Pathfinder

by Laura E. Reeve

  Another voice piped up on the emergency channel and said, “Knossos-ship, this is the TLS Percival, notifying you that Overlord Six has filed a formal declaration of war against Overlord Three, as well as Three’s allies from the Consortium of Autonomous Worlds. However, the Pytheas is classified as noncombatant by Overlord Three.”

  “Knossos-ship, this is AFCAW ship Bright Crescent. CAW also classifies the Pytheas as noncombatant.” Edones’s voice was crisp, but notably, he didn’t specify which Overlords were allied with the Consortium. He probably didn’t know yet.

  “But we have not, ah—Knossos-ship. Not only did the Pytheas target us with swarm missiles, they’re carrying stolen materials. Items that are archeological contraband—er—which gives us the right to board.” The male speaking for the Ming Adams couldn’t be military; he wasn’t following proper comm protocol and he’d just prevaricated on interstellar treaty law in front of a Minoan warrior.

  Brooke exchanged a puzzled look with Elias, who said, “I feel like I’m in kindergarten, trying to please our favorite teacher.”

  “Elias, the Minoans are nothing like your favorite teacher. They don’t give anyone second chances.” Ariane broadcasted Minoan-style into her mike, “Pytheas-ship to Knossos-ship. We have wounded and under Phaistos Humanitarian Directives, we request safe passage to Pilgrimage-ship. We are a civilian research vessel, and the only material we transported into this solar system is owned by Hellas Nautikos. This is Pytheas-ship, Explorer of Solar Systems speaking.”

  This time, the answer came more quickly. “Your request for support under Phaistos Humanitarian Directives is granted, Pytheas-ship. This is Knossos-ship, Warrior Commander speaking.”

  “Look at the speed of that thing,” whispered Brooke, pointing to the Minoan warship on the FTL data diagram.

  After hearing Warrior Commander’s response, the Ming Adams gave up on talking and broke off. Ariane kept a cam-eye on them as they first tried to stay close to the Percival, then the Bright Crescent, but they were anathema to the other ships. For self-defense, the military ships scattered. At that point, the Ming Adams tried to run for it.

  Unfortunately, they had wasted time and couldn’t get within lock-signal distance of the buoy to drop out of real-space. In a last ditch effort, the TLS Ming Adams unwisely fired every missile it had while wildly attempting to out-maneuver the shadowy Minoan ship. Neither produced a reaction from the Minoan warship as it bore down on the frigate.

  The directed energy beams overwhelmed the cam-eyes and sensors for a moment, but after clearing, the cam-eyes showed beams slicing through the Ming Adams. Secondary fires and explosions blazed into violent life before their air dissipated. Titanium and magnesium sparked, burned, then fizzled. From the Pytheas deck, they watched, their jaws slack; humans still couldn’t make directed energy weapons with enough power to slice through a ship.

  As the Pytheas continued speeding toward the Pilgrimage , she silently continued to display the cataclysm behind them, using the control-deck view ports. The TLS Percival and the Bright Crescent were moving in to rescue survivors, while the Minoan warship pulled back and then remained stationary.

  “Gaia protect us,” Elias muttered.

  “And Gaia have mercy on their souls,” added Brooke.

  “They’re fools,” Ariane said flatly. Her exhaustion crashed down on her now that the adrenaline surge had subsided. She sighed, looking at her S-DATS display, which she could use now that she had FTL data.

  “Pilgrimage, this is Pytheas.” Her voice was hoarse with fatigue. “We have two critically wounded casualties, and six others with minor wounds. We need morgue support for three fatalities.”

  “Pytheas, this is the Pilgrimage Three. We have medical staff standing by,” Justin answered, his voice warm. “Come on home, Ariane.”

  CHAPTER 24

  We’re at war again, but with a twist. This time we’re on the sidelines, watching the Terrans have a go at one another. Yes, it still means using our money, weapons, and people [link to report of our commitments]. I hope we picked the right side. . . .

  —Dr. Net-head Stavros, 2106.074.09.20 UT, indexed by Democritus 7 under Metrics Imperatives

  Matt ended up watching the episode helplessly, as he rescued someone he wasn’t sure deserved the kindness. He had intended to follow the ships pursuing the Pytheas , but it was Muse 3, of all things, that reminded him of his duties.

  “You cannot leave Dr. Lowry unprotected in space, Matt. Does that not violate the Spacecrew Code of Ethics, written by St. Darius?”

  Matt gritted his teeth. “I need to make sure Ari and Diana are safe.”

  “What can we do, that the Bright Crescent cannot do better?”

  “We’re faster than Edones’s ship,” Matt said.

  “But we have no weapons. You requested protection from State Prince Parmet for the same—”

  “Be quiet, Muse.” He pounded the arm of his chair to keep from saying something nasty to the AI. But he’d rather face the Great Bull itself, before he’d allow a Gaiab’damned piece of software call him on his ethics!

  That meant he answered Dr. Lowry’s pleas, to her great relief. Even though she could keep herself safe from the bot, which was physically tied to the buoy, she’d panicked as she watched her oxygen levels fall. She expected to be abandoned, and Matt told her just how close she was to being right. “If you want rescue,” he’d said, “tell me who’s giving you your orders.”

  He’d been uncompromising and ruthless, getting Lowry to confess everything before he moved the ship close enough so she could get into a bay. As he recorded her babble, he watched what was happening to the Pytheas, powerless to help. When the FTL diagram showed the Bright Crescent falling behind, his turbulent feelings nearly tore him apart. Was Diana safe? Could he lose Ari?

  Instead of listening to Dr. Lowry, he followed Ari’s appeal and the arguments on the emergency channel, heard about Overlord Six’s withdrawal from the Terran League, and watched the Ming Adams make lethal blunders with the Minoans—then the inner system lit up. Energy beams exposed ship positions to the naked eye as the TLS Ming Adams was lanced by the Minoan warship, wrapped in its defensive shadows. Matt was speechless. I won’t make fun of the Minoans’ inflexible adherence to rules anymore. He’d just been reminded of their power. He’d become complacent, assuming the Minoans were no different from eccentric human bosses—he should never forget they were aliens, with alien beliefs and logic.

  To get back on board, Dr. Lowry told a simple story. She’d taken bribes from Overlord Six’s staff ever since she’d arrived in G-145. The payments were for leaked research data and reports. After the Minoans had hired her by name, she was contacted by Hanson, a Terran xeno-archeologist, who had identified himself as a compatriot and asked questions about what the Minoans were doing. She’d been instructed that after Hanson snatched an important piece of technology and sabotaged the Pytheas’s mission, she was supposed to seize the interface to the Builders’ buoy.

  The appearance of the TLS Ming Adams came as a surprise to Lowry, although it made sense, in retrospect, to send someone to collect the bot, which was extremely interesting to Overlord Six. To Matt, the fact she’d done it for money made her pathetic, even less forgivable than someone like Abram.

  “I’m nothing like those isolationists! If things had gone smoothly, no one would have been harmed.” Now that Lowry was safely inside the bay, she tried to justify her actions. “And I needed the money. You Autonomists don’t know what it’s like; surrounded by wealth and you’re—”

  Matt shut off her intercom. Try having a debt- load of eighty-five years, you bitch, and watch how you respond to somebody smashing equipment on your ship. Instead, he watched the FTL diagram and tracked status, as he headed his own ship toward the Pilgrimage.

  The first thing Ariane had to do upon returning to Beta Priamos, a day later, was to deliver the “seed” archive to Contractor Director.

  “You’re sure that’s what they wanted retu
rned?” Matt frowned at the crystal in the case. “That can ‘grow’ an archive of information? I can’t see the Minoans obsessing about that for ten thousand years.”

  “I’m sure.” Her parasite thrummed with impatience and set her on edge. She put the seed into the small lockbox, keyed to her thumb- and voiceprint, so she could appease her own worries and secondly, subdue her parasite’s jitters. When she closed the lockbox and believed the seed was secure, the parasite calmed.

  “They never told you what this archive would contain, once grown?”

  “No, and I don’t want to know.” Years of hiding her history made her a facile liar, even more convincing when she rationalized that she was protecting Matt. A secret known by more than one person might not be considered a secret anymore—not by alien thinkers as literal as the Minoans.

  Matt shrugged, apparently believing her, and turned back to the control console. They’d just docked at Beta Priamos and he was paying their lease and maintenance fees. He pointed at their operations account, where the balance blinked because it was entering a dangerously low bracket. “Remind them that this is a contract deliverable, will you? They’re prompt with their payments, so I might not have to grovel, yet again, for a loan.”

  “Yes, boss.” She stood and slipped the fist-size lockbox into the large pocket on the side of her coveralls. That put it right at the tip of her fingers; she could tap it and feel its form against her thigh.

  “Boss? As if I control what happens around here.” Matt hunched over the control panel, grousing. “Now I have to figure out how much hacking Muse has done to my security systems.”

  She grinned, leaving him to deal with Muse 3. She’d climbed down the vertical and started down the corridor to the forward airlock when Matt yelled, “Remember to get a receipt! And ask them about removing that worm from your arm; maybe they’ll do it for free.”

  Luckily, she was far enough away, opening the airlock, that she could ignore him. When she stepped out on the ramp, facing a new and underused station, she ramped up her senses and enjoyed a rebirth of her first introduction to Beta Priamos. The few commercials displayed on the walls were brighter and the smells of construction added color. Everywhere, she inhaled newness and cleanliness.

  Matt didn’t know the pessimistic prospects of actually removing the parasite, nor did he know that the Minoans had correctly anticipated that she’d want to keep the parasite in her body indefinitely. Her enhanced sense of smell had saved her life and she now depended more and more upon it. Her reflexes were faster and her movements more accurate. She tested them by jogging over the curved decks in station gravity to where the Minoans were docked, to find Contractor Director waiting for her.

  Any hopes that she’d be treated like a triumphant hero, returning the stolen elixir, were crushed when Contractor Director immediately displayed a copy of the contract on the nearest bulkhead. Then, with a swirl of red robes, the emissary held out a long slim hand, palm up. She placed the lockbox, closed, on the palm area of the hand, taking care not to touch the alien. Suddenly she felt exhilarated, suspiciously similar to a sudden release of endorphins after winning a boxing bout or race.

  I’m not a trained pet, performing for rewards. She forced a savage spike of anger and the feeling of elation faded. Whether the reward was the result of her parasite’s automatic programming, or Contractor Director’s doing, she didn’t know. The Minoan was currently scrolling through the contract and didn’t seem concerned with her.

  “Aether Exploration will receive the verified payment in a few hours.” Contractor Director marked something on the contract before hiding the lockbox within its voluminous and shifting robes. She noticed it had no concern about the locked aspect of the box, either.

  “We—er, Owner of Aether Exploration would like a receipt for your returned property,” she said.

  Contractor Director nodded in approval. “Of course.”

  After looking over the receipt on her slate, she had to ask for more. “Remember our bargain? The location of the other Builders’ buoy?”

  The Minoan emissary paused, perhaps hesitating. She hoped she hadn’t been irritating, but they’d had an agreement and she would make them stick by it. However, Contractor Director might be reevaluating the scope of their agreement. “Would you prefer only locations of buoys, or locations of all known edifices in mundane space?”

  “There’s more? Of course. I’d like all locations.” She didn’t want to look surprised and she certainly didn’t want to seem grateful. She’d gone through a lot to get this information, and the Minoans preferred a businesslike approach.

  Contractor Director extended a single finger, while it twirled a gem on the glittering chain that cascaded from one of its horns. “Your slate, please?”

  It touched her slate and transferred three real-space coordinates. She recognized the first two coordinates as being in the New Sousse system, but the third was surprising. She didn’t immediately recognize the solar system, but she could tell that it was Terran-controlled space, which was discouraging.

  “Per our agreement, I’m free to release this information to whomever I wish,” she said cautiously, testing.

  “No, because circumstances have changed.” Her stomach tightened in dismay, but eased as the emissary continued with, “Having carried roles of Treaty Compliance Officer and particularly, Breaker of Treaties, we would expect Ariane-as-Kedros to restrict the information to adherents of Pax Minoica.”

  “I understand.” She could live with that.

  Although she didn’t want to address removal of her parasite, yet, she still had questions. The improved clash could be used by other N-space pilots, of course, but could parasites, or implants, be designed for other humans? Maybe, said Contractor Director, although she sensed reluctance in that answer.

  This led the Minoan to another point, one she wanted to avoid: her ultra-rapid metabolizing of alcohol. She would metabolize alcohol even faster and if she enjoyed the effects of alcohol, she would see that diminished.

  Great. “By how much?” This was important.

  “Your sense of taste will be enhanced, but you must take warning. You will not experience the depressive or relaxing effect of the alcohol until it’s too late.”

  “What?” Her face prickled with embarrassment. “Are you trying to ‘fix’ me?”

  “That was not our intent. You may still harm yourself with alcohol consumption if you wish,” Contractor Director used a helpful tone. “An excessive amount will be required to overwhelm the implant, and it will result in brain damage or death.”

  The earnestness of the Minoan, who obviously didn’t intend to humiliate her, angered and embarrassed her even more. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire because, apparently, she cared about what the aliens thought of her. She abruptly bid Contractor Director good-bye, hoping it’d be a long while before she encountered the emissary again. Besides, she had a duty to perform and she couldn’t be late.

  Ariane sat on her bunk in her quarters on Aether’s Touch, smoothing the gloves in her lap and emptying her mind of aliens and their pesky parasites. Yes, it was wartime again, but it wasn’t going to be her war. Her war had lasted for decades and the hostilities had mostly occurred in space, often leaving civilian populations unaffected.

  The Terran League’s civil war would be different. This war felt like the chaos and fragmentation that had happened to Earth when the Minoans arrived. Give humankind a chance at some alien tech, and watch them fall upon one another like savages, every time. She snorted, finally pulling on the gloves.

  She was wearing her dress coat, black edged with light blue, with blue and gold epaulets and stripes about the cuffs. It was longer than her Alpha Dress, reaching the midpoint between the tips of her relaxed arms and her knees. Her trousers had a sharp crease and a blue stripe down the side. Her white gloves added the final nuance to her purpose.

  “Ari, Sergeant Joyce requests an encrypted face-to-face session,” Muse 3 announced.

&nb
sp; She took the call. The turnaround at the Pilgrimage had been too quick; she hadn’t had time to debrief Colonel Edones. Joyce was probably doing follow-up.

  “You clean up pretty good, Major.” Joyce looked impressed.

  She smiled. “Expressing AFCAW condolences and, since there wasn’t a TSF officer available on the Pilgrimage , escorting the remains.”

  “Hmm. About that . . . The colonel’s pretty pissed. With both of us.”

  “I’m the one who takes the responsibility—for violating orders and not taking the mission to completion,” she said.

  “No doubt about that. It’s why you’re paid the big bucks.” Joyce joked, meaning she was the responsible officer in charge of the case. “The colonel’s slightly appeased by the information Dr. Lowry has given him. And he’s getting tidbits from our new TSF ally.”

  “New ally? You’re not talking about the traitorous great-nephew.”

  “No, Myron still claims he was only helping his uncle by negotiating, on his own but in good faith, with Overlord Six. Instead of insanity, he’s going for the idiocy plea.” Joyce shook his head. “However, when SP Duval departed in a highly vexed mood, he wasn’t interested in taking his TSF intelligence aide. Lieutenant Tyler has decided to cooperate with AFCAW, Overlord Three, and Pilgrimage HQ. She’s waiting to see whether the TSF agrees with her decision and is temporarily suspended from duty while they review her case.”

  “Too bad they couldn’t keep Duval from leaving.” She tugged at the white gloves, adjusting their fit.

  “Commander Meredith had no choice; the Pilgrimage had no means to detain his ship, and neither the Bright Crescent nor the Percival had time to prevent it. They were cleaning up the Minoan mess and, believe me, no one wanted to ask the Minoans if Duval’s diplomatic privileges from the ICT still held water. Speaking of which”—Joyce’s voice became more casual—“you wouldn’t care to tell me what you gave the Minoan emissary, would you?”