“It looks like somebody wants to get rid of key prosecution witnesses. Whose testimony could be as damaging as yours, Joyce’s, and Tahir’s?”
“Oh. I didn’t think about that.” Her knee-jerk reaction had been to suspect Terran Intelligence, not someone working with the isolationists. She had immediately thought of Andre Covanni, who specialized in assassination.
“Not everything is Intelligence skullduggery, Ari.”
Matt had read her mind. She turned and froze, suddenly facing Dr. Istaga. He smiled warmly and looked the part of an unassuming, middle-aged academician, but this was Andre. She was sure.
“Matt? How ’bout I get back to you?” She tried to smile as she cut the call.
“No need to stop on my account, Major. Just ensuring you’re safe. Heard about your brush with danger.” Istaga spoke in his usual snippets.
“Yes, word gets around fast with the Feed correspondents here. Thank you, Doctor, for your regards.”
“Terrible turn of events, this. Poor Tahir.” With his thinning hair and stricken expression, Istaga wasn’t a likely candidate for the war’s biggest Terran super-spy.
“Didn’t you visit him this morning? I heard you were going to be his defense counsel,” she said, watching his face carefully. Yes, poor Tahir, dead only hours after you arrive.
“The fellow fired me immediately.” Istaga grimaced, his tone turning aggrieved. “Restricting visitors was for his own good. You understand, Major.”
“If there’s no one to defend, what will you be doing next?” She hoped he’d be going back into Terran territory.
“I’m off to Beta Priamos Station. Offer my services to State Prince Parmet. Need to be useful, you know.” His vague tone and demeanor sharpened as he drew himself up and made two quick bows. “Captain. Lieutenant.”
Glancing to each side, she saw she was flanked by Floros and Oleander. Their three uniforms made an unrelenting wall of black.
“A triumvirate of Directorate brawn, brains, and beauty.” Istaga’s smile weakened as he watched their responding frowns. “Ah. I mean each of you has those qualities. Not to insinuate . . .” He nodded toward Floros, the bulkiest of their trio, and then lapsed into silence.
“Good day, Doctor,” Ariane said.
After the red-faced Istaga pulled back into the crowd, she exchanged a smile with Oleander, who started laughing. Ariane’s chuckle stopped when she turned to see Floros still frowning, her eyebrows meeting straight across her face and dividing it into perfect squares.
“That’s your candidate for Andre, Major?” Captain Floros asked. “Looks like your normal bumbling professor to me.”
“It’s an act. Besides, Andre could be close to retiring by now. And no—” she stopped Floros’s response. “I don’t have any proof. Just a gut feeling.”
“Some guts are more intuitive than others, to be sure.” Floros stolidly tried to cover her doubt.
Suddenly, Ariane got a call from Sublieutenant Matthaios. “Colonel Edones wants you on the Bright Crescent immediately, ma’am, for a classified session with the senator.”
As she acknowledged the call, she saw the dark horns of Warrior Commander over the heads of the crowd. Those in the Minoan’s way were desperate to move, but people could only squeeze about and frantically exchange places. The corridors were still packed.
“Here comes my escort,” she said with resignation. “Just in time for a meeting with the senator.”
Oleander and Floros gave her sympathetic glances as she left, probably due more to her shadow than to the unpleasant meeting ahead.
Intelligence skullduggery, Matt called it, whenever the Directorate of Intelligence became involved. Ariane used to call the Directorate’s stratagems games. For the first time, last year, these games affected innocents: Nestor was murdered and Matt was put in danger, all because of her mission. To be fair, neither she nor the Directorate bore direct blame for Nestor’s murder, but her stomach tightened every time Matt railed against the Directorate, wondering if he was transferring his anger at her to a safer, less personal target.
She wondered if she could ever make amends to Matt for Nestor. Making amends, however, became a fathomless task. What about the wartime comrades, murdered by her crewmate Cipher? Were they on her account also, because she didn’t discover Cipher’s deranged plan for retribution until it was too late? What about those victims she couldn’t save from Abram, such as Colonel Dokos? And their numbers were dwarfed by the casualties at Ura- Guinn, the deaths that couldn’t be counted for years, yet had happened so long ago. The ghosts in the back of her mind began to shriek that she could never, never make reparations; she’d always fail and fall short.
Gritting her teeth, she concentrated on the sound of her footsteps on the deck, or the faces of oncoming passersby as they quickly moved to the other side of the corridor. She glanced back over her shoulder. Warrior Commander still followed her. She turned off the ring corridor into the Bright Crescent’s slip.
“ID, please,” said the dockside guard, in full armor with exoskeleton.
She produced her identification and added her thumbprint for verification.
“You’re expected in the Mission Stateroom, Major.” His eyes flickered over toward Warrior Commander, who stood against the station-side wall of the docking area.
“Warrior Commander won’t be boarding,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.” The guard’s tone meant, that goes without saying, ma’am.
She noted his insignia: He was shipboard AFCAW security force, or SF, rather than a shock commando, an informal name for those assigned to the Special Operations, Infiltration, and Aggressor Units. The Bright Crescent had arrived in G-145 with a platoon of shock commandos, but the Status of Forces agreement with Pilgrimage HQ didn’t allow them to billet on the Pilgrimage III. To ease the crowded conditions on the Bright Crescent and keep the platoon within G-145, Colonel Edones had shipped them to Beta Priamos along with the three companies of Terran special forces rangers from the TLS Percival.
She suppressed a smile as she walked up the ramp to the AFCAW cruiser. Terran SP Parmet was probably sitting on a powder keg, with Beta Priamos holding aggressors from both the Consortium and the League. She didn’t feel sorry for him.
The tight corridors of the Bright Crescent were familiar by now, even though Colonel Edones had been mission commander for less than a year. Outside the Mission Stateroom, she found Sublieutenant Matthaios and the senator’s great-nephew, Myron, sitting on jump seats. Myron watched her approach with a strange sulking curiosity, but pressed his lips together and didn’t answer her greeting. Matthaios looked bored and miserable.
“Go ahead, Major. It’s a private meeting between you, the colonel, and the senator.” Matthaios confirmed her worst fears.
She gave him a nod and took a deep breath before entering.
“Major Kedros, reporting as ordered, sir.” Her salute was sharp and precise. She figured this was the time for formality, as she glanced sideways at the watchful bulk of the senator.
“Have a seat, Major.” After returning her salute, Edones pressed his thumb to his desktop. “Secure Session in Progress” traveled about the bulkheads and settled to flash above the doorframe.
She sat in an expensive seat that adjusted itself to her height, weight, and shape. Her senses ramped up with her tension, as if she sat on the treacherous edge of a pit of vipers. Owen Edones was hard to read, but she generally knew what drove him. She believed that, at his core, Edones was a soldier and fiercely loyal to the Consortium. Senator Stephanos, however, had ten times the political savvy of Edones, without the constraints of duty or discipline. Whether his word could always be trusted was under debate by net-think and a matter for history to decide.
“Pilgrimage security has finally admitted they’re overwhelmed. They’ve asked us for support,” Edones said. “Not only that—with the murder of a high profile witness plus the attempted assassination of a Minoan warrior, the Pilgrimage crew is so spook
ed they want to relocate Abram’s children to Beta Priamos for protection.”
“They think this is about the trial?”
“It’d be best if they thought that, and leave worrying about TEBI to us.” The senator’s deep voice didn’t resonate the way it usually did, perhaps because of the close quarters.
The war with the League has ended, yet we’re still caught up in intelligence and counterintelligence maneuvers. The thought depressed her. “What about Istaga?” she asked.
“The Colonel told me of your theory, Major. Have you any proof?”
Before she could answer the senator, Edones shook his head. “Even if he’s Andre, there’s no motive for an Intelligence hit.”
“Perhaps the Terrans don’t want their security gaffes exposed. And if this is about getting rid of Terran witnesses, State Prince Parmet ends up high on the target list.” She blinked to clear the mental image of Istaga saying, I’ll visit Beta Priamos—offer my services to State Prince Parmet. She told them about her conversation with Istaga.
“I suppose we can’t ignore the possibility.” Senator Stephanos’s voice rumbled. He propped his chin on his clasped hands and his elbows on the arms of his chair. He looked bored, almost asleep, except his eyes were alert and sharply focused on her.
“I don’t figure Andre for the attempt on me and Joyce,” she said. “There’s a distinct difference between a crude planted grenade and Tahir’s murder, which has sophistication, flair, and intentional drama.”
“Intentional drama?” Edones frowned.
“It’s a classic locked-room murder, which mocks us with its audacity and dares us to think ‘out of the box,’ if you’ll excuse the pun.” She smiled wryly. “I’m guessing Tahir was killed by a two- or three-part poison, with chemical timers. It’ll take forensic experts, money, and time to nail it down.”
“You’re not a trained profiler.” Edones sounded skeptical.
“Unfortunately, we won’t find an experienced profiler inside this Gaia- forsaken solar system,” Stephanos said.
“Go on, Major.”
“The other crime sends a different message. The device planted under Joyce’s bed sure looked like a Terran covert antipersonnel grenade, specifically an APG-thirty-thirty-four.” She paused and cleared her throat. The colonel and the senator remained silent. “So we might have two different perpetrators. One uses cutting-edge poisons and daringly makes the murder a public circus. The other is old-school, using outdated grenades that were standard TEBI issue during the war, who gets more physical, even—”
“Personal.” The senator’s eyes glinted under his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “You’re saying this shouts TEBI and I agree. Is this about the war? Ura-Guinn?”
“We don’t know enough to make that connection, sir.” Already prepared, she didn’t flinch when he mentioned Ura-Guinn. “But I’m worried about someone trying to sabotage Pax Minoica. Is our peace strong enough to stand a pissing contest between TEBI and the Directorate?”
“TEBI involvement is still supposition,” Edones said. “Nobody’s throwing around accusations, or urine, yet.”
The senator ignored Edones’s cool, dry delivery. “You handily deflected the conversation away from yourself, Major. Or the possibility that you’re the target.”
“And Sergeant Joyce?”
“Collateral damage, maybe.” Stephanos shrugged. “But let’s get back to you, Major. More specific, your shadow. Why are the Minoans following you?”
“I don’t know.” She shifted uncomfortably and belatedly added, “Sir.”
“Is it possible they knew there’d be an attack on your life?” Stephanos squinted, as if in deep thought. “But why protect you, and not Dr. Rouxe?”
“I asked Warrior Commander why I was being followed. Rather pointedly. They never indicated they were protecting me. All I provoked was a vague insinuation the Minoans are performing triage, just like the rest of us.” She didn’t add any more, remembering her drunken belligerence.
“Maybe they’re protecting a Minoan asset,” Stephanos said, pressing his implant and pointing for display. “Myron—who inherited my sister’s nose for money, if nothing else—found this contract being negotiated between Aether Exploration and Hellas Nautikos, which is purely a Minoan front.”
She looked at the fragments of contract displayed on the wall. Only the public parts were available to Myron, and by the timestamps, the SEEECB had only just approved it. Bewildered, she glanced at Edones, who appeared to be scanning the information for the first time.
“I’m surprised your people haven’t seen this yet, Colonel. The S-triple-ECB said it had the most constraining nondisclosure clauses they’d ever processed. They even sent it back once to Hellas Nautikos, requesting revisions.”
“Senator, I’m sure this is in Captain Floros’s queue.” Edones’s tone was cool. “I apologize for the delay in analysis, but I’m a little shorthanded right now, what with organizing the security for your contingent.”
She saw the senator’s eyes flash and narrow, but Colonel Edones could apparently get away with a few acerbic comments. The senator tapped his implant. “There’s something else strange about this contract. It’s one of only two contracts the Minoans have ever made with humans that name the required contractor personnel.”
Three names appeared highlighted in the view port text: Matthew Journey, David Ray Pilgrimage, and Ariane Kedros. She felt her stomach muscles tighten with tension and her scalp tingle. She lightly ran her fingers through her hair to disperse the prickling.
“You mentioned two contracts?” Edones asked.
“The other unprecedented contract was signed just a day ago, between Hellas Nautikos and the Martian offices of MIT, naming Dr. Myrna Fox Lowry to this team being constructed by the Minoans. She’s already on Beta Priamos doing research, so she’ll just change employers. Let’s not forget, however, she’ll be working under a different set of nondisclosure clauses.”
“Ones acceptable to CAW. Otherwise, they’d never have pushed the contract through our S-triple-ECB.” Edones’s frosty gaze met and held hers. “Do you have something to ask me, Major Kedros?”
“My employer mentioned he might have a contract, but he didn’t give me specifics. He wondered when I’d be released from active duty.” She kept her tone flat, not even sure what she wanted. Her current task felt onerous and came with the nasty side effect of arousing her ghosts. “I was going to ask about that today, but so much has happened. . . .”
Her voice died away. Had it really taken less than six hours to dodge an attempt on her life, show up at the arraignment, and watch Tahir die in front of Gaia and everyone else? When had she last eaten? As if on cue, her stomach rumbled.
“You could put the Major on plainclothes assignment. She’d be in perfect position with her civilian job,” Stephanos said, looking at Colonel Edones.
“No,” she said sharply, immediately discerning the senator’s purpose. “I won’t spy on my employer, even if my employer’s working for aliens. That goes beyond the constitutional purview of the Armed Forces.”
The senator’s eyes glittered. “No one mentioned the ‘s’ word, Major.”
“I won’t accept a mission that’s in conflict with my employer’s interests.” She locked her eyes on his.
Senator Stephanos looked away first. He rose, eerily silent in spite of his bulk. Both she and Edones stood, as well.
“Colonel, the Directorate of Intelligence has seriously disappointed the Senate, particularly those of us who support your funding. You’re supposed to be our best source of military intelligence, yet we had no notice of the security problems in the Terran weapons programs. I have to warn you I’m under pressure to perform a full mission audit of the Bright Crescent’s response mission to G- 145. That’s an intense, time-consuming affair and I’m strongly resisting.”
“Yes, sir.” Edones’s voice was colorless and he didn’t seem surprised at the not-so-veiled threat. He stopped the secure privacy shie
ld by tapping his desk.
Senator Stephanos paused at the hatch, his eyes flickering to her and back to Edones. “Another thing, Colonel. If you come under audit, the Senate will need assurances that you can control your subordinates and your resources.”
CHAPTER 6
Net-think has spoken: The reason Dr. Rouxe was murdered was to prevent his testimony, although no one can explain how he was murdered. Another shocker: Who’s missing a TD weapon? Here’s a list of Terran and Autonomist weapon storage facilities. . . .
—Dr. Net-head Stavros, 2106.053.21.32 UT, indexed by Heraclitus 8 under Flux Imperative
After Matt disconnected his call with Ari, the ship’s proximity alarm went off. A view port opened over the pilot’s panel and showed the reason: a maintenance bot was approaching the port dorsal area, using the standard stern approach. Its automated message said it intended to perform a hull integrity test. He called the Pilgrimage maintenance control center.
“This is Aether’s Touch. Can you explain the maintenance bot at my slip, when I didn’t ask for one?” When he could, he managed his own maintenance; he saved money and if the job wasn’t done well, he could only blame himself.
There was silence. Finally, the operator responded. “This is Pilgrimage Maintenance One. We don’t show you on our schedule, Aether’s Touch. What ID is it squawking?”
“Hmm . . .” He looked over the message header and text. “I don’t see an ID.”
Puzzlement was evident, now, in the operator’s pause. “Aether’s Touch, we’ve put out a recall to all maintenance bots, both internal and external. Did it respond?”
“No. It’s fifty meters and closing.” He double- checked the ship’s smart armor status.
“We’ve got an EVA-capable team in a shuttle. They’re at Gold One and can be at your slip in two minutes.” Even if the team members were inside their extravehicular activity suits, ready to “go EVA,” they’d be too late.
“Negative, Maintenance One. It’s encroached into my self-defense zone. I’m exercising my rights.” Matt’s fingers danced as he powered up the midsection rail guns. The bot was using the correct maintenance approach, perhaps to allay his suspicions, but the approach also gave him a clear corridor to punch it. The security system provided targeting vectors and he loaded slugs. He ordered thrusters to compensate, so he didn’t transmit too much force to the Pilgrimage through clamps and connections.
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