The medication coursed into his blood, giving him immediate relief as well as sleepiness. He had to fight that. After speaking with Lieutenant Oleander, he’d looked into how the Pilgrimage staff had handled their recent cases. It was a travesty of investigative procedure and he wondered whether Terran advice had encouraged the absurdity.
Likewise, the investigation into the explosives had stuttered to a stop. Pilgrimage security decided they couldn’t find the person who programmed the bot that had threatened Aether’s Touch, and they realized their explosive sniffers weren’t sensitive enough for the amounts used against Major Kedros, himself, and the intern who had the misfortune to trip the trap for David Ray. They told him the Pilgrimage would be retrofitted with better sniffers that were used for Autonomous security systems. That was good enough, right? Anyway, there hadn’t been any more incidents and Benjamin had resisted buying portable EOD equipment. When Joyce had suggested renting Terran canines, which were still the best detectors around, he’d run up against crèche-get principles, sensibilities, and myths. They believed that dogs carried dust and dander and they smelled bad. . . .
Joyce’s eyelids drooped. The damage might already be done, unfortunately. They hadn’t stepped up background checks on incoming contractors. Since they were worried about the personnel shortage, they’d let more than a hundred Gaia-b’damned Terrans with spotty histories depart for the Priamos, Sophia, and Laomedon facilities. Joyce was less worried about Autonomist contractors, considering that it was almost impossible to work and live in the Consortium without leaving a ComNet trail.
Then there was this Senatorial audit, requiring a lockdown of the Bright Crescent. It came at the most inconvenient time and Joyce sensed the stench of false coincidence. He also smelled something wrong about that little prick, the senator’s great-nephew Myron, who helped this charade along and gave something to the Terrans. Oleander was going to surreptiously ask Captain Floros for help in checking Myron.
Joyce had to examine the background of every contractor who followed Major Kedros to Beta Priamos. He’d have to coerce records from Pilgrimage security. . . . His eyes closed.
“We’ve got an exploration ship, provided by Leukos Industries, that we can enhance. They sent two support engineers who know the Pytheas inside and out.” Matt’s voice was eager.
“I don’t think those are the only enhancements they’re talking about.” Ariane eyed the Minoan emissary. “Am I right, Contractor Director?”
“If the Penrose Fold is adequate for transitioning into N-space, then we only need to decode lock and destination information from the buoy network, Ms. Kedros.” Dr. Lowry’s voice was acerbic.
“What are you suggesting, Ari?” Matt asked.
“I’m saying there’s a mental aspect to the nous-transit that we have to consider, not just the transition, the dropping out and in to real-space.” She knew N-space piloting, and it involved more than plugging numbers into a referential engine; Lowry only understood the theory.
“Slow down, everybody. Please.” David Ray made calming motions with his hand and tilted his head toward the Minoan, subtly reminding them to wait. Contractor Director seemed distracted, looking from Ariane to Dr. Lowry.
“Researcher of Astrophysics is correct in assuming your Penrose Fold is adequate for transition.” Contractor Director finally nodded toward Lowry. “The locking by the buoy will be different, but we will provide engineering plans for the referential part of your engines, just as we did before.”
As they did before? Ariane exchanged a confused glance with David Ray. Then she realized the Minoan was referring to their first contact with humans, near the end of the 1960s.
“What about compensating for other buoys in their network? Do you know their buoy topography?” Dr. Lowry asked.
“The Builders’ buoys are simplistic derivations of ours. They provide single endpoint transits.”
David Ray scribbled. Leaning over, Ariane saw “M’s gave B’s buoy tech?” written on his slate, at the end of a long list of questions. She doubted he’d get any of them answered soon.
Meanwhile, Lowry kept asking her questions. “You mean this buoy only allows us to go to one system?”
“Yes. You have translated the destination printed on the buoy. Soon, your automation will identify the solar system, as it appears from this position,” the Minoan said.
“Biological Temple? That’s what the symbols on the buoy translate to, literally. But what does that mean?” Lowry looked frustrated.
“We cannot apply nuance in the translation.” Contractor Director made a gesture of helplessness, with a wrist rotation that looked wrong. Ariane shivered.
“What about Ari’s question—can we get through to a Builders’ system just by changing the Pytheas?” Matt frowned and watched the Minoan emissary carefully.
“No.”
Everyone was quiet. David Ray shifted about on his stool, finally losing patience. “Throw the other boot, already.”
“You mean ‘drop the other shoe,’ ” muttered Matt.
“Whichever.”
“Footwear is irrelevant,” Contractor Director said, looking at Ariane. “I would speak with Explorer of Solar Systems alone.”
“No. Not alone.” Matt’s jaw jutted out, promising a stubborn stand. “I’m her employer and I have to ensure her safety, according to our underwriters.”
“I’m legal counsel to her, as well as part owner of Aether Exploration,” David Ray said.
“And we—we have to stay,” Dr. Lowry said, standing. “Right, Dr. Novak?”
Novak looked terrified. He hadn’t said a word since the Minoan emissary arrived. When Dr. Lowry called for his support, he’d already been drifting toward the door. Novak’s mouth dropped down. “Ah . . . I don’t need to stay.”
Contractor Director gestured and the guardian stepped away from the door, letting Dr. Novak escape. Dr. Lowry, however, stood firm.
“Explorer of Solar Systems takes the biological risks, as pilot,” Contractor Director said.
“And what about the rest of the crew that goes with the pilot? Dr. Novak, or I, may be on that ship, with many others.”
Contractor Director stood motionless and they waited. Then, with almost a peeved movement of its head, it said, “You may stay, but this information is protected, per your nondisclosure statement.”
Lowry nodded and sat back down, taking Dr. Novak’s abandoned stool.
“The risk of insanity to humans is high in damaged N-space.” With a graceful twirl of a jewel, the Minoan displayed “Proprietary Information” in red letters on the bulkhead behind it. “If unconscious and under your delta tranquilizer, human passengers can make the transit safely. Obviously, the N-space pilot must stay awake and have special protection.”
“Wait, please.” Ariane extended her hand, palm out, having seen the Minoans make this same halting motion. Picking up her slate, she thumbed it into another mode. “I’m going to scan for listening devices.”
Contractor Director nodded, but Matt groaned theatrically. “Don’t you ever get tired of being so suspicious, Ari?”
“I’ve learned, the hard way, that I should never assume I’m having a private conversation.” She walked about the room, thankful that she’d been able to keep her Directorate slate.
Matt changed his tune when she found recording pips under the two long benches, strategically placed across the room from each other. They appeared to be small raised bumps and when she peeled them off, they covered barely a quarter of her fingertip.
“Our lab was being monitored?” Lowry paled.
“Give them to me.” Contractor Director extended a gloved hand.
Remembering Warrior Commander’s treatment of equipment, Ariane peered at the pips carefully. Without a microscope, she couldn’t determine if these were Terran-made. Figuring she’d never know for sure, she extended her arm as far as she could and dropped them in the Minoan’s hand. She was right. Contractor Director’s hand closed tightly and
while there were no audible crunches, she knew the pips were destroyed. Matt flinched as the Minoan opened its hand, turned it over, and let the flecks fall to the floor.
“Do you think Terrans put those there?” David Ray asked.
“Possibly. They love to litter these things around.” She looked down at the tiny flecks of metal and plastic while her mind went through the list: Ensign Walker had intelligence connections, Parmet used to run TEBI, and then there was Dr. Istaga, as possible super-spy Andre. The first two even had bona fide reasons for monitoring the lab, under the auspices of station security.
Contractor Director began again. “Damaged N-space will be dangerous for you to pilot, but not impossible. We can provide a better cognitive dissonance enhancer, one more effective in preventing dissociative insanity.”
“Okaaaaaay.” Ariane leaned against the lab bench and crossed her arms. Not so surprising, the Minoans had a better version of clash. This sounded too easy.
“The rips in N-space make the nous-transit more disruptive to the human brain and will require frequent dosage changes. A human with an ultra-fast metabolism would be the best candidate to use this drug.”
She straightened, not looking at anyone else. The Minoans had guessed about her metabolism, or they knew about the AFCAW rejuv and its effects. Remembering how Warrior Commander had followed her around on the Pilgrimage , she figured it was the former, established through observation.
“Currently, we believe the safest route is to install a piloting enhancement, similar to your implants. It requires a candidate that can accept artificially grown tissues and Explorer of Solar Systems qualifies.”
Ah, it won’t be so easy after all. David Ray made a quiet gurgling sound and sent her a warning glance. Matt hadn’t looked too surprised when the Minoans mentioned her metabolism, but now his eyebrows rose.
“How would you know that Ari—er, Explorer of Solar Systems—can accept vat-grown tissues?” Matt demanded. “Only about thirty percent of humans can do that.”
“She works for the Intelligence Directorate,” David Ray said in an undertone. “It’s a prerequisite for that unit. It’s listed in their public recruiting material.”
“Oh.” Matt was only now connecting facts, including Diana’s recruitment and Sergeant Joyce’s condition in his considerations. His frown deepened into a downright scowl. “That doesn’t mean her body can accept alien technology.”
“I’m okay with—” she started.
“Not yet, Ariane. Please.” David Ray stopped her with a distressed, sharp movement of his hands. He turned to the Minoan and said casually, “I’m wondering why you wanted to offer this, privately, to someone known for having a self-destructive streak.”
Inwardly, she cringed. Externally, her face heated with embarrassment. She didn’t have to wonder whether David Ray was correct; she already knew. When she binged beyond safe bounds, she didn’t expect to wake up. There were all those dangerous missions she did for Owen, who had also offered her the risky rejuv that had destroyed Brandon’s life. Owen knew her, but she didn’t expect to be so transparent to David Ray, who had met her less than twenty days ago.
“Explorer of Solar Systems, based upon our observations, has the first suitable biochemistry we have found,” Contractor Director said. “Of course, the candidate cannot be averse to risk, and we evaluated the psychological urges behind heroism and recklessness—”
“Hey! I’m right here.” When the Minoan cocked its head, she added, “It’s rude to psychoanalyze someone in his or her presence. And remember, I’m the one making this decision.” She glared at David Ray, and Matt, who held up his hands, palm outward, in front of his chest in surrender.
“Ariane, they’re banking on your acceptance,” David Ray said, not taking hints as well as Matt. “They’ve stacked the dice against you.”
“The deck. They’ve stacked the deck of cards,” Matt muttered.
David Ray was right again, despite his butchered idiom. As the others waited for her to speak, she regarded Contractor Director in somber silence. The Minoans knew about Ura-Guinn; they’d seen how Abram’s stolen weapon had affected her and brought back her ghosts. Was it beneath their dignity to manipulate her with her guilt? Apparently not.
She took a deep breath. “We have to research the contractual and legal ramifications, because we’re talking about opening a new solar system.” David Ray nodded approvingly and she continued. “Acceptance of this work is contingent upon having a medical doctor, of my choice, examine your drugs and your proposed implant. We just moved Dr. Lee Pilgrimage and her lab to Beta Priamos Station, so I’ll ask her for consultation.”
“Of course.” Contractor Director bowed its horns. “It will be appropriate to continue under CAW exploration law. Aether Exploration is taking the risks and will be identified as Major Prospector to your S-triple-ECB, so you will be primary holder for claims in the new solar system.”
“That’s if this ‘Biological Temple’ system isn’t inhabited,” Matt muttered.
“We are absolutely sure the Builders devolved, Owner of Aether Exploration. There are no sentient species in that solar system.”
“You’re being generous with money and technology.” Matt’s tone was suspicious. “What are you getting out of this?”
That was a very good question, and they looked to Contractor Director for the answer. “We will discuss reciprocity for our enhancements later, when we draw up the contract.”
They got nothing more than that slippery assurance, because the Minoan ended the meeting.
CHAPTER 15
State Prince Isrid Parmet, the man who reviled CAW after the war and reportedly sent “reprisal” hit squads against our officials, gave his unclassified testimony this morning. I mention his history, because he hardly seems the same man. Even knowing what skillful actors the Terrans can be, I couldn’t help tearing up when he described how the isolationists tortured his son.
—Dr. Net-head Stavros, 2106.058.14.30 UT, indexed by Heraclitus 9 under Conflict Imperative
Lieutenant Oleander flagged down Captain Floros near the galley hatch, before the first-shift review board.
“Hey, Captain,” she beckoned, offering an open steaming drink pack of Kaffi. “Buy you a coffee?”
Floros checked the time and stepped into the galley. She took the drink, sniffed, and had a long savoring sip.
“Hellas Kaffi.” The burly captain sighed. “You must have gotten this on the Pilgrimage.”
“I figured you’d like something better than generic.” Oleander glanced meaningfully at the nearest node, and gestured toward two counter seats. Floros joined her and laid her slate on the counter.
“These boards have been brutal.” Floros’s mouth twitched, but couldn’t manage a smile. “I’m barely getting enough sleep these days.”
“Almost by design, isn’t it?” Oleander said, jokingly, as she pressed her wrist implant interface and casually put her hand on the counter, next to Floros’s slate. “I’ve been called in front of the board at ten thirty. They’re going to ask about the missiles we shot off during the mission.”
“Don’t worry. You followed orders and checklists—so just tell the truth. Once I finish up this morning, I’ll finally get some shore time.” Floros never looked down at her slate, where Oleander was using near- field transfer of a message from her implant. It was the low-tech equivalent of passing a note in class and Oleander hoped she didn’t look like a guilty schoolgirl.
“Thanks for the coffee, Young Flower.” Floros held the coffee up. “Got to go.”
“You’re welcome—ah—Prickly Cactus,” Oleander called to Floros’s broad back as she hurried away.
She grinned as she walked to the kiosk and got herself a fruit juice. Sergeant Joyce said they had to get Captain Floros on the job, because if Myron made extra copies of data from the Bright Crescent, Floros might be able to track it. The message she’d loaded on Floros’s slate explained their suspicions and asked for her support.<
br />
There was something else Sergeant Joyce needed. Oleander headed for the day officer, from where all administrative and mission orders emanated.
“Hello, Lieutenant.” Chief Master Sergeant Serafin stepped out of the hatch that read DAY OFFICER, as Oleander arrived.
“On control deck today, Chief?” Oleander said. Serafin ran the tactical assessment station.
“Haven’t you heard? We’ve been taken off op-status.” Serafin ran her fingers through her short salt-and-pepper hair. “I’ve got some unhappy people downstairs in Tactical and Weapons.”
Oleander nodded in sympathy. Everyone took a pay cut when taken off operational status, but the noncoms and soldier-grade were the hardest hit. And being here in the boondocks, where nothing was cheap, was even more punishing.
“Congratulations on the career move, although I’m sorry to see a good weapons officer go to the black and blue.” Serafin smiled.
“Can I quote you when I see Colonel Edones?” Oleander laughed. “I’ll be going into the conference room.”
“You certainly can—he knows my feelings. If you really do speak to him, tell him his ops crew stands by him.” Chief Serafin’s face sobered as she bid Oleander good-bye.
Before entering, Oleander squared her shoulders and took a deep breath to calm her stomach. She wasn’t going to be lying as much as stretching the truth, but it was scary to try this with AFCAW officialdom.
The person who could cut admin orders, the sergeant on Day Officer duty, listened to her story with a skeptical squint around his eyes. “If Master Sergeant Joyce wanted a change in status, why didn’t his doctor call?”
“We’re on lockdown,” she reminded him. “No calls are coming in.”
“Right, forgot that. Hell, it’s been four days now. Plenty of time to finish their audit,” the sergeant muttered. He pointed to a leaning stack of slates in front of him. “I’m backing up, sitting on orders to transmit to HQ Personnel.”
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