“It’s owned by Leukos Industries. I—er—suggested that Mr. Leukos get with the Minoan-owned Hellas Nautikos, since they both seemed to be willing to invest in G-145.” Matt sounded embarrassed.
“I thought Leukos Industries did defense contracting.” Across the room, a Terran woman approached Myron’s table, obviously asking to sit with him. Oleander frowned. Where had she seen that woman with short strawberry blond hair?
“Apparently, he owns a small fleet of exploration class vessels. Can you believe it?”
Her eyebrows rose at Matt’s comment; how did he know so much about the reclusive Mr. Leukos? At that moment, she realized where she’d seen the woman speaking to Myron. Not currently in uniform, she was the Terran Space Force lieutenant who had been in SP Duval’s entourage.
Oleander tried to pull herself back to Matt. “Is this new ship going to map Sophia Two? I thought they decided not to put much effort into that planet.”
Across the room, Myron played with his utensil in his right hand and made a gesture with his left that indicated he’d be leaving the table. He stood up and departed, leaving her standing. Oleander would have chalked this up to his inherent rudeness, except that the lieutenant remained standing and stared down at his tray. The lieutenant then put down her own tray, rearranged something on Myron’s tray, and began to leave the cafeteria.
“Not Sophia Two—”
Oleander stood up, barely hearing Matt’s next words. Something about getting the Builders’ buoy working. This would have been heart-skipping news if she believed it could be possible within her lifetime. She made encouraging sounds of agreement as she casually walked over to Myron’s table.
The departing TSF lieutenant didn’t notice as she strode through the exit. Oleander looked down at Myron’s plates, left for the bus-bot. There was thick sauce on one plate, where he’d scratched something in the viscous liquid. The smaller plate the lieutenant had placed on top hid most of the symbols, and the rest was disappearing as the sauce succumbed to ship gravity.
“I’m sorry, but something’s come up.” She cut through Matt’s explanation as she followed the lieutenant.
“An emergency? Not more explosions, I hope.” His voice sounded anxious. “Be careful, Diana.”
“I will.” At the cafeteria exit, Oleander looked both ways and saw the lieutenant’s back. The hallways were crowded enough for her to follow without being obvious. “I’ve got to go, Matt. Miss you.”
“I—I miss you, too.”
“Right. Bye.” She hurried after the Terran lieutenant.
CHAPTER 13
Our award for having the gonads to be politically in- correct goes to Reserve AFCAW Major Ariane Kedros, for testifying she purposely left isolationist scum to die. Bravo, darling—and isn’t she a yummy morsel?
—Dr. Net-head Stavros, 2106.056.14.30 UT, indexed by Heraclitus 22 under Conflict Imperative
The Bright Crescent was still locked down and Colonel Edones was unavailable. When Ariane couldn’t get through, she called Joyce and reversed the charges. Even now, comm was frightfully expensive in G-145.
“I hope I can get reimbursed for this,” Joyce said dryly. He was in a private infirmary room, sitting up in his bed.
“It’s good to see you, too.” She meant it; his color was better and his profile said no more surgeries were scheduled. “Yes, this is business, so that’s why I went full video.”
“I’ve got no equipment, but I can give you a rundown.” He shrugged. “I can’t identify the person who held me down and drugged me, except he was a man and he wore a mask. Pilgrimage security can’t find a used diaper inside a cardboard box, so I don’t have high hopes of finding my assailant.”
The attack had happened four days earlier, but it seemed so much longer ago. She nodded when he said he had no equipment, meaning he couldn’t use military encryption. They were on an encrypted civilian line but according to regulations, they couldn’t exchange classified information over it. Regulations absolutely forbade the use of personal codes and keywords to pass classified data—but she and Joyce had been on missions where they had to throw that rule out, or they’d never have survived.
“Give them time, Joyce. They’re struggling with this.”
“All I can say is I’m glad you came by. Otherwise, I’d be in an urn on my way home, and the crèche-get would still be wondering what happened.” He snorted.
“Do I get points for protecting you, by sacrificing my body?”
“Nope.” He grinned. “First, I wasn’t awake to enjoy it, and second, it was really the Minoan warrior that sacrificed itself—or its gloves, I guess.”
“I’ll forgo the points, this time, since I got your package. I noticed it wasn’t finished. Nice photos, by the way. How are Sara and the kids holding up?” As she said “package,” she tapped her slate to start recording.
“Pretty good. I talked to them again today. Sara made an offer on that home, the one I told you about earlier?” He made a you- know-what-I-mean gesture. She did know: Joyce and his wife weren’t looking for a new home. Joyce continued, “But the owners want too much. They won’t budge unless they keep Autonomist citizenship and can raise their kids in the area. They also want a comfortable annual salary.”
“Too bad. Did they mention what salary they hoped to get?” Obviously, the “owner” was Maria and even though this conversation might sound a trifle odd, the analogy worked.
“Eighty thousand HKD per year.”
“Is the home still on the market?” She had almost everything she needed.
“I think so, but I won’t be making another offer.” He smiled wanly.
She stopped recording, because that was the end of the situation report. However, there were other particulars to address, such as what was happening on the Bright Crescent . “What’s with the audit? Even for an HQ inspection, I’ve never seen a ship taken offline for more than a day. For that matter, I’ve never seen this happen at a nonmilitary facility.”
“Yeah, a lot of ‘firsts,’ which make me suspicious. A team from the Headquarters Inspector General has arrived, comprised of a captain and two noncoms. When they came by to interview me, I got the scuttlebutt.” He grinned in a predatory fashion, but quickly became somber. “They’re just window dressing, to make the audit authentic. They’ve got no control in what they’re privately calling ‘the drubbing of the Directorate.’ They say it’s driven from the Senate.”
“Stephanos?” She remembered the veiled threats. “But why would he take down the Directorate, when his committee gave us special projects?”
“You got it backwards, Major.” Joyce scratched at a temporary implant in his neck. “They think this aims to discredit the senator and erode support for Pax Minoica, since he’s such a staunch supporter. Of course, the colonel goes down as collateral damage.”
Pax Minoica. She’d intended to tell only Colonel Edones about Frank’s allegations, but the situation had changed. “Joyce, I got a lead that may be relevant, from a source who should remain anonymous.”
“Is the source reliable?”
She paused to consider, and decided. “Yes. But there’s no hard evidence.”
“Remember, Major. We work in the intelligence field.” Joyce sighed. “If we required hard evidence for following our leads, we’d be working in Justice.”
“That’s a good point. It’s also corroborated by odd circumstantial data provided by Pike.” She hesitated, thinking about the insecure comm, but her only classification guidance for this information was to protect the source. “My informant suspects Abram had funding, perhaps even direction, out of Overlord Six. Additionally, there’s a suspicious amount of comm traffic going from Priamos to District Six worlds, although Pike cautioned me that this traffic could be misleading. The third oddity: Abram’s men might have encountered Builder technology before they came to G-145.”
She watched Joyce commit her words to memory. His eyebrows went up. “What about the other Overlords? Do we have an o
bligation to tell the Tribunal about this?”
“Don’t know about the other Overlords. As for the ICT, we could insist SP Duval recuse himself, since he works for Six.”
“Pax Minoica is really circling the crapper if this ICT is a sham.”
“Our research push in this system might also be a joke if Six found Builder technology.” She cocked her head as a thought zipped through her mind. “But I can’t see the Minoans helping Overlord Six by handing over a translator. Maybe our alien oversight has been cooperative because they think we’ve finally got a true interstellar operation at Beta Priamos.” Thoughts cascaded and sparked others. If the Minoans wanted Aether Exploration before they’d provide assistance, then we employees looked like impediments to progress, at least while we sat on the Pilgrimage. Was that justification for someone to make attempts on our lives, or our ship? That seemed ridiculous; more likely, Aether Exploration would be seen as a bunch of alien-loving traitors to the human race—once again, enough reason to plant explosives?
“Hmm—never credit Minoans with altruistic motives,” Joyce said. “But what if the League is splintering? How will the Minoans react?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been wondering how the TSF behaves during Overlord conflict. There’s Space Force support for both SP Duval and SP Parmet—and which way will they jump?” She paused and Joyce waited. “At this point, let’s keep each other updated and, when you get the chance, pass this on privately to the colonel. If not the colonel, perhaps the senator?”
“The colonel’s restricted to the ship and the senator goes from the ICT hearings straight to the ship. Neither are approachable without going through some useless political straphanger,” Joyce said. “And I don’t think I can even board the Bright Crescent, under lockdown, without permission.”
“Can you get a message to Captain Floros?”
“They’ve got her tied up on the ship for hearings, testimony, analysis, whatever. . . . Maybe.”
“How about Lieutenant Oleander? Matt spoke with her recently, so they’re allowing her off the ship.”
“The weapons officer?” Puzzlement flitted over Joyce’s face.
“The colonel appointed Lieutenant Oleander to a provisional spot in the Directorate.” She realized Joyce had missed quite a bit while he was laid up.
“She’s new to Intelligence.”
“Yeah, but that might be why she’s allowed to stroll off the ship, like the operations personnel. You got to work with what you’ve got, Sergeant.”
After a bit of grumbling and symbolic back-slapping, they cut the call.
Ariane stayed in her quarters on Aether’s Touch and jotted down some notes. She still had her original mission, the possibly defecting Maria. Joyce had given her the keys to Maria’s demands, using the fake house-buying story. She tapped her console thoughtfully.
It sounds like Maria wants to have children. The background file said Maria was bisexual, but that didn’t affect the human urge to procreate and raise children. What did stand in Maria’s way was the Terran League itself, which practiced strict eugenic controls. Accidental pregnancies were prevented by state-applied birth control implants that lasted years, with the additional threat of withholding citizenship from unapproved progeny. Citizenship was the only way to have health care, but it was that same health care system with which Maria had run afoul: She wasn’t allowed to have children due to Tantor’s Sun disease, which she’d contracted in a battle near Tantor. This disease incurred a measurable genetic mutation that would be found in all of her eggs.
On Autonomist worlds, the mutation was considered benign and could be removed from the egg, if parents wished, before fertilization. Besides, on any Autonomist world, Maria would be able to have her birth control implant removed and she could breed—like a bunny, if she wanted.
Ariane shut down her slate. This sleep shift she was staying in her quarters. Aether’s Touch was home by now, and she sighed with pleasure as she got into bed.
As she drifted off to sleep, she considered Maria’s hope for becoming an Autonomist citizen. Unfortunately, it didn’t mesh with the Directorate’s wish that Maria remain as an informant in place. Maria’s double misfortune was that she’d kidnapped Ariane for torture and possible execution, so Ariane was the last person who’d sympathize with her situation.
The corridors were crowded on the recreation level of the Pilgrimage, so Oleander could be inconspicuous as she followed the Terran lieutenant. Luckily, she looked back only once, and Oleander drifted into another group of Autonomists, obvious by their bright clothes. This group of freighter crew members were clustered near the entrance of a rec room. They held drink packs and offered one to Oleander, but she shook her head with a smile.
The Terran lieutenant arrived at her destination, ducking into a package drop and storage center. A moment later, Oleander entered behind her.
Following Autonomist privacy laws, the Pilgrimage had opted to have no surveillance inside the center, other than at the doors. To Oleander’s left, it looked like a miniature locker room, with lockers large enough to hang clothes or large packages. The other side of the center undulated with curved bays of smaller locked boxes. Half the bays were used by Pilgrimage crew members for physical post, such as parcels. The other bays held temporary storage and drop-boxes rented on a one-time basis or for as long as several years.
There were thirty people, maybe more, in the storage center. The Terran lieutenant stood in the first bay and, after noting the box location, Oleander walked past that bay into the next one. She roved along the wall, as if trying to find a box number and moved around the edge of the bay to peek at the lieutenant, who reached into a small box and pocketed something. Oleander turned back to peruse the storage wall as the Terran lieutenant left the center.
Oleander went to look at the box opened by the lieutenant. Whatever the Terran had picked up, it was thin enough to put into her stretchy jumpsuit pocket and yet not bulge. Any data storage could fit that requirement, being small, often carried subcutaneously—although the Terrans were only beginning to use implants.
The box could be opened by thumbprint, voiceprint, or by entering a code, since it could be rented for one-time use. She made note of the box number, but wondered what she could do with it. Even if she could prove Myron left something for the Terran lieutenant, she’d never convince the Pilgrimage crew to release records on the storage box.
She walked out of the drop and storage center, and turned into the shop promenade the Pilgrimage had established for the couple of years it would operate inside G- 145. They had also upgraded this area with nodes and ComNet access. Walking slowly by the storefronts, she wondered if her suspicions were warranted and if so, whom she could burden with them. Her first thought was Floros, who was a genius with data systems, but she hadn’t seen the brusque captain since the ship audit began.
Her ear bug beeped with a call. It was probably Matt; she pushed the switch behind her jaw to activate her implanted mike. “Lieutenant Oleander here.”
“This is Master Sergeant Joyce, ma’am. I was wondering if you’d have time to drop by the infirmary.”
She smiled at the convenience; her answer had actually called her. “Certainly, Sergeant. You’re just the person I need to see.”
Ariane was indulging in her wake-up cup of Hellas-grown Kaffi, savoring the aroma, when Matt’s excited voice came over the internal comm.
“Hey, you got to see this!”
Her quick glance at system vitals, displayed above the galley’s countertop, convinced her there was no emergency with ship. Combined with the fact that Matt sounded half his age, she continued to calmly sip her hot drink as she tapped a command on the bulkhead beside the system display.
“Ari?” Matt was in the protected array compartment, according to the ship’s systems. “Look at this.”
“What?” Her question was answered when she pulled up the displays Matt was browsing. “Has the Pytheas arrived already?”
“It dock
ed at the Pilgrimage about four hours ago. It’ll be here in about twenty hours, depending upon the crew rest they take. What a beauty—and is it equipped! It carries one of the largest ship-based telescopes available, as well as six specialized antennas.”
A view port opened for face-to-face; she hadn’t seen Matt bubbling with this much enthusiasm for a long time. Taking a sip of Kaffi to hide her smile, she stopped him with a dry comment. “Watch out.”
“Why?”
“Your antenna envy is showing.”
He chuckled. “I admit that I’m gushing like a kid with his first crush, but this ship is amazing!”
“It’s a third-wave exploration vessel, so its price tag should be—”
“Yeah, it’s three orders of magnitude over the value of Aether’s Touch. It requires three crew members to run it in real-space, not counting the scientific mission crew.” He whistled as he posted more schematics.
“I thought your finance consultant Carmen said nobody’s making loans for G-145 research. How did Leukos Industries finance this, or insure that crew?”
“I didn’t ask too many questions.” Matt shrugged his shoulders. “Leukos himself is underwriting the life, medical, and disability insurance for the crew. He might be financing everything. Maybe it’s because of you—but I don’t care.”
“Maybe you should care. Leukos isn’t known for effusive acts of charity. He’s been described as ruthless in his business dealings.” She took another sip and watched Matt display more “beauty shots” of the Pytheas. It did look amazing and she hoped Brandon, aka Leukos, wasn’t going to use it as leverage against her. She wouldn’t be beholden to him and, in an effort to counteract Matt’s giddiness, she added, “Too bad they’re going to tear its referential engine out in the next couple of months.”
“Could happen much faster than that. Come on, we’ve got briefings in less than an hour, followed by another scintillating meeting with Contractor Director.” Matt winked and made shooing motions.
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