“Okay, all right, I’ve memorized the safety checklists.”
“I know.” She grinned, lighting up the control deck with her smile. “Do you think I’d let you pilot, if I didn’t? I trust you because you’re the only one who cares more about this ship than I do.”
“So I’m just as obsessive as you—thanks.” He waved her away. “Sleep well.”
She winked and disappeared. Once he’d adjusted the temperature—he liked it warm on the control deck—and checked all the burn parameters, he switched on Muse 3. After ten questions requiring complex answers, he was already tired of the pesky AI. Now he knew why Ari kept shutting it down.
“Once your company is licensed to develop artificial intelligence, what else will be needed before I can vote?”
“Don’t worry about that yet, Muse. There are plenty more tests to get through before you can earn right of individuality.” And many, many more fees. “Muse, I have to conference with David Ray privately, so I’m shutting down your input. Ready?”
“Yes, Matt.”
He didn’t want Muse 3 to know the hurdles that existed: Although he’d sent in the down payment, it’d be a while before he could pay for the entire development license. In the small amount of literature he’d found on the subject, the experts recommended he isolate the AI from the regulatory process. Matt figured that was academic-speak for “don’t worry the growing AI with issues where they have no control.” He wished he could have that protection in his own life.
He put in a call to the Golden Bull, asking for David Ray. This would be a real-time discussion, since the Golden Bull was only about ten thousand kilometers behind them. Aether’s Touch had passed the slower freighter near the halfway point between the Pilgrimage and Beta Priamos.
“What’s wrong?” asked Matt, when he saw David Ray’s face.
“There’s been another explosion on the Pilgrimage—triggered at the door to my office. It got one of our young legal aides in training. She’s in surgery; she’s got injuries, but they say she’ll live.”
“Thank Gaia and St. Darius. Will she need transplants?”
“She can’t accept vat-grown tissue, and they’re trying to save at least one leg. She’ll have to use a prosthesis on her other leg. Benjamin says she got off lucky.”
Lucky? Matt might quibble with that. “This means, though, that the miscreant is still on the Pilgrimage.”
“Maybe. Benjamin says it was a dooby trap, you know, something that’s triggered later. Obviously, it was meant for me.” David Ray’s face was pale and drawn. He looked so pathetic that Matt didn’t have the heart to tell him it was actually a “booby” trap.
“You can’t blame yourself, David Ray. That’s something I learned the hard way, believe me, with Nester’s death.”
“Speaking of that, I’ve got good news from Athens Point.” David Ray tried to smile. It slid down his jaw a little sadly.
“Nestor’s murderer?” Matt felt ashamed; he’d completely forgotten Hektor Valdes was being prosecuted. The trial had started several days ago.
“The jury deliberated less than an hour and came back with a guilty verdict. Sometimes the system works.” David Ray heaved a sigh. “It also means Athens Point Law Enforcement didn’t need that subpoena. They can no longer use it to impound the AI.”
“What did Valdes get?” Matt asked.
“Life, for first-degree murder. They had physical evidence from the murder scene, messages hiring him and identifying the target, and a big fat payment dumped in his account. Almost as if his employer wanted his stupid ass hung out to swing.”
“To dry. A corpse can swing, but an ass is hung out to dry.” Matt, having opted off his generational ship when he was young, was more adept than David Ray at Autonomist colloquialisms and slang. He ignored the other man’s puzzled frown. “Can they trace the money?”
“No. If Valdes knows anything about his employer, he’s taking it to prison.”
Meaning they can’t tie Hektor Valdes to Cipher, Ari’s old crewmate who fashioned herself into a lethal avenging angel. Cipher tried to take out her original crew with explosives and as far as Matt knew, the authorities hadn’t yet found Cipher’s body.
“I’ve filed to have the subpoena dropped, and I’ve started the AI development license application. Your queue should also have the nondisclosure statements the Minoans provided. They’re more standard now, allowing for better communication between the research contractors. I suggest you read them before you disembark.” David Ray hesitated.
“Why? What’s the problem?”
“State Prince Parmet requested a meeting with you and Ariane, when you arrive. I’m nervous about him.”
Ari never talked about the torture she’d suffered on Parmet’s ship, but Matt knew enough from his own investigation, plus comments made by Joyce. Matt cautiously said, “Ari has history with Parmet.”
“Really? That could help us.” David Ray sounded relieved, so he didn’t understand Ari and Parmet’s “history.”
“Ari met Parmet during a weapons inspection on Karthage Point, while she was on active duty. They—ah—didn’t hit it off.” Matt tried to sound a positive note for the biggest understatement of the century.
“Too bad, but I’m worried about his Terran tendencies toward governance, not his personality. The Terrans nationalized their scientific and engineering research, which didn’t help them during the war. What if he wants more control, or can’t accept our nondisclosure agreements?”
“Parmet’s authority over the Priamos facilities is controlled by Pilgrimage HQ, so we can always complain. I think you’ll find he’s more savvy about open markets than most Terrans.” Matt could vouch for that; Ari’s life had been saved because Parmet preferred advancing Terran interests in the free Autonomist market more than he wanted personal revenge.
“Regardless, read the employment agreements. We don’t want to piss off our new employers before we start,” David Ray warned, before terminating the call.
Alone again, Matt began to go through the forms in a desultory fashion and an arriving comm packet caught his attention. It was addressed generically to Aether Exploration, Inc. The sender hadn’t anticipated talking with him personally, perhaps because they weren’t inside G-145. He tapped the blinking entry.
The familiar Leukos Industries logo revolved on the display, above the acknowledgment of receipt. His throat tightened as he remembered finding Nestor hanging, with blood dripping . . . Ordeals he’d tried to forget had wormed their way back into his life. The wounds from Nestor’s murder were reopened, just like Ari’s kidnapping and torture by Terrans, and now—up popped rich, reclusive, and mysterious Bartholomew Leukos. Matt was one of the few who knew that Leukos was really one of Ari’s comrades during the war. What next? Would Cipher suddenly appear and use some of her trusty explosives?
Matt froze. You idiot, someone did try to blow up your ship, your pilot, and your fr—Sergeant Joyce. Someone’s “trusty” explosives nearly killed poor Tammy Jean Pilgrimage . And who’s always at the center of all the trouble? His fingers suddenly jerked, initiating an alarm in Ari’s quarters. It was time to drag the truth, kicking and screaming, out into the open.
Ariane quickly tapped through her new Feeds, noting the recent explosion on the Pilgrimage, which wounded a legal intern. She hurried up to the control deck, expecting this to be the subject of Matt’s alarm, until she saw the Leukos Industries logo on the message view port. She looked at her employer’s clenched jaw and said, “The message isn’t addressed to me.”
“I know who Leukos is.”
“Who do you think he is?”
“I don’t know his real name, but remember, I was there when Edones rescued you both from Cipher, and I remember everything said at the time. Leukos served with you during the war. Don’t deny it.” Matt looked angry and accusing; she’d desperately hoped to avoid this.
“You said my past doesn’t matter.” She dared him to deny his own words.
“It didn’t, at one time.”
“And now it does.” A quiver passed up from her stomach and tightened her throat, choked off her words. She pressed her shaking hands against her thighs. “You blame me for Nestor, don’t you?”
He was silent for a moment. Then his eyes unexpectedly softened with anguish. “No, Ari. I blame myself. I was the one who asked him to investigate Customs, after Valdes pissed me off.”
“You think you’re responsible?” Her relief mingled with surprise. She snorted, her common sense rising to the fore. “What a pair of idiots we are. Cipher paid the blood money, Valdes did the deed—yet we continue to flog ourselves.”
“That’s all gas into space; nothing can be done about it now.” He jabbed his finger at the logo. “But this message follows an attempt to kill you and Joyce, an attempt upon my ship, and a trap set for David Ray that almost killed a young woman. Leukos’s past is your past and I’m tired of making assumptions, Ari.”
His tone was sad by the end and her eyes watered. She recognized the tears of self-pity and blinked, suppressing the urge to break down and tell Matt everything. Baring her sordid history would risk his esteem and respect, which she’d spent years in building.
Cipher had risked the truth for love, and lost her husband and children as reward. You can’t share your life, you can’t wholly love each other, until you’re honest with each other, she’d said, while pointing a stunner at Ariane. Cipher’s husband couldn’t handle the truth and left, taking the children. That was her breaking point, after which she faked her death and started killing everyone who had been in the chain of command for releasing the TD weapon at Ura-Guinn. Cipher lost everything, even her sanity, for the hope of redemption, acceptance, and family.
Redemption isn’t worth losing Matt. Examining his familiar and angular face, she knew too much of her life was anchored by this man. Yet she’d already endured torture and risked losing Matt, to protect Leukos’s real identity. Taking a deep breath to calm her internal flutters, she thumbed acceptance of the message.
He didn’t stop her.
“Let’s play this message before I say anything about Mr. Leukos. He’s protected by Autonomist privacy law, just like me.” She struggled to keep her tone light.
The message began, showing a formally dressed thin-faced man at a desk that hid his crippling medical problems. Even though he looked every bit his age, she instead remembered the young, vital Captain Brandon Lengyel, crew commander assigned to the Fourteenth Strategic Systems Wing.
“Hello, I’m Bartholomew Leukos of Leukos Industries.” The recorded Brandon smiled, looking comfortable, his false identity rolling out of his mouth with easy glibness. Was she just as facile, by now, using the fraudulent persona of Ariane Kedros?
“I send greetings to Mr. Matthew Journey, majority owner of Aether Exploration, and Ms. Ariane Kedros and Mr. David Pilgrimage, minority owners,” continued the recording. “At Leukos Industries, we’re well aware of the recent events in G-145, including the credit freeze from the lack of insurers for your high-risk endeavors. Personally, I feel the risk associated with solar system exploration has always been high, and it’s shameful that insurers have backed away after they had to provide compensation.”
Her mouth twisted at the brief show of hypocrisy. Leukos Industries had ownership in several insurance companies. This was classic Brandon behavior: complain about the status quo of the current “system,” while he was doing enormously well by it. Even when that same scientific-military-industrial establishment had saved his life, after he’d volunteered for the risky rejuv process.
Her unflattering thoughts didn’t slow the recorded message. “Because of this, Leukos Industries is willing to extend credit to promising research and development efforts in G-145. We will be happy to consider any proposals from Aether Exploration, or provide contracted personnel toward your G-145 commitments. Thank you.”
“That looks like a business proposition to me,” she said. “There’s nothing sinister here.”
“Yeah, right.” Matt glared. “Who is he?”
“I can’t tell you.” Her fingertips felt ice cold. She crossed her arms to cover and warm her hands.
“He’s made scads of money from AFCAW projects, but publicly scorns the military. Suddenly, he wants to delve into G-145 prospecting, where Leukos Industries hasn’t previously shown any interest. Why?”
She ground her teeth. As a minority owner in Aether Exploration, she had to consider Matt’s point of view and he had valid suspicions. “Leukos was my commander during the war.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Matt leaned back and crossed his arms, mimicking her. “Let me fill in the holes. Leukos commanded a Naga vessel, you were the pilot, and that left Cipher as what? The communications officer, obviously.”
He knew much more than she realized. Her hands, covered by her arms, tightened into fists and she pressed them painfully into her ribs. Don’t go any further, please. They stared at each other, the only sounds on the control deck the faint hum of equipment and the tension of their breaths.
“I know, Ari, although I’d prefer not to go back to 2090, or talk about why so many Terrans want to torture you.” His tone was kind.
A roar rose in her ears and her eyes watered again. She turned away. Maybe Matt didn’t judge her, maybe he didn’t think she was a monster—but she fought the urge to shift her burden to anyone else. It took a moment for her ears to clear; she realized he was still speaking.
“I’m sure you wish you had the chance to turn back time, to do things differently,” he was saying.
“No.” She whirled.
“What?”
“I wouldn’t do anything differently.” Her voice was harsh. “I’ve gone over it, thousands—millions—more times than seems possible. Given the exact same circumstances, I’d still follow orders.”
Matt’s eyes widened. He said nothing, but she watched the crèche-get sensibilities rise in his face: the aversion to violence, the indulgence that everyone had to have empathy and good conscience. The same impractical sensibilities that left the crèche-get defenseless, allowing Abram to slaughter his way into and through G- 145. The same sensitivities that might lead Matt to believe she didn’t have a conscience, even though she did.
Her voice broke as she quickly added, “I still—I ask why. There were several Naga teams placed at viable targets for the—that mission, so why did it have to be us? Why did it take such a horrific action to bring the League to the peace table? But I followed my orders, and I take responsibility for my actions, which doesn’t change the guilt I suffer. Or the nightmares.”
His face twisted with pity—Gaia, how she hated pity—and regret, which was far better than the revulsion she expected. He gestured toward the final still picture of the message with his thumb. “And the reclusive Bartholomew Leukos? Will he crack, like Cipher?”
She took a deep breath, feeling as if she’d just risen from the depths of a crushing ocean. Reluctantly, she considered Matt’s question. “Leukos survives, I think, by shifting the blame to those who gave the release orders and picked the target. He likes to think that we, the crew, were left in the dark and perhaps things could have gone differently . . .”
Her voice trailed away. Matt stayed quiet, perhaps sensing that her mind was turning, forcing her to look at memories she’d hidden in the dark recesses. “The decision about the target wasn’t under our control—the crew must do as they’re ordered. What in Gaia’s name did he think our mission was? Naga was designed to carry TD weapons.” Her eyes widened and she met Matt’s sympathetic gaze, without flinching this time.
“It’s a defense mechanism.” Matt cocked his head. “It helps him get through the days and lets him look the Terrans in the face. What about you? You’ll have to manage a working relationship with SP Parmet.”
“I’ll be fine.” Parmet had already passed up two perfect opportunities to kill her. His wife Sabina was another matter. Sabina had gotten the drop on her and ki
cked her almost senseless in a deserted passageway, but she wasn’t going to reveal that embarrassment to her employer. “I can handle my job, if that’s what worries you.”
Frustration came back into Matt’s eyes and his lips closed firmly. “Sometimes, Ari . . .” He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s you I’m worried about. While I admire your determination to be responsible—which seems more honorable than Leukos’s coping method—you’ve left yourself no way out, no path toward redemption. If you can’t forgive yourself, you’re going to self-destruct. And when that happens, how many bystanders like Nestor will be taken out?”
Of course, he meant how many innocent bystanders. She considered her conversation with Edones and Stephanos. Matt deserved to know the threat.
“Ari?”
“I’m still a target.”
“No kidding.”
She ignored his drawling sarcasm. “I’ll get updates regarding the investigations on the Pilgrimage. I can keep you apprised, as long as you don’t tell Owen I’m leaking you information.”
“As if I’d tell that bastard anything.” Matt gestured toward the Leukos Industries message. “What about your old commander? Why is he trying to wiggle his way back into your life now?”
Her hopes whispered that Brandon wanted to be near her, perhaps he still loved the original Ari—but no, her logical brain argued. Brandon had made it clear that he didn’t approve of Ariane Kedros, of who I am today.
“You know Cipher’s body was never found.” Matt’s eyes were focused on her, waiting for her to nod. “Do you know Leukos blocked the military investigators?”
“No.”
“He also railroaded the civilian authorities into closing the case. No one’s looking for Cipher.”
She watched Matt and felt a sinking feeling in her stomach; neither of them trusted Brandon, aka rich Mr. Leukos. Inside her gut, lack of trust felt just like betrayal. “Do we need his money?”
“Not after we got an infusion from the Minoans. They pay promptly; none of that forty- five-day-accounts-payable-cycle rubbish I get from everybody else.”
Pathfinder Page 10