentioning that she remained in uniform because Edones was desperate for manpower, because the Directorate had to escort Senator Stephanos and augment his security. “Why are you slacking about in bed?”

  “Don’t I deserve down time after saving your ass?” His smile slipped, betraying his fatigue. “But you’ve outdone me this time. Saved the solar system—how can I compete with that?”

  “You get an award for taking the most damage. We all thank you for taking Abram down.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded with satisfaction. “Sounds like you debriefed my vigilante team.”

  “You’ve got quite a fan club in this system. Your exploits grow larger with each telling.”

  “As they should.” One eyelid raised and Joyce looked toward the cam-eye with a piercingly clear eye that might be gray or blue, depending upon the light. “You need a statement?”

  “I’m reporting on this unfortunate incident, which is how our leadership spins it. You up for an interview?”

  “Certainly. They moved me into a private room at the end of the ward, hoping to get rid of me.” He snorted. “Ask for directions at the front desk.”

  Once she finished the call, she made notes on her slate and checked her quarters. Everything was trim and neat. Loose articles were stowed out of sight and no personal items were displayed. This was a protective habit she’d developed; nothing could be determined about the resident, Ariane Kedros.

  Aether’s Touch was quiet. Matt was checking equipment status on the control deck. Short of sneaking through the cargo airlock, she’d have to walk past the control deck.

  “Ari, can I have a word with you?” he called as she went by. He motioned for her to enter as he ruffled his short, dark blond hair with his other hand. His gaze roved over the front display area as he stood behind the piloting seat, so he didn’t see her take a moment of appreciative regard. His strong, clearly defined nose and jaw were in profile. Not yet hidden by loose coveralls, his stretchy under- insulation easily defined the lean muscles on his generational frame. Glancing away and putting her thoughts in order, she stepped through the hatch, careful not to scuff her shoes.

  “Thanks for—” She didn’t know how to continue.

  “Don’t mention it. I suppose you keep extra Alpha Dress handy?” Matt looked her over and his brown eyes, usually warm with a friendly glint, cooled as his expression soured. It took her a moment to realize he was viewing the uniform with disfavor. Matt’s ire was about Owen Edones, probably regarding Owen’s recent recruitment of Lieutenant Oleander into the Directorate.

  “Matt, regardless of what you think, working for the Directorate is an honor. Oleander—Diana has to be an outstanding officer to be selected for the black and blue.”

  Why, for Gaia’s sake, was she defending Owen? Nonplussed, she looked down at the tips of her boots, buffed into a glassy shine. And why wasn’t she in her “military mode”? Ariane was too young to call her commanding officer by his first name, even in her thoughts. Her lives, military and civilian, were blurring. I’m Major Ariane Kedros. I work for Colonel Edones as an intelligence officer.

  “You don’t have to tell me Diana’s exceptional,” Matt muttered.

  She nodded. Oleander had to have top scores in mental, physical, and weapon skill tests; she also had to be one of the thirty percent with the capability of accepting her own vat-grown tissue and organs. Ariane figured this wasn’t the time to mention that Directorate qualification to her civilian boss.

  “I hope—” Matt’s face flushed. “We aren’t making you uncomfortable, are we? When Diana stays here on the ship.”

  “No, of course not. I’m used to crowded living,” she replied quickly. She was happy for Matt and Oleander. Honestly happy. Those minor jabs of envy were only reminders of what she’d lost; she’d never feel the heady innocence of new love again. As for the tight quarters and lack of privacy, she’d been in worse situations on AFCAW ships.

  “Just checking. After all, both you and Diana were raised planet-side.” To Matt, that explained a multitude of idiosyncrasies and erratic behavior.

  “I should get to my duties.” She paused. “Thanks for retrieving me. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  “Sure.” He ducked his head. He probably didn’t believe her hollow promise, but then, neither did she. “By the way, who is Tafani?”

  “What?”

  “You seemed to be rehashing an argument with this Tafani as we came home.”

  She’d asked Edones for a cleared AFCAW therapist, although Major Tafani wasn’t allowed to see the Directorate’s “Special Access” material. Too bad he ended up being a twit who couldn’t understand her situation. To be fair, he never knew the truth: her identity, military history, and the experimental rejuv procedures. While she considered how to respond, she saw Matt’s unfocused eyes come back to her. He’d already forgotten his question, obviously distracted by something deeper.

  “How long will you be on active duty orders?” he asked.

  “Don’t know. These were executed under emergency conditions and there’s no end date.”

  “You think you can get Edones to free you? Aether Exploration might have a contract, but I’ll need you and David Ray.” Matt’s forehead crinkled and his eyes looked worried.

  “I’m not sure.” With Edones’s manpower situation, she didn’t think it likely. “Perhaps we can talk about this after the arraignment at thirteen hundred. Send a reminder to my queue.”

  Matt nodded and she escaped his foreboding somberness. She rubbed her temples, trying to soothe away the minor throbbing pain that she, admittedly, deserved. She hoped she didn’t have to choose between her reserve duty and her job as pilot of Aether’s Touch. Giving her headache an even better foothold, Warrior Commander waited for her at the edge of the ship’s dock area.

  This was the first time Diana Oleander wore the black and blue uniform of the Directorate of Intelligence. She examined the light blue rank trim on the sleeves and checked for lint on the sea of black covering her body. The uniform had looked unusual on her, almost menacing, but she didn’t feel any different today. Just the same old Diana.

  One rumor about the Directorate turned out to be true. They said once you sold your soul to the black and blue, you never go back—to normal ops, that is. Colonel Edones had presented her with paperwork to sign at the beginning of shift that restricted her future assignments.

  “We can’t risk our core intelligence officers falling into enemy hands, Lieutenant. Signing this means you understand your future assignments must be approved by the Directorate.” Edones smiled impersonally as he handed her the slate for her thumbprint.

  Falling into enemy hands? As she signed, she wondered what risk he alluded to, and which enemies. The war had ended more than fifteen years ago. Perhaps, for older officers such as Edones, the Terran Expansion League would always be the evil foe.

  “Are the plainclothes missions that dangerous?” she asked.

  “Field operatives are specially trained and they’re the only ones assigned covert missions. You can train for such a position later, if you wish.” He glanced at her sharply.

  She looked away. Matt had speculated about
Major Kedros’s sporadic and mysterious missions. In particular, he was incensed by Kedros’s last mission, which had turned out to be extremely dangerous even though she’d been in uniform. Then there was the seriously wounded Sergeant Joyce, who initially traveled to G- 145 out of uniform. Apparently, one could be put in harm’s way, regardless of mission uniform.

  Oleander sensed those particular mission reports were off-limits. Besides, they were at the opposite end of the danger scale from her duty today. She smoothed her new uniform as she waited outside the airlock. Edones called this the public relations meet-and-greet, but it was a chance of a lifetime for her. How else would she ever meet Jude Stephanos, the senior senator for Hellas Prime?

  The lights above the passenger airlock turned green. After it was opened by the crew, the familiar broad figure of Senator Stephanos was not the first to step out. Instead, a young man with intricately braided long hair appeared. He wore an expensively tailored suit that emitted, tastefully but with a mesmerizing flicker, the latest fashionable color rotation. His thin olive face puckered with disapproval as he looked over the assemblage at the dock, then smoothed as he focused on Edones and Oleander at the bottom of the ramp.

  Her eyes widened as the young man lurched toward them. Some people just couldn’t handle artificial gee, namely “grav-huggers,” as Matt disdainfully called them. Even though the Pilgrimage was nominally one gee, it just didn’t feel natural to have a point source pulling you in a direction that wasn’t perfectly down. To compensate, the decks curved in strange ways, but they could generate nausea. The man’s expression indicated exactly that possibility and she almost stepped forward to intercept him, but hesitated when Edones cleared his throat.

  Miraculously, the passenger stayed on his feet and came to a stop in front of Colonel Edones. “Good—you’re here just in time. The senator’s bags are ready in his state room.”

  “Pardon?” The Colonel’s tone would have frozen the eyebrows off a more astute individual, but this stylish man was undaunted.