by Vox Day
“We're trying to cover that contingency. Agents on every world within five subsectors of Faraday are on alert.”
“She walked right into our planetary chief's office, commandeered his var, then assassinated him in a ridiculous manner meant to draw maximum attention throughout the whole sector, and you think an agent is going to spot her because he's been alerted?”
“Well, we've made it an absolute top–”
“Great suns of Centauri!” Karsh interrupted angrily. “Our agents haven't got a snowball's chance in Hell of catching her and we both know it!”
It was an uncharacteristic outburst. Clender said nothing. Karsh sat there, his face flushed red as he glowered in the uncomfortable silence.
“What's the matter, August?” Clender finally asked. “Opol's death seems to have bothered you a good deal more than Shek's.”
The director nodded shortly. “He was suborned.”
“Opol? No! By whom?”
“House Dai Zhan. A planetary chief, can you believe it? It was his wife. She was a Dai Zhani operative under deep cover. She passed all the vetting without raising a single flag, and we never would have known if she hadn't tried to run when the news of his death broke.”
“She thought we took him out!” Clender surmised.
“Understandably. They caught her at the starport and she's being sent here in an induced coma to ensure she doesn't suicide. But she's not important, although I am concerned about the idea that Li-Hu succeeded in penetrating us without our knowledge. The point is that this makes two.”
“Two what, deaths? I don't follow you, August.”
“Two double-agents. Mirror images of each other. One of ours, and one of House Dai Zhan's. Both dead, and both killed in the most public possible manner imaginable. Manners, I should say. She really outdid herself with the Faraday stunt.”
“You think Myranda Flare is sending a message?”
“I think Golem Gregor is sending a message,” Karsh said. “If Flare knew Shek and Opol were double agents, she wouldn't have targeted both of them unless there were some other object. One or the other might make sense, but not both. No, Clender, she had just one objective in mind—to draw our attention to her actions.”
“But why?” asked Clender perplexedly.
“To make us believe that the machines are trying to establish some sort of alliance with House Dai Zhan,” Karsh replied softly.
“How does that make sense? She killed Opol! A suborned planetary chief would have been one of Li-Hu's most valuable assets.”
“She's signaling that the attempts have failed, that no alliance has been effected.”
“You're losing me,” Clender admitted. “Why would she do that?”
“There is only one rational reason. To mask the fact that such an alliance is already in place,” Karsh answered.
“Why would Dr. G want to do that? What difference would it make to us?”
“If we knew that such an alliance were in effect, we would assume both parties were working together and respond accordingly. By killing Opol, Golem Gregor is trying to convince us that no such alliance exists, hoping that we will focus our attention on Li-Hu's agents rather than his. Ironically, this would increase his potential value to Li-Hu by giving him an alternative means of retrieving the information if he cannot manage to retrieve the technology itself.”
Clender shook his head. “That's convoluted, August. Even for you. And, if you don't mind my saying so, more than a little far-fetched.
“It's a hypothesis,” Karsh replied. “But it's logically sound and it's my working one until something more convincing suggests itself.”
“Why would they use Flare? Why not someone more expendable?”
“One could say that her actions have two functions,” Karsh answered. “In addition to concealing the alliance between Li-Hu and the cyborgs, I'm sure it hasn't escaped your attention that she's gradually been moving further and further away from the subsector of interest. Why? Because she knows we'll be intent on tracking her. One would almost suspect she's trying to draw our attention from what is happening in Zero Seven Zero Two, which is of course nonsense. She's valuable, and she's dangerous, but she's hardly a Shiva-class cruiser.”
“There must be a more simple explanation, August. The Dai Zhan agents may hold possession of the Rigel, but they can't move the technology. It's too bulky. And they can't hold the Rigel much longer.” Clender declared grimly. “The Cetus is out of hypertransit now, as is the Draco. It won't be long before they locate the right star system and track down the ship or its remains.”
“Which leads me to conclude there may be a second cyborg agent active on this case. If Dr. G is using Flare to distract us, he is trying to distract us from something. Which, one would assume, is an Integration sleeper on Rigel, Draco, or even Cetus.”
“You think there might be others capable of transferring their minds?”
“It is a possibility. And they may not even be limited to transferring themselves into human minds. It's entirely possible that there is an operative lurking somewhere in the ship's digital storage facilities.”
Clender blanched. “Have you shared your concerns with the admiral?”
“Not yet. It's not the only possibility and he's already overwhelmed.” Karsh slapped the desk. “York reported that Flare's transfers were physically limited by the need for a sufficiently reliable connection. But that's only true if Dr. G is determined to keep her mind intact. What if Gregor has decided the sunbuster merits sacrificing his best agent? Even if she is one of a kind, this might be the point at which he's decided to cash her in.”
“By Jupiter, you might be right!” exclaimed Clender. “I wouldn't put it past him. He's ruthless. We know the cyborgs have neither consciences nor souls.”
“Think about it. What is the nearest inhabited planet to subsector Zero Seven Zero Two?”
“Xigaze.”
“Besides Xigaze. There is no commercial travel there.”
“Ah, then it would be Terentulus, fifth of the green-white sun Geddes. Do you want the planetary data?”
“Type, population, and index,” Karsh answered.
“Terentulus is a Tech 10 world categorized for agricultural settlement. Population 4.1 million. Economic index is point zero-zero-five.”
“Zero-zero-five?” The director put his hands together and pursed his lips. “Send an order to the section chief on Terentulus. He is to set up an auto-relay sending all incoming commercial crew and passenger data to the sector headquarters on Kantillon for analysis.”
“Right away,” Clender acknowledged.
“I also want all personnel deemed of vital interest to the Ascendancy evacuated from the planet as soon as possible. Effective immediately. Commandeer a passenger liner if necessary. I can't imagine there could possibly be that many people of significance there, but one never knows.”
“Understood. I don't understand, are you planning to impose a quarantine if Flare shows up there?”
“Exactly. Even if Dr. G has decided to sacrifice her, he's going to want to reduce the transmission risks as much as possible. Terentulus is the closest astronomically predictable location equipped with high speed laser transmission facilities, and anyhow, if he's willing to risk a ship-to-ship transmission, we can't possibly expect to identify and locate it. So, we'll focus on what we know we can accomplish.”
“Your intention is to seal off the planet and isolate it completely? That might not be enough to catch her. You pointed that out yourself.”
Karsh smiled grimly. “We may not be able to catch her. But once it's confirmed she's on a planet with an economic index of point zero-zero-five? We can reduce that to zero-zero period, if we must.”
“Destroy Terentulus?” exclaimed Clender. “The entire planet? August, you can't possibly justify such a drastic action! There are millions of innocent people living there!”
“To preserve our monopoly on the Shiva? I most certainly can.” Karsh's expression was
remorseless. “And if necessary, I most certainly will. Now, Clender, arrange for a meeting with the High Admiral within the hour. Let him know I have a number of items for our agenda.”
Alone in his office, August Karsh stared through the windows at Sol's soft golden rays. It was all a facade, he mused. To its billions of citizens of the hundreds of planets throughout the Ascendancy, the cyborgs were freaks, aliens, the technological spawn of an ungodly star. That message had been drummed home in the galactic media until, through sufficient repetition, the propaganda had become something akin to gospel. But he was among the few who knew better. Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands and contemplated his options.
None of them were promising.
The fact was that for all their strange religion, the cyborgs, the Integrated, as they called themselves, were descended from Terran colonists—a point the popular histories conveniently overlooked—and as such they were a material part of Terra's empire, even though they had been sealed off from the rest of humanity for centuries. Far from the soulless mutants they were inevitably portrayed as being in the entertainment media, most cyborgs were ordinary people no further evolved from Terran standard than the average colony population. About fifteen percent of them didn't even have any machine modifications at all.
Of course, there were those who were so heavily modified that it was questionable if one could reasonably categorize them as members of the human race. Such as Golem Gregor, a brilliant man who had been augmented in almost every possible way. And yet Dr. G, contrary to the belief held firmly by most of the First House's nobility, wasn't remotely interested in conquest, or even in power per se. His primary objective, and his life's ambition, was to find a place for his people in the Ascendancy.
And like Karsh himself, Dr. G would not shirk from using force, if necessary.
If he were ruthlessly honest with himself, Karsh thought, he couldn't truly say that he disagreed with the cyborg. Sooner or later, the time would come when the Integration, both the cyborgs and their damnable machines, would assume their rightful place in the great stream of history. It was even possible that humanity would be the better for it. He wouldn't ever express such a heretical thought, not even to Clender, but it was true nonetheless and as the Terran empire's chief intelligence officer, he was honor bound to see that it never came to pass on his watch. History might be on the side of Man's technological marriage with Machine, but history was not might.
Was it not said, by one political philosopher or another, that might made right? Whatever the future might bring, right now, posthumanity existed solely at the mercy of humanity. And Man was not a race known for its forebearance.
The thought brought him back to his upcoming meeting with the High Admiral. The Admiralty would not be keen on the idea of annihilating Terentulus. It would be even less keen on diverting Cetus from the hunt for Rigel. But the diversion was absolutely necessary. Not so much because he was certain that Myranda Flare would surface on the low-tech planet, but because if there was another cyborg agent in play, he wanted to make damned sure that it would be the AID's best operative matching wits with the new player and not some overbred, unimaginative military officer from House Malhedron.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Commissioned officers in the Terran Navy have pay grades ranging from O-1 to O-13, with O-13 being the highest; those with paygrades between O-1 through O-5 are considered junior officers and O-6 and O-9 as senior officers. Officers in the O-10 to O-13 range are called flag officers. Promotion through O-9 is based on performance in an officer's current paygrade, which is recorded in FITREPS. Promotions to Rear Admiral (O-10) rank and higher are restricted to eligible candidates and are subject to confirmation by the Terran Senate as well as the First House.
—“The Commissioned Officers Rank and Structure”, Department of the Navy Pamphlet 700-C
GELHART HUNG alone in a black universe, a pale yellow sun that shone with a lusterless light yet was unbearable to the naked eye. The hundred thousand stars that gleamed around it were incredibly remote, forming little more than a backdrop to the eternal velvet night through which Gelhart sped, accompanied by six much smaller collections of matter. These were its planets, or rather, “grotesque parodies of planets,” as Galton, the ship's navigator, described them.
Standing beside York at the Draco's star window, the navigator observed, “For some reason this subsector is poorly populated, almost empty, you might say. The few stars it possesses are widely scattered, and most of them are on the smaller side.”
“Empty?” York peered at the sweep of stars, thinking it resembled a field of diamonds.
Galton smiled wryly. “The human eye can't distinguish one subsector from another. What you're seeing are the stars from other subsectors, even other sectors.”
Why do you call them parodies?”
“The planets? Oh, because they're not much more than large asteroids. That being said, I've seen civilizations take root on even less probable places. The dwarf planets of the Struve sun, for example. Did you know that their light is purple? And the atmosphere is so thin, terraforming is absolutely imposible. Why would anyone choose to live on one of those worlds? And yet, they do. They say that Man is the most adaptable creature in the universe. I would think he has to be, judging from some of the places he's chosen to live on.”
“That, or the most foolish,” York commented. “I take it you are aware of our reason for being here?”
Galton nodded. “Distress call, missing Navy ship. Must be something interesting on it to pull us off patrol duty on Xigaze.”
“You could say that,” York agreed. After the gas incident, Hull had informed his officers about her true occupation, not that many of them hadn't figured it out already. But none of them knew yet why she was on board, and only a few knew anything about a warship that had gone missing. Even those, like the navigator, whose involvement was required for the search, had not been told the identity of the missing Shiva-class cruiser, much less the reasons believed to be behind her disappearance.
“Why are we starting the search at this particular star,” she asked him.
“Look at it,” he pointed to the star window. “It's a yellow sun, of a similar effective temperature to Sol, and not too much different in size. Given the various options in the vicinity of the last known location, it's the star I would choose if I were the navigator of a ship that found itself in difficulties. It is the first star to which one's attention is naturally drawn.”
“That makes sense.”
“Of course, if the navigator is dumb enough to get himself in trouble in the first place, who knows if he has enough sense to make the logical choice. I'm not saying our missing ship is definitely in this system, only that it's our best bet.”
“I shall consider myself duly warned and refrain from getting too excited until the ship is located. Do you think it might have landed on one of the planets?”
Galton shook his head. “Only if its navigator was so incompetent, and unlucky, that he somehow managed to crash into it. The two inner planets, Goa and Debro, are too close to the sun. Everyone on the ship would die before they even came close to them. The third and fourth planets would at least be theoretically possible. They're wastelands, nothing but vast, burning deserts, but it would be theoretically possible to put down a lander on them.”
“What about the outer two? You mentioned six. They're farther out, so they're not too hot.”
“Too far out. Also, they're methane. Methane giants, much like Jupiter and Saturn, if you ever learned your original planets. They're frozen solid to their cores. There are very good reasons that these parts are uninhabitable, Miss York, even when the sun is more Sol-like than most. This is a lifeless star system.”
York returned her attention to Gelhart. It looked more like a yellow sticker stuck against the window than a sun. It did not gleam brightly, nor did it pulsate like so many stars. Lifeless was a good word to describe it, she thought. She glanced at the navigator
. He was thin, but not entirely unattractive. He had a mildly skeptical attitude towards his surroundings that she found intriguing. “So either the third planet or the fourth is your starting point.”
Galton nodded. “We emerged inside the orbits of Tennhauf and Geranda, the methane giants I mentioned. At the moment we're penetrating the orbit of Skyro, the fourth planet.”
“Penetrating? Not stopping?”
“Skyro's current position is opposite the sun,” explained Galton. “And we're heading for Bonoplane, the third planet, anyhow. She'll show up in our star window before long.”
“When will we reach it?”
“Almost one standard week,” answered Galton. “We'll spend far more time covering the last few millions of miles in conventional drive than we did skipping a tenth of the way across the galactic rim. “It's not unlike planetary travel; you spend more time getting to and from the terminals than you do in flight.”
“What's Bonoplane like, aside from being a vast desert?”
“Burning heat by day, bitter cold by night—a dry, windless world without life. It's a sterile world, Miss York.”
“I was thinking in terms of landing.”
“Bonoplane has oxygen in its atmosphere,” replied Galton. “But the level is too low to breathe, at least according to the records. We'll test that while we're here. There's the customary scattering of other gases. Surface gravity and barometric pressure both are close to four-fifths standard.”
“The problem is the temperature?”
“Exactly. It's not going to overheat a lander, as they're pretty rugged, but no one is going outside for a stroll. Of course, there is no reason to go out for one either. There is nothing there except overheated rocks.”
“How big is the planet?”
“Slightly over seven thousand kilometers in diameter.” Galton smiled as York pursed her lips. “If you're worrying about finding the missing ship on the surface, don't. If she's on Bonoplane, she'll be in orbit.”